Anita Blake 4 - Lunatic Cafe

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  The smile faded from his round little face. He looked solemn and worried. "We've got to talk, Anita."

  "Will this be a long story?"

  He seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded. "Could be."

  "Then come upstairs. I'll fix us both some real coffee."

  "Real coffee as opposed to fake coffee?" he asked.

  I started for the stairs. "I'll fix you a cup of java that'll put hair on your chest."

  He laughed.

  I realized I'd made a pun and hadn't meant to. I know Irving is a shapeshifter. I've even seen his wolf form. But I forget. He's a friend and doesn't seem the least preternatural in human form.

  We sat at the small kitchenette table, sipping vanilla nut creme coffee. My suit jacket was draped over the back of the kitchen chair. It left my gun and shoulder holster exposed. "I thought you were on a date tonight, Blake."

  "I was."

  "Some date."

  "A girl can never be too careful."

  Irving blew on his cup, sipping it delicately. His eyes had flicked from side to side, taking in everything. Days from now he'd be able to describe the room completely, down to the Nike Airs and jogging socks in front of the couch.

  "What's up, Irving?"

  "Great coffee." He wouldn't meet my eyes. It was a bad sign.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Has Richard told you anything about Marcus?"

  "Your pack leader, right?"

  Irving looked surprised. "He told you?"

  "I found out tonight that your alpha is named Marcus. There's a battle of succession going on. Marcus wants Richard dead. Richard says he won't fight him."

  "Oh, he fought him, all right," Irving said.

  It was my turn to be surprised. "Then why isn't Richard pack leader?"

  "Richard got squeamish. He had him, Blake, claws at Marcus's throat." Irving shook his head. "He thought when Marcus recovered they could talk, compromise." He made a rude sound. "Your boyfriend is an idealist."

  Idealist. It was almost the same thing as fool. Jean-Claude and Irving agreed. They didn't agree on much.

  "Explain."

  "You can move up in the pack hierarchy by fighting. You win, you go up a notch. You lose, you stay where you are." He took a long sip of coffee, eyes closed as if drinking in the warmth. "Until you fight for pack leader."

  "Let me guess. It's a fight to the death."

  "No killie, no new leader," he said.

  I shook my head, coffee sitting untouched in front of me. "Why are you telling me all this, Irving? Why now?"

  "Marcus wants to meet you."

  "Why didn't Richard tell me that himself?"

  "Richard doesn't want you involved."

  "Why not?" Irving kept answering my questions, but the answers weren't helping much.

  Irving shrugged. "Richard won't give Marcus a freaking inch. If Marcus said black, Richard would say white."

  "Why does Marcus want to see me?"

  "I don't know," Irving said.

  "Yeah, right."

  "Honest, Blake, I don't know what's going on. Something big is up, and no one's talking to me."

  "Why not? You're a shapeshifter."

  "I'm also a reporter. I made the mistake years back of printing an article. The lycanthrope I talked to lied, said he never gave me permission to quote him. He lost his job. Some of the others wanted to out me, too, let me lose my job." He huddled around his coffee mug. Eyes distant with remembering. "Marcus said no, said I was more valuable to them as a reporter. No one's really trusted me since."

  "Not a forgiving bunch," I said. I sipped my coffee and found it cooling. If I drank it fast enough, it would be drinkable, barely.

  "They never forgive and they never forget," Irving said.

  Sounds like a bad character trait, but it's one of my founding principles, so I couldn't complain much. "So Marcus sent you out here to talk to me. About what?"

  "He wants to meet you. To talk some kind of business."

  I got up and refilled my mug. A little less sugar this time. I was beginning to wake up just from frustration. "Let him make an appointment to come to my office."

  Irving shook his head. "Marcus is some hotshot surgeon. You know what would happen if even a hint of what he is got out?"

  I could understand that. You might get away with being a shapeshifter on some jobs. Doctor was not one of them. There was still the dentist in Texas that was being sued by a patient. Said she contracted lycanthropy from him. Nonsense. You didn't get it from having human hands in your mouth. But the case hadn't been thrown out. People didn't have a lot of sympathy for fur balls treating their kid's sparkling teeth.

  "Okay, send someone else to the office. Surely, Marcus must trust someone."

  "Richard has forbidden anyone to contact you."

  I just looked at him. "Forbidden?"

  Irving nodded. "Anyone lower in the pack order contacts you at their peril."

  I started to smile and stopped. He was serious. "You're not kidding."

  He raised a three-fingered salute. "Scout's honor."

  "So how come you're here? You looking to move up in the pack?"

  He paled. Honest to God, he paled. "Me? Fight Richard? Hell no."

  "Then Richard won't mind you talking to me?"

  "Oh, he'll mind."

  I frowned. "Is Marcus going to protect you?"

  "Richard gave a specific order. Marcus can't interfere."

  "But he ordered you to come see me," I said.

  "Yep."

  "What's to stop Richard from busting your chops about this?"

  Irving grinned. "I thought you'd protect me."

  I laughed. "You son of a bitch."

  "Maybe, but I know you, Blake. You won't like that Richard's been keeping things from you. You certainly won't like him protecting you. Besides, I've been your friend for years. I don't think you'll stand by while your boyfriend beats the hell out of me."

  Irving knew me better than Richard did. It was not a comforting thought. Had I been fooled by a handsome face, a nice sense of humor? Had I not seen the real Richard? I shook my head. Could I be fooled that completely? I hoped not.

  "Do I have your protection?" He was still smiling, but there was something in his eyes. Fear, maybe.

  "You need me to say it out loud for it to be official?"

  "Yeah."

  "That a rule in the lycanthrope underground?"

  "One of them," he said.

  "You have my protection, but I want information in return."

  "I told you I don't know anything, Blake."

  "Tell me what it's like to be a lycanthrope, Irving. Richard seems determined to keep me in the dark. I don't like being in the dark."

  Irving smiled. "I heard that."

  "You be my guide to the world of the furry, and I'll keep Richard off your back."

  "Agreed."

  "When does Marcus want to meet?"

  "Tonight." Irving had the grace to look embarrassed.

  I shook my head. "No way. I'm going to bed. I'll meet with Marcus tomorrow, but not tonight."

  He looked down into his coffee, fingertips touching the mug. "He wants it to be tonight." He looked up at me. "Why do you think I've been camped out in my car?"

  "I am not at the beck and call of every monster in town. I don't even know what Fur Face wants to meet about." I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. "No way am I going out tonight to play with shapeshifters."

  Irving squirmed in his chair, rotating the coffee cup slowly on the table. He wouldn't meet my eyes again.

  "What's wrong now?"

  "Marcus told me to set up a meeting with you. If I refused, he'd have me . . . punished. If I come here, Richard gets pissed. I'm trapped between two alpha males, and I ain't up to it."

  "Are you asking me to protect you from Marcus, as well as Richard?"

  "No," he said, shaking his head, "no. You're good, Blake, but you aren't in Marcus's league."

  "Glad
to hear it," I said.

  "Will you meet with Marcus tonight?"

  "If I say no, do you get in trouble?"

  He stared into his coffee. "Would you believe no?"

  "Nope."

  He looked at me, brown eyes very serious. "He'll get mad, but I'll live."

  "But he'll make you hurt." It wasn't a question.

  "Yeah." That one word so soft, so tentative. It wasn't like Irving.

  "I'll see him on one condition. That you're present at the meeting."

  His face bloomed into a grin that spread from pole to pole. "You are a true friend, Blake." All the sadness was gone, washed away in the rosy glow of finding out what the hell was going on. Even ass deep in alligators, Irving was a reporter. It was who and what he was, more than the lycanthropy.

  The smile alone was worth a meeting. Besides, I wanted to know if Richard was really in danger. Meeting the man who was threatening him was the only real way to find out. Also, I didn't really care for someone threatening one of my friends. Silver-plated bullets only slowed down a vampire, unless you can take out the head and heart. Silver bullets will kill a werewolf, no second chances, no healing, just dead.

  Marcus might remember that. If he pushed it, I might even remind him.

  Chapter 10

  Irving had called Marcus from my apartment. Again Irving didn't know why, all he did know was Marcus said to call before we came. I went into the bedroom. Hung up my dryclean-only suit, and changed clothes. Black jeans, red polo shirt, black Nikes with a blue swoosh, and real socks. I abandoned jogging socks for everyday wear once winter set in.

  I reached for the bulky green sweater I had laid out on the bed. I hesitated. It wasn't the fact that the sweater had stylized Christmas trees on it, and it might not be the coolest thing to wear. I didn't give a damn about that. I was debating on whether to carry a second gun. A fashion accessory nearer and dearer to my heart than any piece of clothing.

  No lycanthrope had threatened me yet, but ol' Gretchen the vamp had. She might not be a master vampire but she was close. Besides, the memory of the cop taking the Browning away was still fresh. I had too many preternatural enemies to go unarmed. I got out my Uncle Mike's sidekick inner-pants holster. A comfy fit that didn't ruin the line of your jeans unless someone was really looking.

  My main backup gun is a Firestar 9mm. Small, light, pretty to look at, and I could wear it at my waist and still be able to sit down. The sweater hung to midthigh. The gun was invisible unless you frisked me. The gun was set in front, ready for a cross-draw. Probably wouldn't need it. Probably.

  The sweater bulked up around the straps of the shoulder holster. I've seen people wear shoulder rigs underneath bulky sweaters or sweatshirts, but you lose a few seconds groping under the cloth. I'd rather look less than fashion perfect and live.

  The sweater was too long for my leather jacket, so I was back in my black trench coat. Me and Phillip Marlowe. I didn't take any extra ammo. I figured twenty-one rounds was enough for one night. I even left my knives at home. I almost talked myself out of the Firestar. I usually didn't start carrying two guns until after people had tried to kill me. I shrugged. Why wait? If I didn't need it, I'd feel silly tomorrow. If I did need it, I wouldn't feel silly at all.

  Irving was waiting for me. Sitting on the couch like a good little boy. He looked like a schoolboy whom the teacher had made stand in the corner.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Marcus wanted me to just give you directions. He doesn't want me at the meeting. I said, you wouldn't come without me. That you didn't trust him." He looked up at me. "He's pretty pissed."

  "But you stood your ground," I said.

  "Yeah."

  "Why don't you sound happier about that?"

  He shrugged. "Marcus in a bad mood is not a pleasant experience, Blake."

  "I'll drive, you give directions."

  "Marcus said we both should drive. He said that I'd need to stay after the meeting, for a little talk."

  "Come on, Irving, I'm driving, you're giving directions, and when I leave, you leave."

  "I appreciate the offer, Blake, but you don't want Marcus mad at you."

  "If I'm protecting you from Richard, I might as well throw in Marcus."

  He shook his head. "No, you follow my car." He held up a hand. "No more arguing, Blake. I am a werewolf. I have to live in the community. I can't afford to make a stand against Marcus, not over one little talk."

  I wanted to argue some more, but I didn't. Irving knew his problems better than I did. If fighting Marcus over this would make things worse, then I'd let it go. But I didn't like it.

  The Lunatic Cafe was located in University City. Its sign was a glowing crescent moon with the restaurant name done in soft blue neon. Except for the name, and the nifty sign, the place didn't look much different from all the other shops and restaurants in the college district.

  It was Friday night and there was no parking. I was beginning to think Marcus would have to come out to my car, when a wine dark Impala pulled out of the two spaces it had been hogging. My Jeep slipped in with room for a second car on one side.

  Irving waited in front of the restaurant. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. The ridiculous muffler trailed nearly to the ground. He looked distracted and not a bit happy.

  I walked towards him with the trench coat flapping around me like a cape. Even like this, most people wouldn't see the gun. They'd see a small woman with a bright Christmas sweater. People see what they expect to see most of the time. The people that I was wearing the gun for would notice, and know I was armed.

  Irving pushed the door in without a word. Irving, quiet? I didn't like seeing him subdued, almost beaten, like a kicked dog. It made me not like Marcus, and I hadn't even met him.

  Noise poured around us just inside the door. A murmur of voices so thick it was like ocean noise. Silverware clinked, someone laughed high and bright like a hand rising from the noise, to be swallowed back again and lost. There was a bar along one wall, polished dark wood, old and lovingly cared for. The rest of the room held small, round tables that could comfortably seat about four. Every seat was full, and then some. Three doorways opened up; one beside the bar, one to the right, one in the middle. More tables were shoved into the smaller rooms.

  The cafe had started life as someone's home. We were standing in the living room. Through the doorways leading to the other rooms were open archways, as if someone had knocked down a few walls. Even with that, the place was claustrophobic. People were three deep at the bar waiting for a table. The place was jammed to bursting with happy, smiling people.

  One of the women behind the bar came around, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into the tie of her apron. She gave a wide, welcoming smile. She had a pair of menus in her one hand.

  I started to say, but we don't need . . . when Irving gripped my arm. Tension vibrated through his hand. He'd grabbed my right arm. I turned to tell him not to do that, but the look on his face stopped me. He was staring at the smiling woman as if she had sprouted a second head. I turned back to the woman, and looked at her. Really looked at her.

  She was tall, slender, with long, straight hair. It was a rich, reddish auburn that gleamed under the lights. Her face was a soft triangle, chin maybe a little too pointed, but overall she was lovely. Her eyes were a strange amber-brown that matched her hair perfectly.

  Her smile widened, just a lift of lips. I knew what I was looking at. Lycanthrope. One that could pass for human. Like Richard.

  I looked out over the room, and realized why it felt so tight. It wasn't just the crowd. A majority of the happy, smiling people were shapeshifters. Their energy burned in the air like the weight of a thunderstorm. I had thought the crowd was boisterous, too loud, but it was the shapeshifters. Their energy boiled and filled the room, masquerading as the energy of any crowd. As I stood there at the door, a face lifted here and there. Human eyes looked at me, but the glance wasn't human.

  The glance was considering,
testing. How tough was I? How good would I taste? It reminded me of the way Richard had been watching the crowd at the Fox. I felt like a chicken at a coyote convention. I was suddenly glad of the second gun.

  "Welcome to the Lunatic Cafe, Ms. Blake," the woman said. "I'm Raina Wallis, proprietor. If you'll follow me. Your party is waiting for you." She said it all with a smile and a warm glow in her eyes. Irving's grip on my arm was nearly painful.

  I leaned into him, and whispered, "That's my right arm."

  He blinked at me. His eyes flicked to the Browning, and he let go, muttering, "Sorry."

  Raina leaned closer. Irving flinched. "I won't bite, Irving, not yet." She gave a low laugh that was rich and bubbling. The kind of laugh that was meant for bedrooms and private jokes. The laugh gave her eyes and body a different look. She suddenly seemed more voluptuous, more sensual than just a second ago. Nicely weird.

  "Mustn't keep Marcus waiting." She turned and began threading her way through the tables.

  I glanced at Irving. "Something you want to tell me?"

  "Raina's our alpha female. If the punishment's going to be really bad, she does it. She's a lot more creative than Marcus."

  Raina was motioning to us by the archway near the bar. Her lovely face was frowning, looking a little less lovely, and a lot more bitchy.

  I patted his shoulder. "I won't let her hurt you."

  "You can't stop it."

  "We'll see," I said.

  He nodded, but not as if he believed me. He started between the tables. I followed. A woman touched his hand as he walked past. Gave him a smile. She was about my size, and dainty, with straight black hair cut short that framed her face like black lace. Irving squeezed her fingers and kept walking. Her large, dark eyes met mine. The eyes told me nothing. They had smiled at Irving; for me they were neutral. Like the eyes of a wolf I'd seen once in California. I'd walked around a tree and there it had stood. I had never really understood what neutral meant until that moment. Those pale eyes stared at me, waiting. If I threatened it, it would attack. If I left it alone, it would run. My choice. The wolf hadn't given a damn which way it turned out.

  I kept walking, but the space between my shoulder blades was itching. I knew if I turned around that nearly every eye would be on me, on us. The weight of their gaze was physical.