Deathwish

4

Pearls were everywhere.

In shades of white, old ivory, and cream, hundreds of them spilled across Promise’s violet and gray rug. It was an amazing sight, the contrast between the soft pale shimmer and the dark colors of the rug. Beautiful. I recognized that, but I didn’t feel it. I felt many other things not nearly as pleasant, but not that.

But I did feel the fingers combing their way through my hair. Slow and sure. Patient. When I remained silent for nearly an hour, sitting on the floor with my back against the couch, the fingers remained patient. Scooping up a handful of pearls didn’t change the pattern. Faithful, soothing—the only thing I felt. At the moment, the only thing I wanted to.

The Mer had come out of the water when the Jinshin-uwo and the Auphe had vanished. The rip in reality sealed itself, and only Cal and I were left in the icy December evening. Slowly, one by one, they came to the edge of the waves to balance upright on curled muscular tails. Each hand was filled with pearls. We hadn’t completed the job. The Auphe had done that, but we were paid nonetheless. Then, with the pockets of both our coats filled to the top with gems, we came home. Not ours, but Promise’s home. Cal had suggested it and I hadn’t disagreed. He thought I needed it, and he wasn’t wrong.

“He grew up on me.” One last pearl fell and I smiled slightly. “I didn’t see it coming. Isn’t that odd? I always see everything about Cal, but I didn’t see that.”

Promise finished smoothing my hair. With her legs tucked under her on the sofa cushion, her knees touched the back of my neck. They were warm, as warm as the hand that came over my shoulder to rest on my chest over my heart. Legend told you vampires were cold. Legend, as usual, lied.

“I imagine he’ll still be a cranky little boy now and again.” There was a smile in her voice as she bent to press her cheek against mine. “But you did teach him well. No one else could’ve brought him through it all as you have. Sane, intact, his soul clean.”

“Clean soul and the filthiest mouth around,” I mused. “Where’d I go wrong?”

“Not a single place.” She straightened and patted her lap. “Lie with me. Tell me everything. The more I know, the more Auphe blood I can spill.” A cloud of black drifted across her eyes for an instant and then they were violet again. “And I will so enjoy spilling it.”

So I moved up to the couch, rested my head in her lap, and gave her every detail of the night. She’d been given a quick sketch by Cal, who was on the phone with Robin as we’d walked in. “Sharks with arms. Big-ass eel. Goddamn Auphe. Watch your ass.” No one could say my brother wasn’t succinct when he wanted to be, or that he couldn’t paint a picture with his words. Granted, it was a picture made up of red and black crayon slashes, but it got the point across.

The painter was now asleep in one of Promise’s spare bedrooms. Robin was hosting something large and loud, from the shouting Cal had to do to be heard over the phone, so he was most likely safe. At least in the respect that by the time the Auphe killed all the partygoers he’d be long gone. Georgina had her wolves and her anonymity, thanks to Cal’s refusal to see her. It was all we had and all we could do.

We gave Promise’s wolves the night off, and as they left, I had thought that we couldn’t live this way. Not for long. Trying to encase every second of our daily lives in safety glass. You could see through it, see everyone else walking, breathing, living, but you couldn’t live yourself. You were caught like a fly in amber. It wasn’t a life; it was an existence. And that wasn’t much of a substitute. Even when Cal and I had been on the run for three years, it hadn’t been like this. We knew the Auphe were after us, but we didn’t know why they were, other than Cal having their blood. We knew it would be a bad thing if they caught us, but we didn’t know how bad . . . not until they finally did.

We’d thought that they didn’t know where we were most of the time. Thought we’d lost them time and time again. I didn’t know if that was true. I did know no matter where we went they eventually found us, but they were only biding their time. All along they had been waiting for Cal to mature physically, to be able to build the giant gate they needed and travel, as he called it. And so they had trailed us from place to place, and when they finally actually did want Cal they simply reached out and took him. That easily.

I couldn’t imagine underestimating the Auphe, but I had. And because I had, we had lives, Cal and I. That delusion had let us breathe. We had watched over our shoulders, given fake names, practiced the martial art of staying alive daily, stayed ghosts to everyone we came into contact with, but we had still lived. We hadn’t hunched under the knowledge that every second could have been the killing one.

Faith; it could support a life if you had it. It was the undoing of one if you didn’t.

I always had faith that things would end up as they should. We would escape the Auphe. When that didn’t happen, I had faith I’d get Cal back, because I literally couldn’t accept anything else. He was my responsibility. My brother. They hadn’t taken him, I had lost him. Twice in my life I had lost him.

I’d forced myself to believe I would get him back. There could be no doubt. I would get him back.

Faith again.

And I had gotten him back. But in the process, I had learned something. I had my eyes opened. I’d seen the Auphe up close. I’d seen what had happened to the people around them, people the Auphe cared nothing about one way or the other. They died. They died very easily—killed by something that barely knew they were alive to begin with.

And the Auphe knew we were alive. Like the eye of God, their sight was on us. Inescapable.

They hated Cal with all the passion of a betrayed race. They knew Robin and I had taken Cal away from them. Promise was simply swept up in the murderous wake. No matter how we’d gotten there, we were all under the eye.

And now I thought there might be something far worse. I suspected, but . . . no, I was wrong. I had to be. Even an uncaring universe wouldn’t allow that. Death, yes, but not that.

“Niko?”

I’d closed my eyes as I told Promise what had happened on the beach. And when I’d stopped talking I left them shut, just for a moment. A denial of the tightening noose. Something I rarely allowed myself. I opened them now and looked up at her. Large eyes, skin a little too pale, a mouth a little too wide, and eyebrows that winged upward like a bird in flight. It was an imperfect beauty and all the more beautiful for it. She put the multitude of pearls to shame.

“Niko?” she said again, cupping my face with her hands.

I took one of her hands, kissed the palm, and gave her the truth.

“We are fucked.”

She laughed, showing the small pointed incisors of a predator in her own right. “It seems you weren’t the only teacher over the years. Cal taught you something as well.”

He had. He’d taught me many things, but first and foremost, he’d taught me that faith. Sophia never would have. Cal had given me a reason to have faith. How would I honor my teacher if I deserted that faith now?

“But Cal says we’ll get through it.” I kissed her hand again, this time lightly nipping the skin at the base of her thumb. Without Cal I wouldn’t have faith. I wouldn’t be the man I was today.

I wouldn’t have this.

The night haze swam across her eyes again, this time for a different reason. “And what do you say?” she asked as her finger lazily traced the line of my jaw.

“I have faith,” I said simply.

And in Cal, I did.

Of course, the next day the cause of all that faith was trying to kill me before the Auphe had their chance. The morning sun drifted through the tinted windows as, after my shower, I padded into the kitchen, dressed in one of the pair of sweatpants I kept at Promise’s. Leaning over Cal’s shoulder as he stirred, I frowned at the bumpy kaleidoscope of red, yellow, and pale brown in the bowl. “What could you possibly be concocting there, Dr. Frankenstein?”

“Chocolate, cherry, banana pancakes. Want some?” He pulled the spoon out and licked it.

“Very hygienic.” I nodded at the sink. “I can explain the use of the tap again for you if you like.”

“Like the doctor takes advice from Igor,” he snorted. He yawned and licked the spoon again. “You want some or not?”

“I think one bite might lodge in an artery and stop my heart,” I said truthfully.

“Worse ways to go,” he pointed out with a dark grin as he poured the batter on the griddle. “We were nearly eaten by vengeful sushi last night. Live a little.” He boosted himself up and sat on the counter. “How are the ribs? They don’t look too bad.”

I pulled on the black shirt that I’d been carrying in my hand and replied, “Bruising. Nothing more.” He was moving with only a little stiffness, and I knew his back was no worse. He’d showered not long before I had. I could tell by the still-wet black hair and the water spots on the T-shirt that I’d lent him last night. The sopping washcloth half covering the drain, the toppled shampoo bottles, and the towels on the floor had been a clue as well.

He gave another grin, this one not as dark. “I was going to ask if she was gentle with you, but I think I’ll sit here and smirk instead.”

“You’re a gentleman without compare.” I went to the refrigerator, saying over my shoulder, “Your pancakes are burning.”

There was a curse, a thud of feet on the floor, and the smell of singed batter. By the time I sat at the table with my juice and yogurt-granola mix, he had a plate of half-runny, half-burnt pancakes and was squirting syrup over them. The typical feeding habits of the Cal Leandros in his natural habitat. I was long used to them.

“No Promise?” He took a sticky, dripping bite. “I made enough for her.”

“So you plan to poison her and leave me a celibate and lost soul. Cunning.” I dipped a spoon in the bowl. “She’s sleeping in. Centuries of habit are hard to break.” I studied the yogurt before me, then made a decision. Cal was right. I should live a little. “I’ll take some after all.”

“You’re shitting me. Really?” He slid the plate closer. “Help yourself.”

I reached over with the spoon, carved off a piece, and took a bite. I chewed, swallowed, and made the best decision of my life. I went back to my yogurt. We ate in companionable silence. Cal was not a morning person. I was surprised he was as coherent as he was this one. When I finished, I pushed the bowl away and looked at him. This time I wasn’t looking at wet hair and shirt or the casual slouch as he chased the last bite of pancake around the plate with his fork. I was looking past that—past the still-sleepy gray eyes to where Cal could be his own worst enemy. The place where he stuffed all his fears, his misplaced guilt, his anger . . . his rage. Hid them away. Tried his very best to forget about them. I looked there for the beach we had stood on last night.

I didn’t find it.

“So, then.” I tapped my spoon on his plate to get his attention. “We’re going to be all right, are we?”

“Yep,” he said agreeably, giving up on that remaining bit of pancake.

“And if we’re not?” I wouldn’t give up my faith, but it had to be factored in with reality. Believe, but be ready.

“Then we take those bitches with us.” The eyes weren’t sleepy anymore. They’d gone from drowsy to dark, savage, and ruthless.

“There’s my brother.” My lips twitched. “I was afraid you’d taken all my Zen.”

“Like I’d want it,” he retorted. “Jesus. I’d need a pack mule for all the granola.”

“I am stunned with your witty riposte. Give me a moment to recover.” I took another spoonful of yogurt that I didn’t particularly want, but my body required. I needed to ask Cal something, and it was a memory that wasn’t going to do much for either of our appetites, which is why I’d waited until he was finished with his pancakes. Pushing the almost-empty bowl and spoon away, I asked, “The Auphe you killed last year, the one that attacked us on the way back from Florida”—when George had been kidnapped and we’d needed help from a Rom clan to obtain her ransom—“was it a male or female?”

For a second, his eyes went blank. Completely. For a moment Cal was gone. I reached over and squeezed his wrist hard and said his name as forcefully as if we were in the midst of a battle—which, for all intents and purposes, we were. I was about to repeat his name when he blinked. “Sorry.” I let his wrist go and he used both hands to scrub at his face. “Yeah . . . Florida. I was a little . . . distracted.” “Distracted” was Cal’s way of saying “walking a very fine line between sanity and the alternative.” “Shit.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember. Male, I think.” His pupils dilated and I could see the past sucking him down. The Auphe trying to drag me through a gate to Tumulus. Cal all but disintegrating its head with the entire clip of his gun while the door to hell stood hungry and open only feet away.

Enough. I’d needed to know, but I wouldn’t make him see anymore. He’d seen too much already. I took his plate and promptly pushed it into his stomach. “Enough ancient history. Cleanup time.”

He was slower to come back this time, but he did come, grumbled, glared, and cleared the table. What he didn’t do was ask me why I’d wanted to know. He may not have remembered my even asking, or he may not have wanted to know the reason. Either way . . . I was grateful. Because I still could be wrong.

Let me be wrong.

Forty minutes later, the wolves were at the door, literally. I left Promise with a kiss to her bare shoulder, and we were gone. Outside, the sky was blue for the first time in days. With the sun the day felt warmer than it really was. Cal didn’t seem to notice. He kept sliding a glance at me from the corner of his eye as we went down the stairs. It was a look both alternately worried and confused. Finally, I said with mild exasperation, “Enough. I feel like the last movie I forced you to watch that had subtitles. What is it?”

He didn’t snipe back in our usual give-and-take of his cultural, scholastic, or martial arts lack. We had just passed through the front entrance to Promise’s building and taken a few steps when he shook his head, growled, grabbed two handfuls of my coat and shoved me up against the stone facade of the building. Then he pressed his nose to my neck and jaw and smelled me. I ignored the looks of the people jostling by. I knew my brother. He did some odd things, but he always had a reason . . . maybe not a safe reason or a particularly good reason, but he always had a purpose of some sort.

“I think you may be spending too much time with either Delilah or Robin,” I said equably.

He didn’t react to the humor. Letting go of me, he backed up. “Jesus, Cyrano.” He seemed both disgusted and angry. “You smell like him. You smell like that goddamn Seamus.”

Seamus, who, although I had spent time with him in his loft and later at the art show, I would’ve showered away his scent at least three times by now. The last shower was this morning before we left, but it hadn’t been the last thing I’d done before leaving the apartment. I’d kissed Promise’s bare skin in good-bye. I hadn’t asked where she’d been when Cal and I had been fighting a giant eel. We hardly kept track of each other’s every movement. She very well could’ve met Seamus to further discuss his case. It would’ve been a professional courtesy.

But she hadn’t mentioned it.

Considering that we’d decided last night that everything was to be put on hold until the Auphe were dealt with, it skirted along the border of suspicious. If it had been anyone but Promise, it would’ve been far beyond the border and seeking, no doubt Cal would say, a fake green card. But this was Promise. She and Seamus were old friends, old companions. I had no reason to think “old” had changed to “current” or that she was keeping anything from me. I had never seen anything like that in her. And being suspicious of her now would only taint everything we had. I wouldn’t do that—no matter what Sophia had taught me all her life: that everyone lies. Everyone deceives. Cal didn’t—not unless it was to save my life; then he would lie like the proverbial dog. But otherwise, Cal wouldn’t deceive me.

Neither would Promise. If I believed she would, then I let Sophia win.

“I didn’t catch it last night. I just went flying past her to the guest room while telling Robin to watch his ass. I wasn’t paying attention. What the hell is wrong with me? You should kick my ass for it. I actually deserve it this time.” He moved back away from the sidewalk, toward me, and leaned against the wall next to me. “I’m sorry,” he said, his mouth twisted.

In all his life I think I was the only one Cal had said that word to, and he said it more often than our acquaintances might think. He didn’t need to now, although I don’t think he himself knew why he said it: for not noticing last night or for noticing this morning.

“It’s Promise, little brother. He’s a part of her past. I wouldn’t tell her who she could or couldn’t see, no more than she would tell me.”

He straightened as the wind carried a candy bar wrapper across his boot, snagged it there, and then took it on down the street. “She told you, then?” he asked, relieved. “Told you they met?”

“No.”

The relief in his eyes transmuted to suspicion so quickly that there wasn’t a split second between of thought. He didn’t say anything, but then again he didn’t have to. I knew that expression, borne of our mother years ago, and I knew my brother. He didn’t trust Promise to tell the truth about Seamus, and he didn’t want to hurt me by saying so.

I took his shoulder and pulled him away from the building and into motion. “This is Promise, Cal. In the past year there were several occasions she could’ve died because of us or we could’ve died if she hadn’t helped us. Don’t be this way.”

“What way?” he demanded.

“Yourself.” I gave him my customary affectionate tug on his ponytail. “And whatever you do, please don’t sniff her like a wayward dog when we get back. She might not be as understanding as I am.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. It is Promise.” It sounded much more dubious when he said it, but it was an effort, a considerable one for him, and I appreciated it as such. “Although you didn’t see the look Seamus gave you when we left his loft.”

“I saw it.” He’d been sizing me up. Let him. “But we don’t have to trust him, only Promise. And she’s not given us reason not to.”

He frowned, but let it go for now. Checking his watch, he said, “You know, we have enough time before your first class to go to Central Park.”

“And why would you want to do that?” I asked dryly. “I would want to run or practice, but why would you want to go?”

“More revenants.”

“Revenants?” Not that there were as many as you’d think in Central Park. Boggle and her brood ate most of them. But the revenants couldn’t help themselves. The draw of all those people running, walking, Rollerblading, all those people just begging to be dragged into the trees and devoured—it was too much temptation for them. They kept going, and occasionally they did get a runner here and there, but mainly they were the equivalent of Meals on Wheels for Boggle and her children, who were faster and more predatory than a hundred revenants.

“Yeah. Spearguns, giant eels, the Auphe. I think we need to kick some ass just to prove we’re badder than somebody in this city. In the past two days even an old lady with a walker could’ve taken our asses down,” he grumbled in disgust.

“Exaggeration served up with a fine whine. Entertaining as always. And we don’t have a time issue. I called the university yesterday and told them I was taking leave. Family emergency.”

“And if this doesn’t count as an emergency . . .” He shook his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. I’d never been able to break him of that, to always have your hands free, just in case. As often as I’d swatted the back of his head or pinched a nerve cluster, he just couldn’t remember. You have to pick your battles, and I’d realized years ago Cal was most certainly his own person. He wasn’t me, couldn’t be me.

I have a bigger sword.

We took the subway to the Ninth Circle, where Cal was going to tell Ishiah he needed a little time off as well. Right now we needed to focus on our situation and nothing but that. Seamus would get the same speech from Promise. This one I knew about, at least. It was a petty thought and I pushed it away. Yes, Seamus would have to deal with his mystery stalker himself. Normally, we kept working, regardless of the situation. The world didn’t stop because this or that was trying to kill you. That happened too frequently in our lives. You had to work or you would be on the streets and starving in no time. This . . . this was an exception. I knew it the minute that gate had opened on the beach and those nightmare monsters had come boiling out to kill what Cal and I couldn’t. And they had done it in less than thirty seconds.

Luckily, with last night’s payment we could actually afford the time off. No teaching, no bartending, none of our jobs. We were in the best financial situation of our lives. Assuming, of course, that we could hold on to those lives.

Delilah was at the bar when we arrived. Since she worked at another bar, a strip club, as a bouncer during the day and did her work for the Kin at night, I assumed she was waiting for Cal and not simply hanging out for the feathery ambience. She sat at the bar, very much the fox in the henhouse. Confident, clever, and more than a little carnivorous. She was dressed in brown leather pants, a discarded matching jacket, and a long-sleeve amber-colored sweater that stopped a few inches above her navel. No matter the temperature, Delilah was a wolf and she was proud. She had survived and she would show you the proof—scars white and jagged across her stomach. They were bright against skin that was only a few shades lighter than her sweater. She wore them as boldly as she did the wolf eyes and Celtic swirl design she had tattooed choker style around her neck. Those scars were the reason Cal could be with her. She couldn’t have children. Cal was adamant . . . there would be no more Auphe-human hybrids. Not if he could help it. It was smart of my brother, smart, mature, self-sacrificing, and up there with genuinely phobic status.

Georgina . . . she could have children, and had been willing to let the future unfold however it would. Cal was not as trusting of the universe, and I didn’t blame him for it.

Delilah’s hair was almost as pale as her brother’s. His was albino white; hers was silver blond, long enough to fall to the middle of her back when pulled up, as it was now, in a tail at the crown of her head. She looked fully human, if exotic, like the high breeds did, but she wasn’t. High breeds were considered original werewolf stock. Purely human at one moment and completely wolf at the next. But some wolves didn’t want that. They sought what they felt was the more desirable form—a wolf at all times. Pure and wild, untouched by civilization and “monkey” genes. So they bred for what high breeds considered faults and mutations; some even inbred as well to further the cause. And it was an ongoing cause, since as of now they only had some wolves who at best were half-and-half. Human with wolf teeth, fur in odd places, lupine eyes and claws. Sometimes they were beautiful and sometimes hideous. Sometimes they could pass on the street without effort and sometimes they couldn’t.

They were still a minority in the werewolf community, Kin and non-Kin, and considered by their brothers in fur to be a little less worthy. And because of that prejudice, Delilah could never be an Alpha in the Kin. Females could be Alphas, unlike in genuine wolf packs. The Kin were practical: they realized the females could be deadlier than the males. Male or female, if you killed on all takers, then you were Alpha, but a non-high breed Alpha was out of the question. Then again, Delilah might change that custom. She had a presence that let you know she was no ordinary wolf, no ordinary Kin, no ordinary killer.

And quite definitely no ordinary woman.

“I’m not sure if I’m impressed or afraid she’ll eat you as a midday snack,” I murmured as the door closed behind us.

Almond eyes of pale copper that showed the Asian blood in her were already on us. I probably didn’t smell much different than your average human, but the wolves could smell the Auphe in Cal from the metaphorical mile away. They hated it, except for Delilah. She hadn’t minded when we had once hired her to heal Cal with the benefits of wolf saliva, and she obviously didn’t mind now. It was that presence again. Delilah had a quality about her—she was completely fearless. Unfortunately, a little fear was often what kept you alive.

“Promise could go off the wagon anytime,” he snorted as he moved off. “Then it’s just you, her, and a giant twisty straw.”

The vast majority of vampires had been off blood for sixty years now, thanks to a few hematology advances on their part, but he had a point. One way or the other, we were all food for something else. Every creature on the planet.

As he sat next to her, Delilah tapped a disapproving finger on his knee. “Playing with Auphe. Not smart. Come with me.” She tilted her head, lips curving. “Play better games.”

And that was the only sign Delilah wasn’t a high breed. Her vocal cords were somewhere between human and wolf. Her brother had it as well, although his was much worse. Delilah sounded as if she had a strong accent, was just learning the language. It was as exotic as the rest of her, something the patrons of her bar would’ve enjoyed thoroughly . . . if it hadn’t been a gay male strip club. And I doubted when she tossed the drunks and troublemakers out onto the concrete that she wasted many words on them.

I went over to the far end of the bar, giving Cal some privacy to tell Delilah that the sex games were over temporarily. He’d only met her just over a week ago. She wouldn’t be an Auphe target yet. Fearless or not, it was best she stayed that way.

Ishiah came up as I sat. “I heard what happened last night. Going on a trip?”

“No. We’ve learned the hard way that there is nowhere we can go that the Auphe can’t follow.” I didn’t ask how he knew. Peris were the grapevine of the supernatural world, but that quickly? He could only have gotten it from Goodfellow. I suppose that tipped the Ishiah scales more toward friend than enemy . . . at least for today. I accepted a bottle of water he offered and rolled the blue glass between my palms. “But Cal won’t be back here until this is taken care of.”

“Business will boom.” Beneath the gruffness, I heard a reluctant sympathy. “He blames himself. He snaps and snarls as much as I do, but I’ve been around a long time. I see.”

My face didn’t move, but whatever he saw behind it was the end of the conversation. Without further word, he put a glass before me on the bar and left.

Cal blamed himself . . . as if I didn’t know.

The Auphe had given Cal every reason to blame himself. It was part of their game. It wasn’t enough to kill us or him. There had to be suffering, agony . . . torment. Months ago, before Cal had killed the Auphe in Florida, they had told my brother they would save him for last as we were torn to pieces before him. They wanted him to blame himself for every one of our deaths. They would be happy to know he already did. Cal had already lived that moment hundreds of times in his head, I knew. Would live it hundreds more before this was all over. And no matter what I said or did, that wouldn’t change.

My grip tightened on the bottle and I put it down with exquisite care before I shattered it. I couldn’t change it, but I could make sure he only lived the nightmare of it, not the reality.

The first step would be to stay together as much as possible. Robin would take some persuading, but I was rather in the mood for some persuasion. I’d missed my workout this morning. Dragging him kicking and screaming from his den of debauchery could be a substitute.

I stood as Delilah gave Cal something to remember her by. As she turned her back on him, I waited for him to walk over before I commented on the bright red handprint on his cheek. “Things went well, then.”

He gave me an irritable glance and rubbed his face gingerly. “Funny, it doesn’t feel like it did.”

Delilah slapped her hand on the bar, snapping, “Pigeon! Whiskey. Now.”

Amusing though it might be, I didn’t have time to see the fun and games that were going to start with Ishiah. Herding Cal toward the door, I said, “She could’ve broken your neck with one blow if she’d wanted. That’s the tap a mother gives her cub.”

“Being smacked by a she wolf,” he muttered, “it gives new meaning to ‘bitch slap.’ ”

“Don’t complain.” I opened the door and shoved him out just as I saw Ishiah pull his sword from beneath the bar. “You could’ve stopped her.”

“Maybe.” He scowled, then let it go. “Relationships. I never claimed I was good at them.”

“When you actually have one,” I advised, “we’ll return to the subject.”

Coincidentally, as we arrived at Robin’s, he was in the process of not having relationships as well. Standing on black-and-white marble in tastefully subdued lighting, I wondered not for the first time how Goodfellow had managed to weasel his way past the co-op board of this place. They couldn’t have any idea what went on behind that door. I’d only seen glimpses, and as much as I appreciated education, that was one no one needed.

After several minutes of Cal’s pounding, we were finally let in by a shirtless Robin. His pants were still on, though, and that was something. Not much, but something.

Tapping a bare foot impatiently on the floor, he asked, “What? What do you want? It’s never-ending with you two. I would think a giant eel attack would have you taking at least one day off.”

“We’re . . . oh, hell. What are you doing now?” Cal asked as we both caught sight of the rumpled clothes on the living room floor—a Salvation Army uniform, a sweatshirt that read ABSTINENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a Shriner’s fez.

That was the type of day it was going to be, then. I pinched the bridge of my nose at the oncoming headache.

Robin folded his arms and raised his eyebrows as if it were obvious. “I’m trying to change my ways. I’m helping the poor, the deluded, and the medically needy. Who could find fault in that?” he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Trying to change. More like trying very hard not to change. His brush with death as a result of similar behavior had him trying to prove to the world that he was fine the way that he was—and trying even harder to prove it to himself.

“You . . .” Cal started, then gave up immediately. I didn’t blame him. This was Robin as he was and as he would no doubt always be. Which was fine. I liked him . . . well, I was used to him the way he was. Semantics.

“Just don’t tell us the cat is involved as well,” I said. “There’s a line to be drawn, and necrophiliac bestiality would be it.”

“The cat.” He gritted his teeth. “Do you have an idea what my life is like now? No, you do not, and why? Let me tell you. Yesterday she got out and . . .”

“She?” Cal interrupted before inhaling. I could smell the cat in the apartment as well, and my sense of smell had nothing on his. The mummifying spices of cinnamon and ginger floated on the air, winding about us. “Hey, that’s nice,” Cal grinned. “You can’t beat a walking undead deodorizer for that domestic touch, can you, Nik?”

“She?” I prompted, returning to the subject at hand and giving his ribs the reprovingly sharp point of my elbow. The sooner Robin vented, the sooner we could get on with it.

“Yes, she,” Goodfellow snarled, “and a complete and utterly psycho bitch she is. Like many of my past liaisons, as a matter of fact. Yesterday she somehow opened the locks, got out the door, and ran into Mrs. Federstein’s Great Dane. The woman”—he made a seesawing gesture as if he wasn’t quite sure she qualified for the gender—“wholly unattractive and not especially bright, lets the dog roam up and down the hall for exercise. The poor, wretched creature is a hundred years old, completely deaf, mostly blind, and no brighter than his owner. Up and down the hall he weaves, bouncing off the walls, probably praying for death from whatever god dogs worship.” He sighed and ran an agitated hand into his wavy hair and clenched it there. “Well, he got his wish. I come home from the dealership last evening to find a ‘present’ on my pillow—one very big, very dead dog. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a Great Dane into the incinerator? Do you?”

“Aw, she loves you.” Cal’s grin stretched a little wider. It was a rare one for him, neither dark nor sarcastic. For one brief second he wasn’t thinking of the Auphe, and that made Robin’s rant more than worth listening to.

“What are you naming her?” I asked, as genuinely curious as I was genuinely amazed that he had kept her after all.

“Salome. She was a bitch too,” he replied, disgruntled. “All she could talk about was John the Baptist. Bring me his head on a platter. I want his head on a platter. Now, where’s that platter? Blah, blah. I was willing to serve up my dick on a platter, still attached, of course, but was that good enough for her? Nooo.”

“Robin, we’re starting without you.”

I could say if it was a female or male voice coming from the bedroom, but what was the point? Robin lived a restriction-free life in that area. All areas, actually. It was too bad for him that was about to come to an abrupt, if hopefully temporary, end.

He turned and walked away, waving us off with a “Thanks for visiting. Drop by anytime. My best to the family. Pick a platitude and leave with it.”

“I don’t think so.” I tapped his shoulder with the blade of my katana, stopping him in his tracks. “Pack. You’re coming with us. We’re all staying at Promise’s until the Auphe situation is resolved.”

He looked in the direction of the bedroom and then back at me. “I most certainly am not.”

I gave a smile sharp as my sword. “Yes, you most certainly are.”

Twenty minutes later Goodfellow, still not at peak performance after his drunken three days, was in a cab on his way to Promise’s penthouse apartment. His playmates had left fifteen minutes prior to that. Apparently, a sword fight in the living room wasn’t the aphrodisiac one might imagine.

“You enjoyed that way too much,” Cal observed as he watched the cab pull into traffic.

“Did I?” Salome, the Great Dane-loving feline, was staying behind. She didn’t need to eat, drink, or eliminate. She would be fine on her own. All in all, other than the killing of domesticated animals twenty times her size, she was the perfect pet. Robin would be selling them via infomercial within the month. Goodfellow’s Mummy Cats—Gummy Cats no doubt.

“You’re getting cranky in your old age, Cyrano,” he snorted at the satisfaction in my voice.

“Children need boundaries.” I had enjoyed it; there was no denying it. And if he hadn’t been up all night doing things Caligula had only dreamed of, he would’ve been able to hold his own. As it was, workoutwise . . .

I shifted a speculative gaze to Cal, and he groaned. “Nik, damn. My back hurts. I’m still tired from last night. Come on.”

It was several hours and dark before we made it home to do packing of our own. We stayed away from the park this time and used a dojo where I’d once taught. One student had offered to spar with Cal during one of our breaks. Cal, sweaty and tired, had given him the highly pissed-off reply of, “Niko can keep me from killing him. You can’t. Go away.” Not precisely tactful, but true. His form was virtually nonexistent, the results undeniably deadly. He wasn’t as good as I was—there was only so much inherent laziness one could overcome, but he was good.

Good enough that he noticed it the same moment I did. We’d finished sparring and went home to pick up clothes and gear to take to Promise’s penthouse. Reaching our apartment door, we entered, and it came that quickly before I had a chance to turn the light on. The sensation of something slicing through the air—headed in our direction. I gave Cal one hard push to the side and dove to the floor. It passed over my head and hit the wall with a distinctive chopping sound. A sword. Not Auphe, then. An Auphe didn’t need a sword.

“Vampire,” Cal said, his voice coming from near the floor by the couch. “I smell you, Seamus. You ambushing piece of shit.”

Seamus, whose jealousy phase had passed a century ago. I’d trusted Promise’s normally excellent judgment. I should’ve trusted Cal’s; I should’ve trusted my own. I heard the sound of metal ripped free of plaster, and then I could see him as he moved back. Silhouetted against the city lights streaming through the cracked window blinds, the bulk of him paused for a moment, then slid with a fluid speed to the right.

“I never knew I wanted her back, all these years. But then I saw her again. Smelled her. Touched her. And I do want her back. She should be with me,” he spat. “She belongs with me. Her mate. Her true mate.”

I’d moved to my feet, silent and smooth. I caught the next swing of his blade on my own before I spoke. “Her choice, not yours.”

Vampires could see better than humans in the dark, but my eyes had adjusted now. I could see him, albeit in shades of dark gray and black. “Then I shall narrow her options,” he said coldly.

There were no further words, only the sound of blade against blade. Cal would have his Glock in hand, but Seamus and I were moving too fast for him to get a shot lined up. The vampire was quick and he was good—the type of good that was learned from time on a battlefield. Years. But I’d been in battles myself, faced creatures I doubt even Seamus had ever seen. Yes, vampires were quick and lethal.

But so was I.

I twisted and swung the katana. Inches from having his head severed, Seamus jerked to one side and sliced toward me again. From the shadowy length and breadth of it, he was carrying a broadsword. He swung it like it was one. Two-handed and with the weight of a mountain behind it. In the dim light, I could see his eyes were all black—the eyes of a vampire in the midst of strong emotion. Fury, I was guessing. I used it. His next strike, full of rage, took him slightly off balance. Barely detectable, but I caught it. I slammed a boot in his gut. He staggered, but less than he should have. His breed was stronger than humans, and Seamus, big and broad, was no exception. I slid around his next blow, but it was close. The point of the sword cut through my skin, tracing a superficial slice. He gave an incoherent growl at the miss and with one furious kick sent the couch flying up on end to then promptly topple over. I heard Cal curse as he leapt out of the way. Then I heard him say one more thing.

“Lights.”

Vampires could see well in the dark, yes, but humans saw well in the light. As our lights flared on, Seamus closed his eyes against it for a fraction of a second. That was about half as long as I needed. He swiveled, but not before I carved off a slice of flesh over his ribs. He didn’t let that slow him. He kept coming . . . right into Cal’s crosshairs. Three bullets hit his upper back before he shifted direction and made it to the door, split it in half with his weight, and was gone. Cal, by the light switch, instantly vaulted over the shattered wood to follow him.

It was too late. If he’d thought it through, he’d know that. Short of chasing Seamus down to the lobby and killing him in front of anyone who happened to be strolling through, this fight was over. I reached through the doorway and caught Cal by the back of his jacket as the door to the stairwell slammed shut at the end of the hall. I saw it on the wall down there and on the doorknob, swipes and smears of dark red. Blood. Some would say quite a bit.

I would say not nearly enough.