Nightlife

by Rob Thurman

  "You're fortunate, you know. Having a brother." He ignored the new drink Meredith deposited in front of him. Definitely less enamored of him than she had been previously, his fairy princess gave him a pointed glare and steamed off.

  "I know." Revealing genuine emotion to someone other than my brother didn't come easily to me, but this was one of the rare occasions that I let it color my words. "As long as I have Niko, I think I just might survive all this shit."

  An expression shifted fleetingly across his foxlike face. I thought it might be sadness or pity, maybe even both. "You realize that you could live longer, much longer than your brother," he said with grave apology. "You could still be young while he's old or even…" He didn't finish; he didn't have to.

  I took another sip of my beer before replying matter-of-factly, "No, I won't."

  "But, you could. The Auphe are enormously long-lived, as much so as I am. You may have inherited that. You could conceivably live hundreds, even thousands of years."

  He thought that I didn't understand, that I didn't grasp what he was telling me. But he was the one who didn't have a clue. There was no way I was living without Niko, no way I could survive without my only family. No way I even wanted to. I pushed his glass closer to him. "Drink your Scotch, Loman. We're all fairy-tale creatures here, remember? Everyone lives happily ever after."

  I wasn't sure if he read between the lines or not, but the gulp he took of his drink emptied half the glass. A cheerful rumble came over my shoulder. "You might want to cut your buddy off before he passes out."

  I turned my head to see a familiar face. It was Samuel, the guy from the band, still as pussyfooted as ever. "You wouldn't say that if you'd actually spent time with him," I countered with mock gloom. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't playing until Friday."

  He leaned against the bar, a grin splitting his face with a blinding flash. "What? This isn't the place to be? Can't a guy come out for a brew?"

  "No, it's not the place to be and I think Fellows here already drank all the brew." After leading a wholly solitary life except for Niko, I suddenly felt like I was developing an entourage.

  A comradely hand slapped me on the back. "Well, I've never been one to get between a man and his liquor. Actually I came to pick up our money from last weekend. Genghis is running short of leather-pants funds. Your boss in the back?"

  "Tallywhacker? I've never seen him anywhere else," I grunted. "Good luck prying dough out of his sweaty hand."

  "I have ray ways." He waved and disappeared toward the back.

  As I looked over my shoulder toward Goodfellow, Meredith caught my eye. She was checking her reflection in a small hand mirror, primping like she always did. It wasn't her but the sight of the mirror that made me take notice. Abruptly, I asked Robin, "Goodfellow, you know anything about haunted mirrors?"

  He raised his eyebrows, fingers curled around a now empty glass. "Now, that is out of the blue." The words were only the slightest bit faded around the edges, not slurred, but not crystal edged either. "Haunted mirrors? As in ghosts?" He wiggled fingers in the air. "As in 'boo'?"

  "Never mind," I said dismissively, signaling for another beer. "It's nothing."

  "Caliban, wait. I didn't mean anything by it." He paused as I received my new brew, then continued as Meredith passed out of earshot. "Tell me about your mirror problem."

  I shot a glance toward the men's room. Niko had just stepped out, but Samuel had stopped him and was talking to him. Good. "It's not exactly a problem. More like a nuisance. A little annoying, a little irritating. Kind of like you, in fact."

  "And you actually want my help," he said sourly. "That's what makes it so amazing."

  It was my turn to say I was sorry. It seemed like I was doing that a lot lately and I wasn't so sure I liked it. What had happened to the unapologetic son of a bitch I'd always been? "Sorry." Shrugging uncomfortably, I went on. "Something's been sort of following me from mirror to mirror, bizarre as that sounds. And it's weird, but I have the feeling it's happened before now. I've never actually seen it, but I hear it. It sings… Well, it hums anyway. Maybe it doesn't know the words."

  "That's not much to go on." Robin furrowed his brow and scratched his chin. "Lots of creatures are musically inclined. Sirens, for one. That guy and his rats, for another."

  "The Pied Piper? Damn, was there anyone you didn't know?" I held up a hand just in time. "Rhetorical question. And anyway, didn't you play the pipes?"

  "Who do you think taught Rat Boy? The ungrateful bastard." He sighed, leaning a bit harder on the bar. "Ancient history. Point is, between sirens, ghosts of opera singers, and hundreds of others, it could be anything. The mirror, though, that's more esoteric. Let me think on it." A slightly sheepish smile curved his lips. "When my thoughts aren't quite so bogged down in Scotch…"

  "Okay." Niko had finished talking to Samuel and was walking in our direction. "Don't mention it to Nik, would you? I think he has more than enough on his mind."

  He clicked a tongue against his teeth and shook his head. "All right, but it's not my ass on the line. Don't forget that when he's kicking yours high unto heaven."

  I gave him a silencing hiss and was drinking my beer with casual aplomb when Niko moved up beside us. "Your friend Samuel is quite friendly." That wasn't a compliment, coming from Nik, no matter how it sounded. I might not have gotten my cynicism from my brother, but every bit of suspicion, caution, and flat-out paranoia, I'd learned from him.

  "Except when it comes to his singer," I pointed out. "No love lost there."

  "I gathered that was a recurring theme for him." He frowned. "I may have let it slip that we were leaving town. He offered us money to help him unload his equipment Friday. When I said we would be unavailable, I might have hesitated too long."

  "Shocking indiscretion," I drawled. "I've lost all respect for you, Cyrano. Though in all fairness I blame it on the one mouthful of beer you drank." Leaving town. As if it were a foregone conclusion. All my arguments to the contrary hadn't made a dent in Niko's determination. I could still argue and I would, but I didn't have much doubt who would come out on top. When it came down to sheer ruthlessness, damn if my brother didn't put me in the shade. He'd threatened to physically put me in the car. That threat could and would become an accomplished fact in a heartbeat if I dragged my feet for much longer.

  Robin ran both hands through wavy hair and then scrubbed his face with them. It didn't make him look much more sober, but he was giving it his best shot. It was an oddly forlorn gesture. "Are you sure leaving's really necessary? Who's to say the Auphe situation wouldn't be worse elsewhere? You've only seen the one here, and it's no more."

  "Better safe than sorry." The black humor in Niko's next words was softened with a hint of sympathy. "If I did have something inscribed on my ass, Goodfellow, that is what it would be."

  In Robin's life people were bound to come and go; I'd seen the result of that in his eyes. Considering his long life span, it probably happened with a depressing regularity. If they didn't leave, he'd soon be forced to leave himself to avoid discovery. His life had to almost rival ours for rootlessness. Hell, if we were in a Western, it would be time for the image of a lost and lonely tumbleweed to go drifting across the screen. But no such luck. It was always so much easier in the movies. I didn't envy Robin his near immortality at all. Mortality was more than challenging enough.

  "Cheer up, Loman." I punched his shoulder lightly. "We'll send you a dirty postcard."

  "Really?" He squared his shoulders and gave us a smile, breezy, carefree, and nearly convincing. "I'll hold you to it. You going to finish that?" He didn't wait as he picked up my beer bottle and took several long drafts.

  "I think this evening is winding to a close, festive though it was. Pay the bill, Cal." Niko carefully pried the bottle out of Robin's hand and set it out of reach. In some strange, convoluted way I think we both felt a responsibility for Goodfellow's condition. If we hadn't stumbled onto his place of business, there was
a good chance Robin wouldn't be drowning his sorrows now. It's easier to be alone when you're used to it, when there's no other option. It was just Robin's bad luck we'd presented a fleeting alternative, and now we were pulling his unexpected life preserver away. The hypnosis's going south in a big way hadn't helped him much either. Spreading cheer and joy wherever I went, the story of my life.

  I dug out a handful of cash from my pocket and scowled pessimistically at it. There was no way in hell I could cover what Robin had drunk with two tens and a five. Sliding off the stool, I gave Meredith a casual wave. "Merry, I'll settle up tomorrow." Ignoring her outraged call of my name, I jerked my head toward the door. "Let's get out of here before she takes it out of my hide."

  "The attack of the vicious barmaid. Your fear is quite understandable." Niko gave a disdainful snort and heaved Robin to his feet. "Goodfellow, you can sleep on our couch tonight. In your condition, even a human mugger could give you a run for your money." That was the ultimate put-down in Nik's book, a mere human giving one trouble. Niko may have been all human, but he was anything but mere.

  "The couch?" Robin swayed and yawned, sleepy green eyes nearly closed. "How 'bout—"

  "Don't say it," Nik cut him off immediately. "For that matter do not even think it."

  "Spoilsport," Goodfellow grumbled as he was efficiently ushered toward the door.

  I took one long look behind me as I followed them. Chances were, tomorrow would be the last time I was at the bar. It would be the last time that I'd smell that unique scent of sawdust and vomit. The last time I stepped over a regular to get to the bathroom. And it would be the last time I watched the rise and fall of the best-built edifice around, Meredith's breasts. It was a lot to say good-bye to, both good and bad. But one way or another life went on.

  Unfortunately, I was only half right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The things you think in certain situations… the thoughts that run through your mind, they're never what you think they would be. Maybe never even what they should be. My thoughts should have been solely on what was before me, but instead they twisted into one barely coherent whole that was practically screaming into my brain, "Run!" Survival instinct is, after all, an ultimately selfish mechanism. It's also damn hard to ignore, but I gave it my best shot for a few moments and knelt on the scarlet floor.

  Blood was a sight, even a smell, I was used to. Thickly cloying, the copper of it coated the back of my throat until I could all but taste it in the air. You could say I'd come across a lot of blood in my time, mostly monster, but some human too. But I'd never seen it quite like this before.

  "Merry?"

  It was my voice, cracked and empty as a broken eggshell. My voice and then my hand reaching up to touch a velvety cheek, still soft, still warm. It was my voice and my hand, though I couldn't recall speaking or even moving. I cupped her face. It was like cradling a peach warmed by the hot summer sun. Magical, until the sensation of blood staining my hand registered. And suddenly what had been a person, a beautiful and carefree woman, was gone. Shallow, yeah, she'd been shallow. So what? She'd also laughed, flirted, worked, and goofed off by turns, and had more boyfriends than I could keep count of. She'd carried a picture around of a mangy alley cat she'd rescued, and applied five pounds of makeup per square inch. She'd tried to sing, but was tone-deaf beyond redemption. She'd danced like a goddess, albeit a goddess with two left feet. She'd been annoying, spoiled, and even manipulative, but she hadn't deserved this. No one did. What had been a gorgeous, living creature was now nothing but a pile of meat.

  Meredith lay sprawled in the back room of the bar. She was draped over Tallywhacker's desk, a sacrifice on an altar, her hair cascading over the side like a carmine waterfall, made even redder by the blood from her throat. It lay in a pool under her head and mixed with her hair like a kiss. The white skin of her neck was slashed in parallel rows, each deep enough to show muscle and cartilage, deep enough to open her trachea and let her drown in her own blood. Her clothes had been shredded, and then the skin underneath. Slender arms, long legs, breasts, and stomach, nothing had been spared. Her brown eyes, now as dull as muddy stones, stared blankly up at the ceiling. It looked as if she were seeing something beyond this place, but I knew that she wasn't seeing anything at all, and that she never would again.

  I stood clumsily, the knees of my jeans wet with Meredith's blood. I was completely numb, my legs, my arms, even my face. My heart was pounding hard enough that I could hear the echo of it in my ears. "I'm sorry, Merry." Unfeeling lips could barely push out the words, but I had to. I had to say it, because I was sorry. Sorrier than hell. It was easy to be when I'd known instantly what had ended Merry's life by ripping out her throat. I recognized the method of it, the brutality of it.

  Grendels.

  Grendels had done this. And with her skin still warm, her blood still wet, it hadn't been very long ago. I'd left my gun at home. I usually did unless I knew I was coming up against something big and bad. The police tended to take a dim view if you were caught in a conceal and carry. A knife was easier to hide and easier to toss. But as my fingers closed around the hilt, I couldn't help wishing it were something a shade heavier and a damn sight more lethal. Although, if I was going to wish for lethal, I might as well go for the big guns and wish for Niko at my back.

  But Niko was back at the apartment with Robin. We'd spent all day packing, wrapping up loose ends, and waiting for Goodfellow to come through with a car we could afford. By the time I'd made it to the bar to pick up my last paycheck and pay off the tab, it was already dusk with an early moon coin bright in the sky. The door had been locked, which was odd. The place should've been open. Our regulars were probably halfway to D.T.'s by then. Shoving at the door, I'd discovered it wasn't locked after all, but rather blocked.

  Talley's body, his hairless white gut hanging out from beneath a T-shirt, had been crumpled against the bottom of the door. His throat was slashed, the confetti of a shredded porn magazine pasted to the floor around him by blood. At least he'd gone out with his one true love by his side. I should've run then, the moment I saw him. But I couldn't. I knew Meredith was supposed to be at work. I was hoping that she'd be late as usual. I was hoping her bad work habits would save her life.

  I had hoped in vain.

  I tore my eyes from Meredith's limp form and took a step backward as I searched the room with a desperately feral gaze. The only light was from a single dim bulb overhead and it left the corners of the office impenetrable and thick with shadows. The Grendel scent was heavy in the air. Not a reek like that of a troll, it wasn't even that unpleasant. It was the smell of wet leaves, damp earth, and the acrid sizzle of lightning-touched ozone. Maybe it was the smell of an autumn rain or maybe it was that of a long-overgrown graveyard. And maybe if I stopped sniffing the air, I could avoid my own grave for a little while longer.

  Turning swiftly, I ran. Knife in my hand, heart in my throat, I ran without a backward look. My good-bye to Merry was already said. My apologies would take longer. I'd led the wolves to the sheep and the sheep to slaughter. I wasn't sure there were enough "sorry's" in the world for that, or enough time to make them. I found that out for sure at the front door.

  It wasn't dear old Dad. I'd come back through the gate an incoherent mess with no idea where I'd been, barely an idea of who I even was, but deep down, there had been one thing I had known. The Grendel that had dragged me off would never take me anywhere again. And I knew something else as well. Somehow, I was responsible.

  So, no, it wasn't Daddy dearest, but in the end there was no difference. It was still a Grendel, still an Auphe—still a nightmare of claws, needle teeth, and an endless appetite for death and destruction. And more importantly, it was still between me and the door. It crouched atop Talley's body, its claws doodling idly in the blood on the floor. The pointed face looked up at me with fiery eyes and teeth glittering in a rapacious grin. "Cal-i-ban." A black tongue flickered in the air. "No more running, wretched boy."
/>   From behind me I heard a second hiss, "No more running." I turned my head just enough to see five more Grendels behind me, pale skin and paler hair a luminescent smear in the gloom. Every eye was fixed on me with a maniacal and almost coveting glee.

  It was judgment day.

  Niko had been right all along. He always was, even when I wished with every fiber of my being that for once, just once, he wouldn't be. I only wished he were there to rub it in my face. It would've improved the odds a whole helluva lot. Instead, I stood alone with six Grendels. Alone—it was no way to live and it was no way to die.

  "No more running."

  "No more running."

  "No more running." Different voices, but all chanting with the same serpentine gloat.

  They could chant all they wanted because I was moving like a bat out of hell. Running? Hell, I was flying. I slammed into the Grendel by the door and opened his belly up with the backward slash of my knife. Ropy, almost delicate strings of intestines spilled out as it screamed with the agony of a burning man. Which, fortunately for me, was not my problem. Throwing him aside, I hit the door and then I was out. Not free, not safe. There wasn't much chance of that, not really. But I was out and I was running. If they wanted my ass, they'd have to catch it first. You'd be amazed how fast you can run when you're scared shitless. It also helps when you're running covered with blood, as people tend to clear out of your way. And when it's not your blood, they move even faster.

  I raced down the sidewalk, every breath burning in my lungs, every heartbeat threatening to rip open my chest. The knife and the blood were both visible in the harsh glow of the streetlights. It wouldn't be too long before someone called the police, but it didn't matter. By the time they got there, I'd have vanished one way or the other. Whether it was from the street or from this world, I couldn't say, but I'd be gone.