by R. J. Blain
Even a month ago, I would’ve put some serious thought into killing for such a nice flop.
“What’s on the other side of the wall?”
“Bar bathroom,” Kelsie replied with a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s open all night, too. Can’t hear a thing from it, either.”
If someone heard her, they’d assume the noise came from the bar, too. “Nice niche, Kelsie.”
“I heard you lost your flop. If you need a spot, I’ve room for you.”
I wondered how someone like her could stay so kind despite everything. “I’m good. I lost the flop because I’m a Bach now.”
Kelsie’s face lit up. “You made it?”
The way she breathed the question hurt, her question filled with hope.
“I made it,” I confirmed.
“Of all us rats, you deserve it. You worked so hard to get there. You would read at any streetlamp you could find that hadn’t burned out, and you were always skittering about trying to get extra paper to write your numbers on.”
Well, I’d written a lot more than just numbers on the papers, including intel for Kenneth, but I didn’t dare correct her. Kelsie had no idea I worked as a hound, and she’d hate me if she learned the truth. Drugs had ruined everything for her. It’d ruined everything for me, too, but she still paid the price for its dark influence on the city.
I forced a smile. “I’ve got some spare cold medicine, and I’m happy to share. I can get more for you.”
Kelsie pointed at Colby. “Is that your dae?”
Dae again. I wondered, but before I could reply, Colby bounced in and bumped against the woman as though snuggling with her. “Mommy,” Colby announced.
“That’s so cute!”
Concussion, hallucination, apocalypse, or mass insanity? The possibilities kept growing. “I guess it is, isn’t it?”
“Yes. What’s its name?”
“I named it Colby.”
“That’s adorable.”
“I should take Colby home, though, and get you some medicine. You sit tight, and I’ll knock on your bricks when I’m back, all right? I’ll see what else I can get for you so you can lay low.”
“You would? For me?”
“Of course.” I couldn’t help everyone, but I could help her, so I would.
I didn’t have a cold. I didn’t need the medicine. If I got a cold, I could get more. Before we could embarrass each other, I crawled out of the hole and replaced the bricks, cramming some of the mortar littering the ground into the cracks to offer the illusion the wall had seen better days.
It wasn’t the trip to Kenneth’s place I’d planned, but Kelsie mattered more than the drug lord and his meeting with Rob.
I could eavesdrop on the other hounds. I could listen in another time. I could do a lot to get the information.
A cold could kill in the unforgiving streets, and I didn’t want Kelsie’s blood on my hands.
Colby followed me home, and it sang its only word for the world to hear.
The dae gave us both a wide berth.
It took me an hour to convince Colby to stay home. I took a few minutes to check my bank account, debating if I could afford to cut into my already tight budget to make sure Kelsie had enough to eat while she recovered.
Starving would make it harder on her.
As I couldn’t just let her stay sick and I could cope with going hungry for a few days, I opted to hit a convenience store on my way out, grabbing enough cans of soup to tide her over until she felt better. I returned to Kelsie’s niche in the slums long enough to bring her the medicine I’d promised her along with the food I’d purchased. The next time I got sick, I would miss the cough drops, cough syrup, and the three-week supply of antibiotics, but I could get more with enough effort and picking up extra work. As for the soup, I’d miss the money, too, but I’d survive. Kelsie might not live long enough to get work without the food or medication. That she didn’t head to one of the publicly funded hospitals told me her father’s misdeeds had a darker edge than I wanted to know about, and she’d rather die than get caught.
I understood that.
Kelsie’s tear-filled gratitude would haunt me for a long time, but I risked whatever illness she had to give her a hug before hitting the streets to learn what I could.
The roads leading to the Inner Harbor were closed, leaving drivers to find their way through Baltimore’s downtown via narrow side streets bordering the fringe. Fortunately, the cops allowed pedestrians through without hassle.
No one showed any signs of noticing—or caring—that humans had become a minority when compared to the eclectic variety of species now wandering the streets. I kept as close to the buildings as I could, checking my back for anyone who might be following me.
Everyone else seemed far more concerned with the other creatures than they were with me. A herd of the three-headed giraffe clopped down the center of the street, and unlike the one I had met outside my apartment building, they wore no hats and had sharpened their horns.
Werewolves and other part-man and part-animal creatures made up the majority of those prowling around. Sensible people gave them space, and I was no different. Those who could take to the air did, and the sky was filled with things other than birds.
The winged werewolves were the most normal of the flying beings—and they looked the friendliest, too.
While I’d likely long missed the meeting between Kenneth and Rob, I might learn something in the aftermath, assuming Kenneth opted to rant in his basement lounge. The easiest way for me to enter the tunnels connected to Kenneth’s townhouse was through the sewers. Baltimore’s sewers had two parts. The sewage tunnels, meant to control and direct the flow of refuse beneath the streets, were unfit for rats let alone people. I had no idea when the walkway tunnels had been built, but they paralleled the main channels. The city had stopped using them after a better sewage management system had been developed—one that didn’t require humans for most of the work.
In what I considered to be a brilliant move, Kenneth had claimed them and made them his own, offering their use to the elites seeking drugs.
I smiled at the thought of pulling the wool over my boss’s eyes. Kenneth believed himself so superior. The tunnels were his secret, and an impoverished rat like myself was below being let in on such a thing.
Kenneth kept underestimating me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Not only did I know about his precious tunnels, I had also pinpointed all of his regular entry points. As an added bonus, I had found a few extra off his radar, too.
The entrance I wanted was located in the poorest district of the city, a place Kenneth avoided whenever possible. I knew the streets well enough, although I didn’t know most of the people—or things—taking up the spots old friends once had.
A dragon, a much larger version of Terry Moore, breathed flames down the street, incinerating those in its path. It took to the air, roaring its triumph while those left alive shouted curses at it.
I decided it was wise to take cover before I got caught in the crossfire. The street was lined with shops, and I picked a tattoo parlor as the least likely place for many people or monsters to gather. Inside, the neon lights gleamed, and one wall was decked out in black lights showcasing glow-in-the-dark tattoo designs.
The artist, a younger man with more tattoos and piercings than I’d ever seen on one person before, leaned against the glass counter near his register. He seemed human enough, right up until he flashed a grin at me and revealed a set of pointed canines.
Why wasn’t I surprised the tattoo artist was a vampire? I envied him in a way. While Kenneth called me a collie, I was all bark and no bite. Instead of a vampire, I’d rather be a snake, one who packed a lot of venom for my size.
“Looking to buy or dodging the crazies outside?”
I snorted, twisting around to stare out the front windows of the store. The dragon had landed and was licking at the scorched pavement. “A bit of both, I guess.”
&
nbsp; “What do you have in mind, sweetheart? Looking for a tattoo or something a little special?”
Why did everyone—correctly—think I was involved with the black market in some fashion or another? I no longer had the gaunt, near-death appearance of a user. It had taken over a year to get meat back on my bones and erase most of the damage the drugs had done to me.
Sure, I looked a little older than my age, but any girl in my shoes wouldn’t look young. Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger of a gun often, but I had killed people all the same. Telling my boss where to hunt someone down and get rid of them was no different from being the one to do the job.
Still, if the tattoo artist could hook me up, it wasn’t a bad idea. Cash wasn’t the only currency on the streets. I’d find a way to pay off any debt.
“If you’ve got a cleaning kit kicking around, I won’t say no,” I replied, pointing in the direction of the dragon. “I don’t know what the hell I’m on, but I never want to touch it again.”
Asking for a cleaning kit was a nice way of requesting one of the full drug-testing kits used to prepare narcotics users for the real deal. Many of the drugs checked for had counters, and all of them could be bought on the black market.
“Buy some ink, and I’ll toss one in on the house. It can run while I work. Business has been slow today, and no wonder. If you show clean, you can either pay cash or with blood samples.”
“Blood samples work.” I joined the artist at the counter, grabbing one of the thick books of designs. I didn’t really have the money for a tattoo, but I needed the kit if I wanted to have a foot up on Kenneth.
If I was clean and could pay back the artist in blood, that’d make my day. Some other addict would use my blood to pass her tests. I’d lived in and out of the system long enough to want to help others out.
I’d recover from blood loss in a day or two. And if I wasn’t on some drug, I’d use the time to come to terms with my macaroni and cheese roommate being real.
I flipped through the catalog and sighed at the staggering variety of designs available.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
“A snake,” I replied. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. “Just the head, and I want the fangs visible. Stylized.”
My choice of design would be a warning and a promise to Kenneth. The instant he turned his back, I’d sink my fangs in deep and teach him a lesson.
“I think I have just the thing. Come sit down. I’ll draw some blood and get to work.”
I obeyed. A new tattoo to celebrate a new me—one who wasn’t Kenneth’s dog at heel—seemed like a better idea with each passing minute. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain, including the freedom to choose what I would do with the rest of my life, no matter how long or short it was.
Like all good tattoo artists, the shopkeeper worked with gloves on, which prevented him from directly touching my skin. Applying the ink would give me some redness for a while, but it would fade with time. If he did cause a reaction, at least he probably wouldn’t notice.
He started with drawing blood, which was enough to put me to sleep. It was a bad habit, one I’d developed due to associating needle pricks with highs. I relaxed with my eyes closed, waiting for him to begin the painful work of inking my arm. At least, I’d been warned the process hurt.
I’d find out soon enough.
“Sure you don’t want to see the design first?”
“Positive,” I replied.
Maybe latex separated his skin from mine, but the pressure of his fingers on my upper arm near the shoulder felt pretty good, even if the needles he used to apply the ink and draw on me were anything but pleasant.
The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as I expected, and when a timer dinged deeper in the shop, the artist stopped working and got up. “Let’s find out if you’re clean, shall we?”
Having any blood drawn with an empty stomach was a stupid idea at best. The little he had taken left me light-headed and dizzy. I kept my eyes closed, wondering how I’d stagger back to my apartment, let alone gain entrance to Kenneth’s maze of walkways paralleling the sewers.
“You’re clean,” he announced. “I’ll draw a couple of vials, and we’ll call it even. Won’t take long to finish your tattoo, either. You’ll be on your way in a few minutes, in plenty of time to dodge the curfew.”
“Curfew,” I echoed, wondering how I seemed to be the only person who didn’t know about the curfew—if it actually existed.
“Sundown,” he provided before going back to work on my tattoo. “Don’t have yourself a talker?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I grunted, allowing him to decide for himself if I meant yes or no. Sometimes getting information was as simple as letting someone say whatever they wanted without interruption.
If he wasn’t going to spill his guts, then I’d start asking questions.
“Not all do,” the artist continued, going back to work tattooing my arm. “I do, though he’s pretty relaxed—until dark, that is. You’ll get used to it. Curfew is between sundown and dawn. Human types like you should stick to it. The really nasty dae come out at night, and they won’t hesitate to take a bite or two if you aren’t on your toes.”
The name Kenneth had hissed was back. Who—or what—were the dae?
There was one possibility, and I refused to believe it. If I had truly tested clean, there was a chance Kenneth hadn’t actually drugged me. If he hadn’t, were my hallucinations reality?
There was no way. Dragons, winged werewolves, three-headed giraffes, and sentient macaroni and cheese with an interest in parkour simply didn’t exist. Vampire tattoo artists didn’t, either.
“Great,” I grumbled. “Are you one of those really nasty dae, then?”
“I could be,” he replied. “This tip is on the house, sweetheart. The ones you can recognize as dae at a glance are the weakest. If you’re smart, you’ll keep this in mind: those who look human are usually the most dangerous.”
Five
Since when has blood been worth so much?
The next time a vampire bargained services for blood, I would say no. Not only would I say no, I would enforce my refusal with a strand of garlic and a stake driven right up his supernatural ass.
He finished the tattoo as promised, although I had serious doubts on whether or not I’d make it back to my apartment to enjoy it. The tattoo pleased me. The hissing snake’s head in black ink on my upper arm was exactly what I had in mind.
The symptoms of blood loss might be the end of me, as I had a long hike ahead of me to get home.
I admired his work. “It’s good.”
The artist offered me a stack of bills and displayed his curved, pointy teeth. “It’s good. You’re also delicious. After evaluation, I’ve decided you overpaid. Take the cash, get yourself something to eat, and come back anytime you want to share some of that sweet, sweet blood with me. I won’t even bite unless you want me to.”
I snatched the cash before he could change his mind. “Since when has blood been worth so much?”
“Since dawn brought a lot of dae who love the stuff,” he replied with a shrug. “This morning, to be specific. Get to it, sweetheart. If your dae’s the kind that starts talking once the sun goes down, you better get ready. Baltimore’s going to be a rough town tonight.”
“Just what I wanted to hear,” I grumbled, and testing my luck, I rose from the chair. Years of drugging myself up came to my rescue, allowing me to stay on my feet when I should have fallen. With a wad of cash in hand, I had the means to catch a cab, except the roads were all closed thanks to the madness on the streets. Now, I had the funds to replace my medications, buy food, and even get some extra to take over to Kelsie so she wouldn’t have to face the nastier dae herself. I could hit a store on the way home and drop off more stuff for her, too. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and I could get a drink to help make sure I made it home in one piece. “Those things out there are all dae?”
“Sure are,” the artist agreed. He grinned at me one final time, showing off his pointy teeth, and burst into a cloud of sweet-smelling vapor. When the air cleared, a bat fluttered where he had been standing. He flew up to the ceiling and hung upside down from a light fixture.
“Couldn’t you have come up with something a bit more unique?” I demanded. “Really, a bat?”
The man-turned-bat tattoo artist squeaked at me.
I left while I still could, and keeping his advice in mind, I took care on the streets. Thick smoke hung over the city in a shroud, warning me of fires burning somewhere nearby. Really bad riots and disorder hadn’t happened in Baltimore since before I was born, but with the dae rampaging around, I doubted there would be much of a city left when they were finished.
Maybe my apartment, located in one of the better parts of town, would be a safe haven from the chaos. I still wasn’t convinced the tattoo artist was telling the truth. How could so many different and strange species of beings just show up one morning? What had he meant by a dae talking to me?
Colby spoke, although its vocabulary was limited to a single word. Was it a dae? If anything, the fact my macaroni and cheese casserole called me ‘Mommy’ supported the idea I was somehow drugged, likely by Kenneth. That I tested clean baffled me. Was it some new drug? Had I hit my head? An entire city couldn’t change, succumb to chaos, and burn while everyone took it all in stride.
What was the deal with the human-looking dae, anyway? Was Rob one of them?
If so, what made him more dangerous than a flame puking dog man with wings? Rob didn’t seem all that dangerous at first glance, though there had definitely been something frightening about the way he had faced off against Kenneth without even flinching. Snapping the werewolf’s neck had been scary enough. I hadn’t known, until that moment, someone could have the strength in a single hand to do such a thing.
I still had a lot of doubts. Maybe I was in a hospital somewhere with a cracked skull due to fainting in my kitchen. At least that scenario made some sort of sense. Drugs made sense, too.