by Raven Hart
As sad as the twins were, Melaphia was in even worse shape. Her physical injuries were healing nicely; it was her mental state I was worried about.
She sat at the kitchen table hunkered over several small piles of multicolored beads. She worked her needle in and out of a tiny beaded figure, picking up a bead from one pile and then a bead from another. The thing she was weaving had taken shape since the night before, which was the last time I’d seen it. It had limbs and a torso and a head and shimmered with hundreds of tiny orbs of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Glass, crystal, stone, all came together in a frenzy of color and sheen.
“It’s called peyote,” Reyha said. “The stitch, that is.” She joined me at Melaphia’s side.
That seemed appropriate. It was crazy-looking, like it had been made by somebody during a long hallucination. And yet it was somehow perfect. There was no logical pattern to the thing, but there was something magic and a little frightening about it. I was afraid to ask what it was going to be used for.
I squeezed Melaphia’s shoulder gently. “Has William called?” She only shook her head. That wasn’t an entirely good sign. At least she was responsive.
I turned back to Reyha. “Why don’t you make Deylaud something warm to eat? Bacon and eggs maybe. He likes that. And make some for Mel while you’re at it.”
“Yes,” Reyha said brightly, and turned toward the refrigerator.
“Mel, I’ve got to talk to you.” I sat in the chair opposite her and told her about my conversation with Connie. It was hard to determine at first if she was focusing on my words since her eyes never left her needlework. Ever since Renee’s disappearance, Melaphia had managed only a few coherent days among mostly incoherent ones. I badly needed this to be a good day for her.
When I got to the part about Connie wanting to go to the underworld, Melaphia’s busy fingers froze mid-stitch, and she blinked as if she was waking from a long sleep.
“What should I do?” I asked. “I mean, we can’t let her try it, and she can’t do it without one of us. I think I should tell her about William and how he almost got trapped in that dimension and about all the hellish things he saw, the danger he was in—”
“No!” Melaphia said, and, for the first time that morning, she met my eyes. There was a ferocity in her look that startled me, but at least there was some understanding, some sanity. When she saw my reaction, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “No,” she repeated more calmly. “Let me think on it awhile. Put her off for now. Tell her that I’ll…work on the problem and get back to her.”
“Wait,” I said. “We’re on the same page here, right? We’re not going to actually try to help her do this.” Connie hadn’t mentioned getting Melaphia to help with her scheme, but she knew what a powerful mambo Mel was.
“Of course we aren’t,” Melaphia agreed. “I’m just advising you to put her off. If she presses you, blame me. Tell her that I forbid it. It’s too dangerous.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Reyha put a plate of food in front of Melaphia, who picked up a piece of toast and nibbled on it. She had barely eaten since we lost Renee. I started to hope that she was beginning to make her way back to us.
Reyha dangled a piece of raw bacon in front of my face and I grabbed it with my teeth and slurped it up like spaghetti. She giggled and I tugged a lock of her long, straight hair.
“Call me if you need me,” I said on my way out. “I’ve got to see a man about a wolf.”
The night before, Seth and I had agreed to meet at the little swamp bar and talk about how to approach Samson. I was still holding out hope that I could talk Seth out of challenging the pack leader outright. I’d rather just have a big brawl, lay down the law, and have done with it. But two against a dozen or more weren’t very good odds no matter how strong Seth and I were. I wished we had reinforcements, but the only other vampire in town was Werm. He was a nice enough little guy, but not exactly the man you’d want backing you up in a fight. He was so short and skinny, one huff or puff from any of the big, bad wolves would blow him and his house down.
I thought about how Werm had begged to be made into a vampire so he would be a badass that nobody could push around anymore. If he was really going to be one of us, it was time for him to stand and deliver some badassness. He had to learn to fight for his own good. In the world of the undead, only the strong survive. I decided to stop by his new place on the way to the marsh and have a little chat, vampire to vampire.
When I got to the converted warehouse, I saw that he was as good as his word about getting the whores involved in the renovation. Cheryl and Souxi were painting one wall red. Marlee was finishing a black paint job on another wall. Ginger and Sally were trying to install a light fixture on the third wall. They all stopped their work to greet me when I came in.
Sally hung back from the others, her gaze darting here and there, not meeting mine. Here was yet another young person I was going to have to have a serious talk with. I was beginning to feel like Ward Cleaver.
“So what do you think, Jack? It’s really coming along, isn’t it?” Werm asked. He actually had on a pair of coveralls. I think it was the first time I’d seen him wearing anything other than black leather. His spiky hair was poking out from under a bandanna he’d tied around his head.
The first time I’d met him, he’d had his hair dyed black in classic goth style. Then when Reedrek forced William to make him a vampire, Werm’s hair had turned snow white. Now he had it dyed dark again.
“Yeah, it’s really going to be…something.” What that something would turn out to be was still anybody’s guess. “When’s opening night?”
“I figure we can have it ready in a couple of days.”
“So soon?”
“Sure. The girls are working practically around the clock.”
“What are you going to name this joint, anyway?”
“I want to call it Jack’s Place, since you loaned me the money and all. It never would have come together if it weren’t for you.” Werm slapped me heartily on the back.
“Please. Please, tell me you’re kidding.” I didn’t want my name associated with any poetry-reading, punk music–playing, rich-kid club. I liked Merle Haggard–playing, throw-your-peanut-hulls-on-the-floor, honky-tonk kind of places.
Werm laughed. “Yeah, Jack, I’m kidding. I know this isn’t exactly your style, but I hope you’ll want to hang out here some.”
“Can’t wait,” I said, trying to sound sincere. “Listen, that’s not what I came to talk to you about. Remember how you wanted to be made into a vampire so that you could whup anybody who ever tried to mess with you?”
“Yeah?” Werm sounded wary, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The kid was sharp. I always had to give him that.
“How’s that been working out for you? I mean, do you think you’re tough?” I really wanted to know. Maybe my instincts were wrong and Werm was stronger than he looked. I surely hoped so.
“I’ve kicked some butt,” Werm allowed. “None of the guys who used to hassle me can do that anymore since I put them in their place. I think a couple of them are seriously afraid of me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. It was good for Werm’s confidence that he could beat up his old high school tormenters, but taking on supernatural bad guys was another kettle of fish. “You know how William and I have always had each other’s backs all these years?”
Werm nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Ever since he made you during the Civil War.”
“That’s right. Here’s the thing: Now that William is going to be gone for a while, I need you to do that for me. I need you to be my backup when things get rough. You know what I’m saying?”
Werm got a look on his face that was one part rapture, one part stark terror. “Me? Really? Well, sure. I mean, of course I’ve got your back.”
He tried to look casual, but I could tell he didn’t know whether he should be really proud or run for his life. He scratched his head under th
e bandanna. “But please tell me a boat full of dark lords hasn’t just sailed into port.”
I had to laugh. “No, the dark lords haven’t come for us. Not yet anyway.”
“Reedrek didn’t bust loose?”
“Lord, I hope not.”
Werm visibly relaxed. “Okay, good. Then whatever it is can’t be that bad. I mean, because I figure something must be up or you wouldn’t have even mentioned it, right? But like I said, it can’t be all that bad.”
“Nah. It’s just a little werewolf trouble, that’s all.”
“A little werewolf trouble?” Werm’s voice squeaked at the word werewolf.
It had only been in the last couple of weeks that I had introduced him to the concept of werewolves and other kinds of shape-shifters besides Reyha and Deylaud. He’d come into the garage and run smack into Jerry and Rufus, and could tell right away—in that way that all us vampires have of telling—that these guys weren’t your average joes. He’d about pissed his leather pants right there when I pointed out to him that us vampires weren’t the only things running around with sharp, pointy teeth. I think he was still getting used to the idea.
Werm had figured out that vampires existed all on his own, through observation and research. You have to give him snaps for that. But he had no idea about the other monsters. Maybe vampires were easier for him because he had romanticized them in his mind and wanted so desperately for them to exist. But the other parts of the nonhuman world had poleaxed him as much as they would have any human who’d had the bad fortune to stumble into their paths.
I often wondered if Werm would still have wanted to become a vampire if he could turn back time and choose, knowing what he knew now. I’d never find out unless I asked, but I didn’t plan to raise the question right then.
“Remember the other night when Ginger told us that the Thrasher clan was cooking the crystal meth that Sally’s on?”
Werm looked over to where Ginger was trying to get Sally to help her screw in a wall sconce for the light fixture. It was easy to see that Sally couldn’t focus on what she was doing. “I remember,” he said.
“The Thrashers are werewolves. I’m going to take them on because of what they’re doing to Sally and other folks in these parts. And you’re going to help me.”
He looked up at me and blinked. “Uh, Jack…who all else is going to help us?”
I thought to tell him it would be just him and me so I could enjoy his reaction, but I didn’t want to see the little guy faint, so I gave him the truth. “Only the toughest werewolf sumbitch this side of the Mississippi. And maybe we can get Jerry to throw in with us, too.”
“How many of the bad wolves are there?”
“Oh, not more than eight or ten.”
Werm held up all five fingers of his left hand and started to count them off, but his fingers were shaking so bad, he put his hand down again. “That’s four against ten. Jack, if ten guys are going to go all Lon Chaney Junior on my ass, I’d like better odds than that.”
I squeezed his shoulder in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Don’t worry, man. We’re vampires, remember? We’re badder than any of those mongrels.”
“If you say so. Hey, can we shoot them with silver bullets?” he asked hopefully.
“That’s not considered sporting. Neither is them coming at us with wooden stakes. It’s one of those unwritten rules of etiquette for supernatural dudes. You don’t get to use whatever a guy’s Kryptonite is on him unless he’s one of your own. It pretty much has to be a fair, fang-to-fang fight.”
“You mean you or me can put a wooden stake through a vampire’s heart, but we can’t use silver bullets on a werewolf even though anybody else could?” Werm was incredulous.
“I admit it sounds illogical,” I said. “But it’s just one of those things. You won’t die or anything if you break that rule, not like you would if you killed your sire, for example. It’s just that you’d get a bad reputation in the unhuman community.”
“What do I care about my rep when a werewolf is chewing off my leg?”
I sighed. “Remember how you felt when all those bullies were beating up on you? It got you a reputation as being a weakling, and you didn’t like it, did you?”
Werm shook his head. “No,” he muttered.
“It’s the same kind of thing. You want to have the reputation as a guy who fights fair and doesn’t resort to another supernatural breed’s Achilles’ heel. But when it comes to fighting amongst us vamps, there’s no holds barred, so you can go for it with a stake or fire or whatever.”
Werm paused a minute for this to sink in. “It sounds like if you get yourself a reputation as a guy who doesn’t fight fair with other species of supernaturals, it can come back to bite you.”
“Literally,” I said.
Werm moaned. “Maybe when you and this other tough guy show up and tell the Thrashers to quit selling dope, they’ll just…quit,” he suggested hopefully.
“Not likely.” I was sorry to have to bring him down when he was so happy about his club opening, but I told myself it was for his own good. Besides, if he survived the big fight, and I planned to make sure he did, it would do wonders for his self-esteem. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: A vampire with self-esteem issues, now that’s just sad.
“So when are we going to confront them?” Werm asked.
“I’m meeting with Seth tonight. He’s the one I was telling you about. We’ll decide and then I’ll let you know.”
“Is it going to be on the bad guys’ turf?”
“Yeah. We can’t exactly have a skirmish between the evil dead and their furry friends right here in front of Savannah’s humans, can we?”
“I—I guess not,” Werm agreed.
“I’ll tell you what. Maybe you and me can get in some training time before the big fight.”
“Uh-okay.”
A crash drew our attention back to Ginger and Sally. The light fixture had fallen to the floor and the glass globe had shattered into a thousand shards. Sally stared at the mess with wild eyes.
“You were supposed to hold that still while I screwed the base in the wall,” Ginger scolded the younger woman. “Get the broom over there and help me clean this up.”
Instead, Sally bolted from the room and into the darkness as the others stared after her. “I’ll talk to her,” I said, and followed.
When I went outside in the moonlight, I could see Sally running toward a car. It was fifty yards away, parked against the curb. I called after her, but she ignored me, opened the passenger door of the Mustang, and got in. “Damn,” I muttered.
Even with my outstanding night vision I couldn’t tell who was at the wheel. But I did see the vanity license plate that read HUFNPUF.
Five
William
The fortified basement of Olivia’s town house held a dozen or more coffins, all in a tidy row. It reminded me of the row of beds illustrated in the book “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” I used to read to Renee when she was a toddler. A twinge of pain shot through me like a stake when I thought of my darling stolen child.
I was to sleep in the coffin that had been recently vacated by the young woman whom Hugo had tortured and bled to death.
The sun was a couple of hours away and Donovan had still not returned. “We’ll form a search party as soon as the sun sets,” Olivia said. “Until then we have to get our daytime sleep and hope Donovan survived and found someplace safe to do the same. When we search tonight, I think we should stick together for safety.”
“Do you usually go about in a pack?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I had showered and changed into a cream-colored Irish fisherman’s sweater and a pair of gray woolen slacks.
“No,” admitted Bree. We sat at a long library table with the other vampires awaiting instructions, standing back, as if trying to blend into the woodwork.
“I’ll go out first,” I said. “If I’m unsuccessful, then we’ll section off the city and fan out.”
<
br /> “Why don’t you want us out there with you, William?” Olivia asked.
“One of the last things Donovan said to me before we parted was that he could feel an approaching evil. The dark lords are coming. Maybe in their own form or maybe in another. We don’t know. I think you should stay close to one another for now, until I can determine what we’re dealing with.”
Olivia ran an elegant, long-fingered hand through her platinum hair. I rose from the table and motioned for my topcoat. One of the vampires held it for me.
“You’re going out now rather than wait for the next sunset? You can’t find Donovan all by yourself. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Olivia said. You have only a short time to find him before sunrise and make it back.”
“You should know better than to tell me what I can and cannot do. You forget, Olivia. Savannah may be my city now, but long before that, my city was London.”
I prowled the streets adjacent to Hugo’s rented house until I found a manhole in a secluded and shadowed area. I lifted its cover and lowered myself down, sliding the cover back into place behind me. I dropped into the sewer below, landing on my feet with a squelching sound. The noises of the street—lorry drivers making night deliveries—disappeared as suddenly and completely as did the horizon’s first harsh glow from the approaching sun.
A new set of sounds replaced those produced by surface-dwellers: the gentle sluice of a distant subterranean waterfall, the faraway vibrating murmur of the nearest Underground train. And the skittering of the rats who called this place home.
I decided to explore the sewer tunnels beneath the area of Hugo’s residence. If Hugo’s gang had disposed of Donovan, the sewers would be the best and easiest place to discard the remains, where a body could linger indefinitely.
If a corpse ever were to be found by a human, it would most likely be discovered by a city water technician, or a flusher, as they were known. They only came to any given section of tunnel if a blockage impeded the flow of sewage. These hardy and fearless workers carried supplemental oxygen devices because of the noxious gases underground. Of course, we vampires had no such air quality concerns—except that the overwhelming stench offended my supernatural sense of smell to the point of madness. My vampiric senses could be a curse as well as a blessing.