Unnatural Acts

by Kevin J. Anderson

I turned, as did many of the other unnaturals. I was astonished to see Missy Goodfellow’s assistant, Angela Drake. “A hundred,” she repeated.

  “That doubles the bid—one hundred, from the young woman in the back.” The wizard picked up the willow wand beside his podium and pointed toward Angela. The unnaturals dove aside just in case the wand misfired . . . but it emitted not even a spark of magic.

  “One fifty,” I said. Angela had discreetly gone in and out of the pawnshop during the tumult of Senator Balfour’s street protest; I wondered why in the world she would want the ledger. Possibilities occurred to me in waves.

  I did not like the way Missy Goodfellow conducted business. What if the Smile Syndicate was using the pawnshop for moving stolen merchandise, or as a front for drug operations—even selling illegal souvenirs? No telling what else I could find in the ledger. It might be a gold mine. Now I wanted it even more than before.

  Angela looked at me as if I were a rank amateur. She glanced at her watch. “My time is worth more than this dickering. Five hundred for the ledger book.”

  The unnaturals gasped, and I let out an involuntary groan. Five hundred dollars? To solve one pro bono case and an arson case for which the ghostly client might or might not be able to pay? There must be something very important in that book. I needed to have it.

  “Seven fifty,” I said. Sheyenne and Robin would both be horrified, but from the look on Angela’s face, I knew she would never let the item go.

  “A thousand,” she said with barely a second’s hesitation.

  I decided to let her have the ledger. I guess I’d have to solve the cases some other way—but I’m a detective; that’s what I do.

  The wizard waved the useless wand again. “Sold! To the woman in back.”

  Angela produced a wad of bills and paid in cash so she could take the ledger book with her immediately. I thought about offering her a hundred dollars just for a quick look at the entries, but Angela would never go for that.

  She walked past me, cradling the book close to her chest, and said with a sniff, “No need to air dirty laundry outside of the family.” Now I knew the Smile Syndicate was doing something underhanded.

  I tried to accept defeat with good grace, though I don’t think I managed it.

  So as not to go away completely empty-handed, I used the money to purchase Sheyenne’s jewelry. That made me feel good, a gesture I had to make for her, though I doubted it would quench her anger toward her brother.

  CHAPTER 35

  Once Robin started applying pressure on behalf of the Pattersons, she became an absolute pit bull. She did not include Harvey Jekyll’s case in her remarks or filings, deciding her best strategy was to achieve a victory with the likable couple first before she muddied the swamp.

  In only a few days, Robin had filed an anti-discrimination complaint, sent out press releases, and generated a fair amount of publicity (and sympathy) for the Pattersons. Not only did the mortgage bank agree to review the previously declined application, but in a remarkably quick turnaround they relented and offered a loan with an expedited closing date, since the couple had been trying to purchase their dream home for months now.

  The homeowners’ association held an emergency meeting so that Walter and Judy Patterson could present impassioned pleas, expressing their desire to have a nice, quiet life in a nice, quiet neighborhood. Sitting with her clients and smiling, Robin followed their statement with, “Walter and Judy Patterson are such a nice couple. Don’t you think they’ll make good witnesses in a discrimination lawsuit?”

  Apparently agreeing, the homeowners’ association withdrew their bogus objections to having a werewolf and vampire couple in the neighborhood; they also paid a monetary concession to get the couple to drop their case—not a huge settlement, but enough to cover most of the Pattersons’ moving expenses.

  Delighted, Robin told them to pack up the moving van for their home sweet home. I think, deep in her heart, Robin would have preferred to fight the case all the way, just to establish a legal precedent. However, she could still reference it as an example in her similar fight for Jekyll’s rights.

  “Dan, you’re coming with me. The Pattersons and their moving van are heading off to the house, and we should be there for moral support. I’ve already alerted the local police and requested protection or crowd control if necessary.” She glanced out at the dingy buildings of the Unnatural Quarter. “Things might get ugly out there.”

  We took Robin’s battered Pro Bono Mobile to Meadow Shadows, the quaint subdivision where the Pattersons had bought their dream home. As our car puttered along, gasping and wheezing like an asthmatic mummy, I wasn’t convinced we would make it out to the subdivision. We had to park two blocks away because of the growing crowds.

  The cul-de-sac was already a circus of reporters and policemen (who weren’t necessarily supporters of unnatural rights). Since Meadow Shadows was outside the Quarter, McGoo had been unable to help us.

  Tiffany agreed to show up as a concerned citizen, accompanied by Bill (maybe as practice for his security job applications). Their presence was something, at least, but not an overwhelming show of support. Harvey Jekyll and his bodyguard Larry arrived incognito, to see what sort of difficulties he might face once he moved out to the suburbs. They hung at the edges of the crowd.

  Robin and I made our way to the nice ranch house just as the moving van arrived with Walter and Judy Patterson and all their possessions.

  Emboldened by the recent legislative victory, ten of Senator Balfour’s moronic minions were picketing with their GOD HATES UNATURALS and KEEP THE FILTH IN THE SOUWER signs. They formed a human cordon across the road to block the moving van, but the police herded them aside long enough for the truck to drive through before the cordon re-formed, now preventing the van from leaving the cul-de-sac. That might have made the situation even worse, I thought.

  Robin and I pushed our way forward to meet the married couple as they swung down from the cab. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson wore work clothes, ready to haul boxes inside and set up their household, but they cringed from the howls, insults, and catcalls that came from the angry crowd.

  Robin turned to shout at the spectators. “This couple has every right to live here. Shame on you all.”

  “Shame on you!” said one of Senator Balfour’s supporters. “God hates unnaturals, but He loves Meadow Shadows subdivision!”

  “Go home!” yelled someone else.

  Judy Patterson took her vampire husband’s hand, lifted her snout, and faced the angry mob. “We are home!” Although she wanted to bare her fangs and claws while her husband glamoured them all, Robin had advised the Pattersons to take the high road. They spoke with respect instead of anger, and the media recorded every bit of it.

  Mrs. Patterson gestured toward the house with a furry hand. “We’ll pay property taxes, we’ll maintain the landscaping, and we’ll do everything we can to be good neighbors.”

  Mr. Patterson added, “This has long been a dream of ours. My wife and I are very happy to be living together in our new home.”

  A small number of spectators applauded; a large number didn’t. As soon as the Pattersons opened the front door, a professional-looking man in a black business suit and narrow tie stepped up the sidewalk to meet them. The guy-in-tie handed over a folded sheaf of papers. “Mr. and Mrs. Patterson, consider yourselves served. You are hereby in violation of the Unnatural Acts Act. This is a summons with charges pending. Senator Balfour intends to see that this matter is prosecuted to the fullest extent. Our legal teams are already preparing their briefs.”

  “Violation?” Judy Patterson said. “What violation?”

  Robin took the summons from him, unfolded the papers. “This is ridiculous! They’re just moving into a house. They’ve qualified for a mortgage, and they have just as much right to be here as anyone else.”

  “No, I’m afraid they do not,” said the guy-in-tie. “The Unnatural Acts Act makes it patently illegal for any person to ‘live with an
unnatural in a conjugal manner,’ and they just publicly admitted to doing so.”

  “But we’re married!” said Mr. Patterson.

  The business-suited man cleared his throat. “According to the Act, your marriage is not recognized either, because marriage is specifically defined as one human man and one human woman.”

  The spectators began to shout and howl. The guy-in-tie turned away, walked down the sidewalk, and melted into the crowd.

  Tears rolled down the fur on Mrs. Patterson’s face. “It’s like a stake through my heart,” Mr. Patterson said.

  “Don’t you worry,” Robin said, then yelled for the media. “I plan to fight this—just as I fought to get the sweatshop golems freed, and as I’m fighting discrimination against the human bartender at the Goblin Tavern!”

  The police dispersed the crowd, and I noticed that Harvey Jekyll had slunk away with his werewolf bodyguard shouldering spectators aside.

  Tiffany and Bill tried to cheer the Pattersons by pitching in to unload the moving van, but it didn’t help much. We all carried boxes inside, hoping to encourage the unnatural couple, and eventually, as Mrs. Patterson unpacked the kitchen utensils, the protesters got bored and drifted away.

  CHAPTER 36

  After his bank robbery stunt, the ghost of Alphonse Wheeler did not want to await his trial or sentencing. In fact, he didn’t even bother to hear the formal charges; Wheeler volunteered to pay his debt to society, promised he would save the taxpayers the legal costs of a drawn-out courtroom trial, and surrendered himself for voluntary imprisonment.

  Realistically, for ghosts, all imprisonment is voluntary, but even so it was a nice gesture.

  The penal system worked tirelessly to improve methods of spectral incarceration. While effective lockup methods had been instituted for garden-variety unnaturals such as zombies, vampires, and werewolves (both the monthly and the full-time types), criminal poltergeists and convicted ghosts posed the biggest hazard. Mediums and exorcists offered stopgap spirit-containment measures, but most of those didn’t work.

  With the momentum of his Unnatural Acts Act, Senator Balfour had announced that solving the ghost-felon problem was his next crusade, advocating that the only punishment a ghost criminal deserved was a clean and straightforward disintegration, an eternal death sentence. He had already commissioned numerous ectoplasmic defibrillators from Harvey Jekyll and was ready to use them.

  “It is the only compassionate method,” Balfour had said, not sounding the least bit compassionate. “We’re helping those troubled ghosts go to the light.”

  Wheeler did not contest the fact he had committed a crime and needed to be punished. He promised to remain inside the jail for whatever sentence the judge decided to impose, provided it wasn’t eternity.

  When Robin, Sheyenne, and I visited him in prison, Wheeler seemed comfortable and right at home, far less anxious than when we’d first met him in our offices. His ghost now manifested with a prison uniform instead of his checkered jacket. He liked the familiarity of incarceration and said he looked forward to making new friends.

  “I’m sure you’ll fit in, Mr. Wheeler,” Robin said, as we sat across from him at a plain metal table in the community room.

  Muted conversations blurred together at other tables. I saw a vampire woman holding hands with a convicted vampire felon, telling him that their request for conjugal visits had been denied.

  A werewolf raised his voice, pounding his fists on a table. “But if they’re not twelve werewolves, then it’s not a jury of my peers!” His public defender cringed and told his client to calm down.

  A bored and skeptical attorney took notes as a zombie covered with gangbanger tattoos insisted, “I swear, I just found the stuff! It wasn’t mine! I was going to give it to charity.” He glanced over at Alphonse Wheeler. The translucent robber gave him a thumbs-up. “Yeah,” the gangbanger zombie continued, “I was going to donate it to MLDW so they can keep doing good work.”

  These were the cases we didn’t take on at Chambeaux & Deyer.

  Wheeler leaned closer to us and said, “I want MLDW’s resources to go toward helping people like that. As for me, I’m in here for the duration . . . unless I decide to escape. Wouldn’t that be exciting? Alphonse Wheeler, legendary bank robber, in a great prison break?”

  “It’s not all that exciting if you can just walk through the walls anytime you like, Mr. Wheeler,” I pointed out.

  “Don’t take all the fun out of it for me.” He leaned back in his chair. “Let me get serious for a moment. You’ve helped me, and I want to return the favor. Now that we’re here, with no one eavesdropping, I should warn you. . . .”

  Robin, Sheyenne, and I gave him our full attention. When a ghost feels the need to deliver a dire warning, it’s a good idea to listen.

  “Word gets around the Quarter—I know the cases you’re working on, the sweatshop golems you freed, the antidiscrimination suit against the Smile Syndicate and the Goblin Tavern, the murder of the pawnshop gremlin. I even heard you bid against Missy Goodfellow’s assistant at the estate auction, and before that you stopped by Smile HQ to talk with Missy?”

  “Just introducing myself,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know the can of worms you’ve opened. Who do you think I used to work for in the old days? I robbed banks and gave half of my money to Oswald Goodfellow just to keep him happy.” He looked intently at all three of us. “The Smile Syndicate might have a pretty logo and a cute name now, but trust me—they’re still the mob. Don’t let Missy Goodfellow’s sweet face fool you.”

  I pictured the cold ice queen with the dyed goldenrod hair. “I never actually thought of her face as sweet.”

  Wheeler rested his elbows on the table, though he miscalculated and sank partly through. “Believe me, the Smile Syndicate is filled with the sort of people who have kitten-drowning contests and wear coats made of baby seal pelts.”

  Robin gasped. “Monsters!”

  Wheeler shook his head. “No, just humans.”

  The guard informed us that the visit was over, and we rose from our chairs. Wheeler drifted up, ready to be escorted back to his cell, and he lowered his voice to say one last thing. “Don’t tell Missy I warned you. I may be here in prison, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get shanked—if anybody figures out how to do it.”

  “We’ll keep your advice in mind, Mr. Wheeler,” I said.

  Thinking of the sinister harassment Neffi had encountered at the Full Moon—the threats, the broken black-glass windows, the smashed cat sarcophagi—I wondered if the Smile Syndicate was trying to move into more unnatural activities than the Goblin Tavern and kitschy souvenir shops. I definitely wasn’t smiling at the thought.

  CHAPTER 37

  I found myself heading back to the Full Moon again, although this time my reasons weren’t quite as clear cut, certainly nothing that would have convinced Sheyenne. I told myself that many threads of current cases tangled in and around the brothel, and if I were to dig through Neffi’s client records, I would find clues to various mysteries. (At the very least, the information would be fascinating.)

  My main reason for going there, though, was to check on the sad succubus whose life seemed to be falling apart. I wanted to make sure Ruth was all right, to see if she had found alternative employment. I tried to tell myself she wasn’t my problem—I barely even knew her—but I wanted to take her under my wing, see that she lived happily ever after. Somebody deserved that.

  My feelings were altruistic. I was just being an upstanding citizen, a Good Samaritan. Nothing wrong with that. I was convinced I hadn’t been the target of some kind of succubus glamour.

  Probably not, at least.

  It wasn’t the sort of problem I could discuss with Spooky.

  When the golem doorman led me into the parlor, the languid negligee-clad ladies called me by name—which, in itself, was not a good sign, a reminder of how frequently I stopped by. I told myself it was all business, only business. Neffi
’s office door was partially closed, and the unwrapped mummy madam pored over her ledger books; file drawers were open as she added up her accounts. She had been glum ever since the vandals smashed the sarcophagi that preserved two of her mummified cats.

  Cinnamon was doing her nails; I didn’t see either of the zombie girls, but one of the upstairs doors was closed. Heavy shuffling sounds came from the room; Aubrey and Savannah were either rearranging furniture or engaged with a very large client, and I didn’t want to know which.

  “I’m here to see Ruth,” I said.

  “My, aren’t you the brave man after what happened?” The werewolf kept filing away with an emery board.

  “Not like that. Just worried about her.”

  “You’re sweet on that succubus, I think,” said the raven-haired vampire princess. “No need to feel embarrassed, especially not here. We’re very discreet.”

  If my feelings were that obvious, maybe I was fooling myself after all.

  “He sees her as much as Wheeler’s ghost used to,” said Hemlock.

  “Wheeler is in jail now,” I said.

  “For as long as he wants to be.” Nightshade tittered. “For now, she’s all yours. Ruth!”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, embarrassed. Fortunately, having embalming fluid instead of blood makes the flush hard to see.

  The green-eyed succubus came shyly out from a back room and smiled at me. “I was just packing up my things, Dan. Time to be moving on . . . though I don’t have any place to go.”

  Hearing our voices, Neffi emerged from the office, crossed her sticklike arms over her chest. “Unless you’ve come to tell me about the case, I’m going to have to start charging you for your time with Ruth.” Her face looked even more pinched than usual, although I doubted anyone else would have noticed. “She’s not earning us any money.”

  Ruth looked deeply hurt, and I felt the need to come to her defense. “I can solve the problem if I get more information.” I tried to sound as professional as possible. “I’ll see if Irwyn Goodfellow can help Ruth. He found jobs for all the liberated golems.”