Crossed

by J. F. Lewis

  “So, do I look okay?” She’d let me get Erin to do her makeup, hair, and nails. Erin hadn’t flinched when Greta insisted that the red nail polish be applied to her fully extended claws, too. The combat boots detracted, though.

  “You’d look better if you were four-legged and furry, but as non-furry two-legged people go—”

  “Talbot.” Greta had elbowed me so hard that not flinching required an effort.

  “You look great.”

  “Not fat?” she’d asked.

  “You’re way past the amount of reassurance people can reasonably expect from a Mouser.” I’d touched her chin—a dangerous test. She hadn’t bitten my finger or snapped at me, which meant she had herself under control again. “You know that?”

  “But do I look fat?”

  “Why would it matter if you did?” I’d gestured at myself. “I’m not exactly a string bean.”

  “You’re all muscled and stuff.” Greta had poked my stomach. “Guys aren’t supposed to be skinny.”

  “Are you sure you won’t at least try a different pair of shoes?” I’d held a pair of open-toed black flats up for her inspection. “I understand that you don’t like heels, but—”

  “Is Dad going to be there?” She’d already known the answer and that had been her point. If Eric were home, she’d have worn whatever was necessary. In his absence, Greta curtailed her willingness to make accommodations.

  “Why are you going to Winter’s concert again?”

  “I told you.” Greta had pretended to admire herself in the mirror even though her reflection was a no-show. “It’s a secret.”

  “You’ll keep an eye out for gargoyles, at least?”

  “Not really.”

  Her words played again in my mind as I weaved in and out of traffic, zipping past one of Void City’s Finest as she directed traffic. I brushed her leg as I passed; I couldn’t resist. Vampires aren’t the only supernatural beasties with mystic speed.

  I scanned the sky for gargoyles, but I should have been watching the ground. Running down the center lane two blocks from Morne Park, a stretch limo inched its way forward. I was zipping past the rear right bumper when the door burst open.

  Completely unavoidable. Too stunned to react, I dropped into the backseat of my mind as if the body hurtling through the air was not my own. I saw the rear fender of a Lincoln Town Car and thought, Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show? I had time for only one more thought before I lost consciousness: At least I wore a helmet.

  When I came to, there was an awful tightness around my throat and the feeling of being trapped. I blinked twice at the bleary image of a woman with full cheeks and a haughty nose. Her hair was done up like a modern Marie Antoinette, all ringlets and ribbons. Her hands were around my neck, and her claws sank into my throat, carefully, threatening, not ripping. She grew, skin changing from pale to black.

  I found Lisette.

  My own transformation began, but as the akasha flowed over me, Lisette slammed my head into the hood of her limo five times in succession, breaking my concentration. One hand reached inside my trousers and her claws touched my testicles.

  “No transformation, Mr. Talbot.” Her harsh voice cut through my head, increasing the headache that was already throbbing. “I wonder if you’d be willing to save us both a great deal of trouble by telling me where exactly in this city I can find Eric Courtney?”

  25

  GRETA:

  FAT ASS GRANDMA

  When Daddy’s home, I never get to do this. Never ever. He has to save the day, because it makes him feel good. Happy. And I like him happy. He’s more fun that way. And just as I was thinking about him, I thought I heard someone say his name. I almost didn’t hear it—the sensation was more of a feeling than a sound, like when you could swear you heard someone say your name, but it’s only the wind or someone saying something close to your name . . . that or they’re lying to you and they really did say it, in which case it’s perfectly fine for you to drain them on principle even if they are selling ice cream. Never mind.

  “Did you hear that?” I didn’t raise my voice despite the wind. The question was rhetorical, but Fang answered with an affirmative rev all the same. “I’ll catch up with you at the concert.”

  “Eric Courtney.” It had been Daddy’s name, said by someone with a French accent. I crouched down across the floorboard so that when my clothes fell off they wouldn’t blow away. Then I slid inward, like a sponge when someone wrings the water out: tight, dense, compact.

  Daddy tends to transform into a vampire bat (which I totally don’t get because echolocation gives him a headache, and he can turn into anything he wants, unlike the rest of us). Vlads usually get more choice in the matter, but it boils down to this: a vampire turning into an animal for the first time can try for anything it wants, but it has to be careful, because the less powerful a vampire is, the more likely it is to get stuck with the first animal it picks as its only option. Dad even had this vampire working in his old club that could only turn into a frog. Heh.

  Tabitha had tried a bird and a cat and then gotten tired of doing either, preferring to focus on seeming human. I can only do three, but they’re a really good three and I’m keeping two of them secret. The way I see it, every vampire should have a bat in its repertoire; it’s a classic, but I did a lot of research before trying mine and went very specific. I turn into a zorro volador filipino, a giant golden-crown flying-fox, because they’re fucking awesome! Plus, since they’re the biggest bats in the world, with a wingspan of at least five feet, turning into one doesn’t actually hurt much.

  I clambered back up onto the seat, and Fang opened the driver’s side door for me so that I didn’t have to struggle against the wind so much when I took off. It’s times like these that I wish vampires showed up on film so that I could see the whitish mask of fur on my face and how it mixes in with the reddish-brown fur. I’ve had Talbot describe it to me, even made a guy paint it once, but that’s not the same as seeing it with my own eyes.

  “He’s not here.” Talbot’s voice strained, but I could still hear it as I cut through the air.

  “Don’t lie to me!” the French voice snapped.

  Talbot grunted in pain and then, descending, I saw them. Smoke curled up from the remains of Talbot’s motorcycle and a fat French lady who could only be Grandma stood in the middle of the street with one hand on his throat and the other down his trousers. Grandma’s a perv!

  Her hair was done up all fancy with ringlets and everything, and she wore this super cool renaissance-inspired dress with a corset. I didn’t know how she’d crammed herself into the thing, but she reminded me of those hippos in tutus from Fantasia. A big gold necklace hung around her neck—eight strands of thick metal linked to a massive emerald that lay nestled between her breasts. It could have been pretty, but I couldn’t help but think of an octopus when I saw it.

  “That’s a creepy necklace, Grandma.” I landed barefoot on the asphalt. The overwarm air of the sultry evening clung to my skin and I wished I could do the whole bring-my-clothes-with-me thing that Dad and New Mom can do.

  “You’re naked,” Grandma said, her lip caught partway between a smile and a sneer.

  “Thank God you aren’t.” I stuck my tongue out. “I mean come on. Ew!”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said put the kitty down, Orca!”

  “Je ne comprends pas Orca.” Grandma cast Talbot aside with a hiss and he hit the side of a street lamp with his head so hard that it really did go bong like in the cartoons. “But I expect it is impolite.”

  “Yeah.” I popped my claws. “Try these: Whale. Blubber butt. Fat ass. You look like an elephant in a tube top.”

  Grandma bared her fangs at me somewhere around “fat ass” and by the time I said “top” she was in motion. I backpedaled clear of her initial swipe. Her tiny curved talons failed to catch any skin, but my returning swipe scored a hit. A rent opened in her cheek where I’d clawed
her; black ooze seeped out of the wound, its scent a mixture of rotted meat and spoiled herbs. Zombie blood?

  “I can’t eat zombie blood. Not even Talbot can stomach zombie blood. Ick!” My eyes flashed red, casting her face in crimson. “That’s not fair!”

  “Nor is life.”

  I heard the gargoyles before I saw them. Their wings cut the air with the heavy slap of sailcloth snapping in the wind. Grandma fell back into a stance of some kind, one leg leading the other, before going at me with a volley of kicks, alternating high then low in a hooking motion as if she wanted to trip me, but I was faster than her. I met the second high kick with a two-handed rake of my claws. She howled, but it sounded more like anger at her rent hosiery than pain. More black blood escaped her flesh, wrinkling my nose.

  “I bet I can’t eat you guys either.” I pointed at the gargoyles, keeping my eyes on Grandma. “I hate fights where I can’t eat the loser.”

  “You are always welcome to surrender.” The speaker was a goat-headed gargoyle with a bowler hat and a dapper gray suit. On the ground, they looked smaller. Grandma’s hand whipped by me, an open slap, easily avoided.

  “Surrender?” I stayed on the defensive, getting a feel for Grandma and keeping an eye on the newcomers. It’s hard to fight carefully, but I had to. Dad wasn’t here to bail me out. Then again, he wasn’t here to make me hold back either. “But there are only six of you guys, plus Grandma. You’re toast.”

  “Silly child.” Lisette grew, all of her clothes vanishing except for her necklace. Gray-black washed across her skin, her lips turning black and chalky as if powdered with coal dust. Her pupils faded to white, becoming dull and glassy like a zombie’s. She licked her lips, leaving a trail of red blood in her tongue’s wake. “I am an Empress.”

  “You also appear to be edible, after all.” I gathered a smear of blood from her lips with a claw and licked it. It had the same heady tang that Dad’s does—a distinct flavor. “Just hard to eat.” I beamed. “Gourmet. Grandma, you’re gourmet!”

  Wings spread out behind her, drawing a chuckle from me. Wings are such a bad idea. Unless you’re flying to or away from something, wings just get in the way. Grandma did neither, just stood in the street almost as naked as me. Her necklace matched the Empress form. Its gold chains had lengthened subtly. Transformed, there was a dim glow to the emerald on her necklace, the gentle green playing across her massive gray boobs. It stayed with her in both forms when her clothes didn’t. That meant magic. But did that mean memento mori?

  Only one way to find out: get it away from her and destroy it . . . melt it down or something.

  “You like my necklace?”

  “Huh?”

  “Even in my Empress form, it captures your attention.” Lisette reached back, unsnapping it with her claw-tipped fingers. “Try it on.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You keep calling me Grandma.” As the emerald pulled away from her chest, the color swirled as if the gem were hollow. Then a dark crimson filled the space, changing the light from brilliant green to ruby red. “More properly grand-mère. You are my child’s offspring, oui?”

  “I’m adopted.” Which answered the question, but didn’t answer the question. Let her think I was a Soldier, just a really fast one. As I’ve said before, underestimation is a powerful tool. Just look at how people underestimate New Mom.

  “I’d wondered. Imperial vampires create either Kings or Pawns. But—”

  “But I’m not a Pawn.” Pawn . . . Pawn. What would she call Soldiers? Knights? “And if I were higher than a Knight, you’d have sensed me and I’d have sensed you.” And I did sense you, too, I crowed inside, and tomorrow night I’ll know how to destroy you. It’ll be fun—a real moment of grandmother/granddaughter bonding.

  “You’re very quick for a Chevalier, my dear . . . ah?”

  “Greta,” I supplied the name for her, watching as she shrank back down to human size. Her clothes came back with her, warm and fresh-smelling, making me concentrate to avoid leaning toward their heat.

  “I fight fast.” I smiled. “But I can’t do lots of animals or anything, and my clothes don’t transform when I do.”

  “I’d noticed.”

  Lisette glanced at the limo and the driver stepped out, wordlessly stripping down to his Speedo and cap. He was about my height and trim, so the fit wouldn’t be too far off. He offered me the clothes.

  I slipped the pants on first, gouging an extra hole in the belt with the claw of my little finger. On the dress shirt, I buttoned only the bottom button, tucking it in so that it pulled tight against my breasts. Over that, I wore the jacket, using the bold crimson tie to replace the kerchief in the breast pocket. I was glad I’d had my toenails done, though, because though the ensemble worked surprisingly well, hardly anyone ever has shoes my size (I take a wide in a half-size).

  As I dressed, several folks who’d been watching us and seeing whatever the Veil of Scrythax allowed, booed me (I guess it was because I’d put some clothes on), but Lisette silenced them with a twirl of her memento mori. It flashed blue and the whole crowd went slack-jawed for a few seconds, then went about their business. Interestingly enough, I felt the magic try to touch my mind too, and slide off.

  I’m a little hard to control mentally. Dad says it’s because most people don’t know how to handle my mental landscape, which is odd, because I thought it had something to do with me being a little bit certifiable by human standards. Lots of vampires still have relatively human thoughts and feelings, but not me.

  “Much better,” Lisette approved.

  “Even with the John McClane–inspired footwear.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure who that is, but it helps that you have attractive feet and know the meaning of the word pedicure.”

  “Cool.”

  “I feel we have had a misunderstanding, Greta, ma chérie.” She held the necklace out to me, gripping the chains in a bunch as if she were holding a squid (or something else with tentacles). It was still overlarge and I realized it hadn’t shrunk when she had. I didn’t want that necklace to touch me. If Fang could strip a body down to the bones in seconds, who knew what Squidly was capable of. “I’m looking for my son. I have questions about how he came to be. I don’t want to harm him.”

  I gave her the Spock eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Mais bien sûr . . . but of course.”

  “Then why did you attack Talbot?”

  “Le chat noir?” Grandma eyed Talbot’s unconscious form. “How do you say in English? The Mousing?”

  “Mouser,” I corrected.

  “I knew that he worked for Eric, but I knew not that he was more than a pet. How could I?”

  “Well, it’s just that Dad left me in charge of all his stuff while he’s away and I think that includes employees and thralls . . .”

  “Away?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you mind if I ask—?” She moved toward me, necklace extended.

  W.W.D.D.—What Would Daddy Do?

  I thought of so many ways to try and get more information out of her, to hide the idea that I know about memento mori and guessed that the necklace is hers. But Daddy wouldn’t do that. He plays some things close to the vest, but not something like this. In UNO, he plays the special cards as soon as he gets them, throws them down with glee. So I do, too.

  “Do you mind if I ask what your memento mori would do to me if I put it on?” I heard an intake of breath from Talbot at my comment and wondered how long he’d been playing possum. “Or do you think I’m a”—what curse word would Dad use—”motherfucking moron?”

  My smile drew wide across my face as Lisette began to transform into her Empress form, throwing the necklace right at my head. Yeah. I thought that’d piss her off.

  26

  TALBOT:

  CRUNCH. SLURP.

  It’s possible to see the akasha with your eyes closed, but it takes practice and things don’t look the same. You catch it raw and uncut. Lisette’s neckl
ace, for example, active and in the presence of its Empress, snapped at the air with a sharp curving beak attached directly to the base of a massive gemlike eye. Lisette held it by eight of its golden tendrils, while two tentacles, more spirit than matter, wrapped around its creator’s wrist.

  More of a squid than an octopus.

  I was still collecting my wits when Greta mouthed off to Lisette and the Empress threw the memento mori. Greta lurched to the right, dashing in at an arc to claw at Lisette’s side, but Greta couldn’t see the entire creature, only the material components, and one of the two spirit tentacles snagged her wrist. Similar things had happened with Eric in El Segundo. Vampires can’t properly fight what they can’t touch.

  To be honest, though, I’d rather Greta died—much simpler that way—and at the hands of someone Eric was going to kill anyway.

  “Ow,” Greta said as the thing reeled itself in along the unseen spirit tentacles, and let the visible golden tendrils, which normally passed for necklace chains, take hold of her arm. “Get off, Squidly!”

  I’d rather Greta died, but Eric loves her and he’d never forgive me if I let that happen, if I didn’t pull out all the stops to save his little girl. . . .

  I won’t give you the whole spirit versus mundane versus magic speech, but suffice it to say that there aren’t too many creatures that can exist in two worlds and touch both at the same time. I’m one of them (and to be exceedingly honest, I touch more than two). That Lisette’s memento mori—Squidly, Greta had called it—could bridge the spirit and the physical worlds as well did nothing for my confidence level.

  “Now you will have your answer,” Lisette roared. “Let it touch you—”

  “Damn.” I don’t curse a lot. Around Eric, there’s no need. If something vulgar needs to be said, he’ll say it, but every once in a while, I let one slip. Seems like that happens right before I get myself exiled or extend the exile under which I already find myself. “I am way too attached to that man.”

  I ignored Lisette. She and Greta could sort things out with the memento mori, but the gargoyles had to go. Two of them moved for Greta, and I shifted a portion of my spirit self through into the real world without thinking about it. When a vampire changes shape, there is no conservation of mass: it’s pure physics-defying magic, but what I do is different. If I become a normal-sized cat, I shed the extra mass by moving it to the part of me that exists in either the dreamworld or the akasha—the spirit world. If I go into full-out combat mode, I do it by pulling the bulk of myself into the physical world and leaving only a token presence behind, becoming something akin to a normal-sized cat there instead. If you’re not used to being three places at once, it can get a little confusing.