Mongrel

by K. Z. Snow

  Thornwood squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, Fan….”

  “What is it you’re begging for now? I’m really in no mood to shed my clothing.”

  Thornwood sucked in a breath and released it on a mewl. “Don’t… take the light from my eyes.”

  Fanule stared at his pinched face for a moment, at the tight, thin folds of his upper and lower lids. The irises locked behind them were watered blue, like silk buttons on a lady’s dress.

  A white eruption of fury obliterated everything in the hall. Fanule grabbed Robin by the upper arms and flung him against the opposite wall. Robin slid to the floor. Fanule loomed over him.

  “You worthless jackal! You hadn’t the slightest compunction about depriving me of life itself, yet you expect me to let you retain your sight?”

  Doubled over, Thornwood sobbed into his hands. “Please forgive me. If you can’t, at least have mercy on me. I’m drowning in gambling debts. I was driven by desperation, Fan.”

  “Save your simpering! A man is dead because of your fucking gambling debts!” It was all Fanule could do to keep from pummeling the figure on the floor. Sucking the light from his eyes would’ve been too kind. “I want to know the name of that scorpion and whoever set you up with him. Don’t think of telling me anything but the truth. If I find out you’ve lied to me—and rest assured I will find out— you’ll be visited in the dead of night by a certain debonair gentleman who’ll gladly fuck you while he sucks you. Only it won’t be your seed he’ll be drawing from your body.”

  Still hunched over, Thornwood gulped air.

  “Look at me!”

  When that pallid, tear-streaked face finally turned up to him, Fanule’s stomach cramped. He himself wanted to weep. They’d been lovers, for godssake. They’d been lovers.

  Fanule hadn’t been able to trust his parents to stand by him. He certainly hadn’t been able to trust the government of Purinton. Clancy was his friend, but Clancy disappeared for ten-year stretches. Within weeks or, at most, months, Marrowbone would leave again. The other residents of Taintwell had their own families and sweethearts to care about.

  And now William was gone, had to be gone. Fanule suddenly felt very much alone.

  “He goes by the name of Hackenslash,” Robin said listlessly. “An alias, I assume. I don’t know where he stays. He makes my flesh creep. It was Yankers at the Enforcement Agency who stuck me with that insect. ‘Show him the places Perfidor frequents,’ he told me. ‘And if you can, point Perfidor out to him. It would be better yet if you could arrange a tryst with the Dog King.’ Robin’s red-eyed gaze faltered up to Fanule’s face. “You see, they know we’re both twors.”

  “Do they know we’ve been together?”

  Thornwood shook his head. “I don’t believe so. I certainly didn’t tell them. No Pure will admit to closeness with a Branded Mongrel. All they know is that I’ve seen you about.”

  “Who ordered this strike?”

  “Yankers only said you’ve been fomenting unrest since becoming the Eminence of Taintwell, and some important persons wanted you… quieted.”

  That much was apparent. Fanule needed information that wasn’t. “Will your scorpion try scurrying into Taintwell to get at me?”

  Thornwood again lowered his gaze. Perhaps he was capable of shame. “No. He’s been warned to stay away from there. The authorities fear an attempted strike in Taintwell could go awry.”

  Fanule was empty of extreme emotion. His stomach-twisting disgust was gone. He'd spent all his despair. The rage had boiled away. He felt nothing now but scorn, as hard and flat and featureless as a roof slate.

  Dispassionately, he regarded the dapper fellow who slouched at his feet. “You're a scientific wonder, Robin. You've managed to live without a heart or spine.” Fanule turned toward the door.

  “I'm sorry, Fan. I'm so sorry.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “I SAW the Strongarms standing at the steps,” said the newcomer to Hunzinger. “Anything I can do to be of service?”

  Expectantly, Will tensed. He knew that voice.

  Hunzinger sighed. He tried to speak in a hushed murmur, but Will could easily hear him. “Yes, I suppose you could. It would save us some work. Take this fellow to T and J. Tell them to hold him until I get in touch with them, which probably won’t be until morning. I haven’t decided where to go with this yet. Do you have your restraints with you?”

  The answer was a metallic clank. Hunzinger stepped aside, and a sight that was lovelier than Fan himself graced Will’s eyes.

  Simon Bentcross entered the caravan.

  He walked over to the table and urged Will up out of his chair. “You’re to come with me, sir.”

  Will kept up his front. He protested. He struggled. Simon finally got him up and forced him to pivot. He clamped iron cuffs, heavy and cold and slick with condensation, onto Will’s wrists.

  “Just cooperate,” Simon growled. “Things will go easier for you if you do.” He nudged Will toward the door and led him down the steps, which were still flanked by Hunzinger’s security men.

  Will turned and called out, “Please lock my door when you leave.”

  As they shambled through the Gutter, past curious faces peeking through cracked-open doors, Simon wore a cool, impassive expression and stared straight ahead. It wasn’t until he had Will strapped into the basket of his aeropod that he hissed, “What’ve you gotten yourself into now?”

  “They found Fan’s calling card in my wagon.”

  Simon’s scowl was ferocious. “Why did you keep his card, you fool? You know Mongrels aren’t allowed in this park. And you know the authorities want to burn Perfidor at the stake.”

  “I didn’t anticipate anyone rifling through my collar box,” Will said wryly. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

  “Where do you think I’m taking you?”

  “I don’t know, Simon. I never could read your mind. The print is too small.”

  AS ROUGH as the aeropod ride was, what with wind currents buffeting the craft and Simon dodging around spires and smokestacks, Will had never felt such relief in his life. Even crashing to the ground would’ve been preferable to being thrust under the Monkey’s Claw.

  It wasn’t long before they moved into clearer air and the aeropod lowered from the sky. When it bumped to the ground, Will cried out in joy. Through a dense darkness that was utterly divorced from the hazy nighttime glow of the city, he saw the dim hulk of Fan’s barn.

  Simon got out of the driver’s compartment and began freeing Will from his restraints. He grumbled the entire time.

  “You realize I’m going to have to tell those vipers you escaped from custody. It’ll make me look like a bumbler. But at least they’ll think you’re loose in the city. I sure as hell hope you managed to convince Hunzinger you haven’t seen hide nor hair of Perfidor since he gave you that damned card.”

  “I don’t know if I convinced him or not,” Will said, sitting up and rubbing his ankles and wrists. “What would they have done to me if you hadn’t come along?”

  Simon blew out a breath and raised his eyebrows. “I think they would’ve held you for a few days, just to scare the mettle out of you, and then conducted a ‘proper’ interrogation.” Simon helped Will out of the basket. “I doubt they would’ve subjected you to the hard stuff, because I think Hunzinger still views you as an asset to the Circus, but it still wouldn’t have been a picnic. And if you’d tripped up at all, in any way… well, that’s when things would’ve really gotten nasty.”

  Will’s skin rose into gooseflesh. He didn’t ask for details. “Where would I have ended up?”

  “I think, at worst, they would’ve given you an ultimatum: ‘Either you help us snare Perfidor, or you take up permanent residence in one of our institutions.’”

  They stood facing one another on the scraggly grass.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Simon.” Will briefly cupped his forearm and felt its tough sinews, even through the coarse drugget of his jack
et. Not that long ago, Will realized with some wonder, those arms had excited him. Now they were simply part of a man who was fast becoming his friend.

  “Just stay out of trouble, will you?” Bentcross said.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  Simon muttered something unintelligible. “At least we got here. Now let’s go see the men we most want to see.”

  The house was dark; it appeared nobody was there. Marrowbone wasn’t around either, so the logical assumption was that he and Fan had gone someplace together.

  They both appeared about twenty minutes later. Will and Simon rose simultaneously from the front stoop.

  “William.” Fan’s exclamation was soft, and difficult to interpret. He’d stopped on the walkway and still hadn’t come forward.

  “You’re hung with him now, Perfidor,” said Simon.

  Will lifted and dropped his arms. “I’m sorry, Fan. It was either here or the Truth and Justice Building.”

  Fan gaped at him. “What?”

  “If you’d rather I didn’t stay here, my wagon should be on Whitesbain Plank Road in the morning.”

  “If it isn’t impounded,” Simon added.

  Fan leaned forward. “What?”

  “May we please go inside?” Marrowbone said, gliding up to Bentcross and whispering something that made them both smile.

  Once they were all settled in Fan’s parlor, the two lamps he lit brought their faces into irregular relief. The bounty hunter and vampire looked dreamily pleased to be in each other’s company again. Their host looked troubled. Will assumed he himself looked apprehensive, because he certainly felt that way. He continued to stand just inside the door.

  Fan stood with his hands on his hips and regarded Will from across the room.

  “Don’t start chiding me,” Will said, pointing at him. “I have a good deal of information for you. And whatever else happened was beyond my con—”

  The grin spreading across Fan’s face silenced Will. He glanced at Bentcross and Marrowbone, seated together on the sofa, and they were smiling as well. At least Clancy kept his lips closed.

  “What’s going on?” Will asked suspiciously.

  Bentcross laughed. “I think, lad, your lover is happy to see you.”

  “Exultant, I would say,” Marrowbone drawled.

  “Are you?” Will asked Fan.

  “‘Exultant’ might be an overstatement.” Several long strides brought him face-to-face with Will. “Or maybe not.”

  Their tight embrace came spontaneously. Will closed his eyes as he nestled his face in the crook of Fan’s neck.

  “Distance won’t work,” Will murmured.

  “Maybe not.”

  “You need to trust me to take care of myself.”

  Fan chuckled, the vibrations tapping against Will’s chest. “That won’t work either.” He pulled back, smoothed a hand down the side of Will’s face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Good. That’s what matters. Now tell me what happened.”

  “You two sit here,” said Marrowbone, getting to his feet. “Shall I bring everybody something to eat?”

  “I’ve eaten,” Fan said, “but Will and Simon could be hungry.”

  “Famished.” Simon gave Marrowbone a suggestive glance as he, too, rose from the sofa.

  “There’s plenty of food in the cupboards and coldbox,” Fan told them as they left the room. He turned back to Will and regarded his face for a moment.

  Will thrust a hand into Fan’s hair. When their mouths came together, he gripped those jet-and-amethyst curls with his other hand as well. I don’t want to be away from this man, Will thought. Not for long.

  The kiss steamed through him. Only with reluctance did he let it end. He glided his hands from Fan’s head to his shoulders to his chest.

  “Let’s get comfortable,” Fan said. He lifted Will’s hands and kissed them, then moved toward the sofa.

  As Will took off his jacket and laid it over the arm, he noticed the papers he’d earlier tucked into the inside pocket. “Shouldn’t Clancy and Simon hear what I have to say?”

  “Clancy will hear.”

  “How, if his knees are covering his ears?”

  Fan laughed, a rich, infectious sound. “Clancy might just treat Bentcross to a bit of mouth play. He doesn’t like fussing with his trousers unless he has enough time, space, and privacy to thoroughly enjoy himself. And for a vampire, that enjoyment can go on for hours.”

  Will lowered his eyes and bit at his lower lip. Fan’s allusion to his and Marrowbone’s shared past poked at him in a very unpleasant way—the first time such a thing had happened—and he didn’t know how to accommodate the feeling. “Do you miss it?” he asked.

  Gently, Fan smiled. “I can’t remember it clearly enough to miss it. Our affair is ten years old.”

  A question rose in Will’s mind. As embarrassing as it was, curiosity drove him to voice it. “How can a vampire pleasure a man with his mouth? Isn’t it… dangerous?”

  Fan’s smile broadened. “That depends entirely on his intentions.”

  Will felt heat rise in his face. Fan must’ve thought him laughably naïve. “You know what I mean,” he muttered.

  “Yes, the teeth. I can’t speak about all vampires, obviously, although I understand there are breed variations. But I do know that Clancy Marrowbone can work wonders with his lips and tongue. A man’s pride doesn’t even need to pass his teeth.”

  Will couldn’t possibly avoid imagining Clancy’s wonder-working lips and tongue playing Fan’s cock. His hips squirmed on the cushion. “Gods, Fan, why did we have to get on this subject?”

  “Because you brought it up.”

  “I brought it up, all right.” Will tried inconspicuously to push at his stiffness. His hand only made matters worse.

  Fan leaned toward Will’s ear. “Shall I ask Clancy to give you a demonstration? I know he wouldn’t mind in the least.” His tongue darted out and flicked over Will’s ear. “And I’d love to watch.”

  Will’s cock pulsed. “Oh gods,” he said feebly. “We’re beasts.”

  Chuckling, Fan sat back. “Agreed. But let’s get back on track. It seems we have a great deal to tell each other.”

  “So you were just teasing me?” Will couldn’t determine if he was relieved or disappointed. He wanted to be the former but suspected he was the latter. You don’t need a vampire’s mouth down there, he told himself. Fan’s is transporting enough.

  “Do you feel teased?” Fan asked archly.

  Will’s prick twitched in response. “Gods,” he whispered. “I’m hopeless.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THEY finally began exchanging their news. Fan recounted his visit with Robin Thornwood. Will told of scrutinizing the elixir crates, sneaking into the exhibit building, and talking with Daisy Purse. He described the confrontation at his wagon, a story that left Fan looking intensely displeased. Will was about to bring out the papers he’d filched when voices came from the kitchen.

  First, Marrowbone’s: “You must have needed that.”

  Then, Simon’s: “I always need it.”

  Yes, thought Will, we’re all beasts. Content with this fact of life, he smiled when the mismatched lovebirds entered the room.

  “Here, eat,” said Marrowbone as he handed Will a plate of pork, buttered bread, and apple slices. He, or somebody, had cut the meat into small chunks, perfect for lifting with the fingers.

  Will was impressed. “Thank you. Have you ever worked in a kitchen, by any chance?”

  “Bedroom, mostly.” Marrowbone went to the chair where Simon now sat and sank to the floor. He leaned against his lover’s sturdy legs.

  “He was a valet,” Fan explained to Will. “It was a saucy stable boy who turned him.”

  “Surely we have more important things to discuss,” Marrowbone muttered.

  “Yes, we do,” said Fan. “Have any of you heard of Seagrass Lane?”

  “I have.” Simon’s
answer was abrupt, as if any talk of Marrowbone’s past made him uncomfortable.

  “Is it in Purinton?” Will asked.

  “Far northern edge. There used to be a fishing village along that road, but it fell to ruin years ago. Why do you want to know?”

  “Will discovered that Dr. Bolt’s abomination is shipped from there,” Fan told Simon.

  Between bites and swallows, Will explained how he’d made his discovery. Fan went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of cold milk. Gratefully, Will drank. He hadn’t realized how empty his stomach was.

  “So the best way for me to get there,” Fan said, his brow creased in thought, “is to take Beavertail Drag east out of Taintwell, then follow the railroad tracks north. I should be able to recognize the spur from Twigby’s description of the buildings. Or from the lights, since the compound certainly won’t be steeped in darkness.”

  Will’s chewing slowed as he listened.

  “I could take you there,” said Marrowbone, “assuming you’re going after dark. And of course you’ll have to go after dark. There’ll be fewer staff on hand and less chance you’ll be seen.”

  Slowly, Fan shook his head. “No. I think I’ll hitch the cart to Cloudburst and ride there. If there’s evidentiary material I have a chance to grab, I’m taking it.”

  “What about me?” Will asked, setting his plate and glass on the floor.

  Fan looked at him. “What about you?”

  “I’m going along, of course.”

  “Damn it, Will….”

  “Damn it, nothing. You need someone to cover your back. And if we had a good enough camera with us, I could take photographs. My Uncle Penrose supplemented his sales income with photography.”

  “You can’t take photographs in the dark,” Simon pointed out. “And cameras are damned ungainly.”

  Fan sat forward. “No, Will might have something there. Ape Chiggeree’s been working on a smaller camera that produces bursts of light. It uses power from the sun and warmth from the user’s body. I’ll have to check with him on the progress of his prototype.” He turned to Will and put a hand on his leg. “That was a brilliant idea. We’ll talk later about whether or not you come with me.”