“I did say that haircut looks fantastic on her,” said Mab.
“That,” whispered Argall in Doris’ ear, “is why Sable wants to be there. Would the human world have any such alternative for him?”
Behind them, Robin walked in with his hands on a man’s shoulders. The man walked slowly. His neck was a bloody mess. Robin guided him to a seat. Doris compartmentalized whatever she was feeling.
“Is this place yours?” said Doris to Argall and Mab.
“No,” said Argall. “It’s ours.”
“Yes,” said Mab, “and we do have partners.”
The band seemed to try to soothe the wolf with a tune that slower and melodic, but the crowd began to boo heartily. Some of them through things. Fingers. Doris felt like she was out in the country heather again with Gesine, being hunted by four dozen men who seemed to be enjoying it as a night out.
As the wolf charged its cage again, Gesine stood up. She stared into its eyes, and the wolf froze and stared back. Gesine slowly went to the cage’s locked door. She grabbed onto its bars and began to yank them. The doorman wasn’t in time.
The door ripped off, and the music stalled as humans gasped and vampires sprang up to clinging on the ceiling or sped toward the exit.
Gesine stood by the cage’s open door as the wolf sniffed in the direction of the band.
Doris hopped onto the stage, getting directly in between the band and the wolf. Her eyes were still human. She thought that maybe that would help. She was wrong.
The wolf charged at her, and in a flash, Doris’ eyes were red. The claws in her fingers had extended as she held the wolf’s jaws. She could half-manage to keep them closed but the wolf’s claws swiped at her arms, cutting her profusely.
As the members of the band ran away, the wolf looked up. Something behind it caused it to jerk back. Doris glanced below the wolf’s body; Gesine had one of its rear legs in her hands. It kicked that leg up, and Gesine held on it as her body slammed onto the stage as a result. It finally took a look into Doris’ face, and its yellow eyes stopped darting everywhere as they fixated on her own. She had been careful not to tear too deeply with her own nails into the wolf’s snout – just enough for her to struggle to prevent its jaws from tearing at her. The wolf glanced back at Gesine as she got back to her feet and, bloodied face, pulled at its leg again. It seemed to regard her as more of a nuisance than a threat.
Doris felt herself almost needing to inhale air. Where were Argall and Mab?
When the wolf’s yellow eyes turned to Doris again, it began to growl. But its head turned slowly to Doris’ right, off-stage.
Robin had a silver dagger in his hand. He jumped onto the stage there.
“I told you,” whispered Mab. “Gesine isn’t smart enough to not make things worse for us.”
Argall was holding something. A gun. His eyes were red.
“No,” said Doris. She let go of the wolf’s jaws and spun her body so that she was between it and Robin.
“Doris!” said Robin. “Stop using yourself as a shield!”
“Gesine!” said Doris. “Try to lead him to the tunnel at the backstage.”
Doris was about to tell Robin to get off the stage, but the wolf’s anger blinded it. The wolf charged right over her, with Gesine holding onto its back.
How wasn’t she stuck to the creature’s claws?
Doris blinked. Robin was above her. His silver dagger was stuck in the wolf’s shoulder. The arm that held it was draped over Doris’ own shoulder. Gesine was still managing to hold onto it.
The wolf’s shriek may as well have been a howl. Perhaps, half the time, that’s what a wolf’s howl must have been, thought Doris. It crying out in pain. It fell backward and rolled around until Gesine came loose. Then it took off for the tunnel.
11
Prep
Present
Roger managed to go to work the next day with Josephine. She took a swing by his block. As Roger stood and stared at the rubble that was left of his home, Josephine got out and stood next to him.
None of his neighbors seemed to care. What was more rubble from what had been quiet and falling apart only on the inside?
Roger sighed, unable to shake the heaviness on his chest. Where, he wondered, were Desmond and Gesine?
Roger and Josephine didn’t have time to go to work and stop off at Vincenzo’s, though Josephine at least drove by there. It always seemed to Roger that it was relatively easy for Doris and Gesine to find each other, and he took comfort in the thought that Gesine would find them eventually, that Desmond was safe with her. She actually may be who would have wanted to be with, if what he was going through felt thoroughly like dying – despite whatever happened afterward.
For five hours, Roger scanned packages and loaded them onto trucks. He sometimes looked up and around at the people around him. Who else was technically homeless? Maybe the look of desolation in between amid all the talkers was because someone’s back was killing them. But they were all pretty used to that. Occasionally it had to be life outside the warehouse’s walls doing as much.
Roger spent his lunch break trying to sell some of Josephine’s books that she kept in her trunk. He made about twenty bucks, which he gave her in the car on the way to the supermarket. Roger used the last of his money that week to buy a lot of raw meat.
As they sat in the car for a minute afterward, Josephine nodded to herself a few times. “Some of your friends are …?”
“Odd?” said Roger.
Josephine shook her head. “No, not exactly. ‘Interesting’ is a better word. How long do you think you all will be staying? Not that I’m trying to kick you out ... yet.”
“From what I understand,” said Roger, “we may have a place to stay very soon.”
When they go out of the car, Gray and Lorraine were there to help with the groceries. Roger could hear Shiba barking from Josephine’s place.
“Doris let us know you were here,” said Lorraine.
Gray nodded. “Desmond is back. He said he’s hungry.”
Roger’s eyes widened.
Lorraine touched his arm. “Doris is down there. And Gesine, too.” Her pupils dashed away from Roger’s as she nodded to herself.
“I’m sorry,” Roger told Josephine. “Two more houseguests who I promise will be, uh ... no trouble.”
“‘Uh ... no trouble,’” repeated Josephine. “Got it.”
“Yeah.”
Roger passed Gesine’s motorcycle at the curb. He slowly went down the stairs.
In Josephine’s living room, Desmond was standing by the mock fireplace. He stared at the spines of books on the bookshelf above there. Gesine stood next to him, staring at Desmond just as intently.
Doris, on the other side of the room, seemed to be trying to give Shiba some space.
The dog barked at both her and Desmond, who looked at the dog like it was a stranger.
To Roger, ‘Desmond’ didn’t really look like Desmond. His eyes were so … still.
Roger had never really noticed the light that had been in them until that moment, when he could see that it was gone. Or that much less of it was there. Also, Desmond’s mouth had a faint hint of red around it … That was not entirely out of the ordinary, except the red was probably not tomato sauce this time.
Shiba continued his intermittent barking.
“Hey, Des,” said Roger. “Where you been?”
“Vincenzo’s,” he said. “And a rooftop.”
Gesine put her hand up and wiped Desmond’s mouth. “We fed,” she said. “Not on people.”
Roger nodded. “That’s good to hear.”
Shiba barked again.
“Doris,” said Roger. “Do you need help with that dog?”
“No,” she said, mirroring where the dog was about to move left and right. “I know it may not be easy, but you should pretend we’re not here. You’re going through a lot, and this is … less. Most animals don’t particularly like me.”
Roger went over to
Shiba and picked the dog up. “Why don’t you give her a chance? She’s not so bad.”
He grimaced a little. Not so bad? That was probably a shitty choice of words. Shiba didn’t bark at Roger, though, which annoyed him for some reason.
As Lorraine, Gray and Josephine came downstairs with the groceries, Roger went over to them.
“Lorraine,” said Roger. “Do you mind if I take Shiba back to her owner?”
“Uh no,” said Lorraine. “I guess I should have done that by now. You want me to come with? The lady’s kind of a handful. I don’t know how Desmond dealt with her.”
Desmond stood by silently. As Roger sighed, he felt Doris’ eyes on him.
“No,” he said. “That’s okay.”
“Wait,” said Doris. “Do you really think being alone out right now is the best idea?”
Roger nodded mock-vigorously.
Doris nodded just once. She went into the refrigerator, and as she got something, she became a bit woozy.
Before Roger could go to her, Doris threw him a bottle of garlic powder.
Roger pocketed the bottle.
“There’s no rotting pumpkins,” she said.
“I’ll take my chances,” said Roger.
On his way out, he heard her say, “Will you?”
It was a frigid night for a walk. Roger held on to Shiba in his jacket to keep her warm. It took him twenty minutes to get to the address Lorraine gave him. He went up the stoop to and stopped half-way when he saw the window.
There was both a missing poster with Shiba’s face on it and a mock-up of a wanted poster with Lorraine’s and Desmond’s faces on it.
“Jeez,” said Roger.
With a sigh, he went up to the door and rang the bell. A man’s eyes peeked over the posters. From her spot half inside Roger’s jacket, Shiba barked.
He heard a woman’s voice and stepped back as the door was yanked back.
“Hello,” said Roger.
“Oh my god!” said the woman. “Shiba! I’ve been worried sick. Where did you find her? Was she on the street? She was probably coming back from that god awful, unlivable neighborhood she likes ever since her former dog walker took her there?”
Roger handed Shiba over to the woman, the dog barking at her all the while.
“I’m actually from that god awful, ‘unlivable’ neighborhood,” Roger said, putting his hand over his heart and making a quizzical face. “I wish it was a nicer, slightly less unlivable neighborhood, like what you’ve got here. But, yeah, anyway, Lorraine just got really sick. She didn’t mean to keep your dog.”
The woman held Shiba close to her chest, as if she were shielding him from Roger. “First, Desmond and then his friend. And I’m guessing your a friend of theirs, too.”
Roger slowly nodded. “Yup. Both of them.”
“I hope Desmond knows that we’ll never be utilizing his services again. And I don’t care if he and that woman were dying, nothing gives them the right to keep my dog.”
Roger looked at her blankly. “Yeah. Probably not.”
“We think you should leave,” said a man’s voice behind the door.
As the woman closed the door, Shiba began to bark incessantly. When it shut, the dog clawing at it from the other side.
“Sorry, Shiba,” said Roger. He slowly went down the stairs and looked up toward the horizon. Doris’ building there was there in the skyline. Or Mab’s. Roger stopped in the middle of the stoop, and stared at the building for a few moments. Why did so many stories have to be on top of the space that was needed?
Behind Roger, the door opened again.
He obliged the brownstone’s owners as they reiterated for him to go.
Shiba did not join their chorus of barking.
When Roger got back to Josephine’s street, Robin was waiting at the curb by himself. As soon as Roger saw him, he took the garlic powder out and was about to sprinkle it on himself (mostly to be contrary) when the distance between them suddenly was nil and Robin’s hand held his arm, preventing him from doing so.
“Do you mind if we talk?” said Robin.
Roger pulled his arm from Robin’s grasp.
“You know,” said Robin, “perhaps you’re right. That green book – it’s too fanciful for a world like this. Once, in another life, I tried to make things easier for the people around me – people who were not royals. They worked hard for little to nothing; they lived full of fear and desperation, with the only comfort being a kind of tribalism. That much hasn’t changed. And well, anyway, I thought giving them back the kingdom’s ill-begotten wealth would make them better, and I thought that would spread. And maybe it did for a little while. In the end, I suppose the only reward for that struggle was that they turned me into a lord. Posthumously.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Robin.” Roger went to the curb and sat down.
Robin slowly joined him, looking tired and old as he sat down. “They didn’t literally make me a lord; they just took my name and twisted it into such. I was supposed to die at the gallows, but a vampire came to me the night before that happened.”
Roger felt himself smiling in a way that bittersweet. “Forgive me. I’m not smiling at you being at the gallows. Not at all. It’s just that made me think of the first time I saw Doris. I guess some of you can be real lifesavers, huh?”
“Yes,” said Robin. “And no. The struggle that I was part of, it was all reduced to a question of the right royals – the ones who took their responsibility of shepherding the people as a grave responsibility.”
“Yeah,” said Roger. “That’s a pretty familiar tune.”
“We need Doris’ help,” said Roger. “She can probably hear us. But I needed a moment to tell you that I think you’d just get in the way. Some people have a way of making us weaker, in a good way. Just not when it comes to conflict. Only her, Gesine and perhaps your friend will be helpful with that. I am sorry that happened to him, by the way. Really.”
Roger shook his head. “I don’t know exactly what ‘that’ is.”
He heard Josephine’s door creak quickly, like a screech.
“What’s wrong with the two of you?” said Doris behind them. “Of course Roger can help, Robin. Can you stand garlic? If I’m looking out for him while he’s looking out for me, how does that make us weaker?”
Robin looked up at her. “Then maybe you shouldn’t come, Doris. We’d be going there to get a job done, not be human…. Not exactly, anyway.”
Doris strained her eyes. “Stop thinking your exalted friends know what’s best for everyone.
“And you,” she said, turning to Roger. “Your friend is on a different wavelength now. It has less colors. I have less colors, but …” She closed her eyes.
Roger reached out his hand. After Doris helped him up, he held on to it for a moment. He turned to Robin. “I guess I’ll see you ... what? Tomorrow night?”
Robin stood up, nodded, and smiled weakly at them both before walking off into the middle of the street. A car came down the street blasting music, and its driver had to slow down as Robin continued his gingerly walk. Curses from the driver echoed as Roger went downstairs with Doris. He sat next to her on a couch as Gesine, Desmond, Gray and Lorraine all sat around the coffee table, watching a cartoon on Desmond’s smartphone. Gray’s face and breaths contorted the most during the tale of the paraplegic woman who the best mecha pilot around; Lorraine alternated between it and Gesine.
Even without much showing on his face, Desmond seemed absorbed by it. Maybe it was just the pupils of his eyes, which stayed bigger in the same way that Gesine’s did.
She watched Desmond watching the cartoon, just like she had weeks ago – but then it had been when he laughed during some joke and subsequently tried to explain it to her.
It was Desmond’s voice that Roger would miss, the chatter that had sometimes brought him out of his head.
Doris leaned into Roger. “I think it’s possible Lorraine could help us, too,” she said.
Roger no
dded. “You mean with those things metallic things?”
Doris put her finger on the tip of her nose.
“How would I do that?” said Lorraine.
“I’m not sure,” said Doris. “But the devices they put on the ghouls. I should have been paying more attention to something besides my books, but I think there’s a wavelength that, if put inside their heads, tortures them into compliance. Surely there’s a chain-cutter.”
“Probably with some trial and error,” said Lorraine, “in what I imagine has to be a very little time.”
“Yes,” said Roger, “but it’s not all that different from the whole mortality thing, really.”
Lorraine pursed her lips and nodded. “The department that produced that tech was on that same floor you and I were before, Roger.”
“It should be easier for me to be there, too,” said Doris. “The sun will be down, and I won’t be the only vampire on our side.”
Roger looked over at Desmond. “Hey, Des. Do you still hate the idea of staking a vampire?”
It took a while but Desmond nodded.
That wasn’t very helpful but Roger smiled a little.
***
The first thing Mab did when she got back to the suite at the company building was take a shower of blood. She was aware that it was opulence incarnate, and sometimes she cared about that. This was not one of those times. Her finger was gone, dissolved in a ghoul’s stomach. Without the bone it probably would not regenerate. Surely she had earned gallons of blood.
What she was nearly drowning in was pumped from the tank where all of the employees’ donation of hemoglobin was stored and screened. Blood types were irrelevant.
Just like she and Argall were to Doris, thought Mab.
She wished that she wasn’t alone in this. She and Argall had groomed a cotillion of employees elevated to vampirism from company ranks, but they were often far too enamored with their new status than a modicum of soulfulness. Luckily, for her and Argall they were all so new to vampirism they were only stronger than humans. It did not seem so fortunate now that Robin and his old world friends were going to try to take their business from them.
The Howling Twenties Page 8