We had beds there and a bar where we hung out. It was Terry's answer for hunter therapy.
Remi had been at the game for several years. Longer than any of us except for Joy and her father Terry who'd started the whole organization. He was a classic looking man who might have been a lawyer or a politician in another life but hunting had worn him out. He was a regular when not on assignment for Joy or on his own.
He didn't flop at Rio Grande much any more and kept to himself. We'd all assumed he was out on assignment for himself. As hunters we didn't have to remain exclusive to Joy and Terry, they had the best intel, and having a network made things easier.
Most of us preferred to use the network and the badge that came with it, not to mention all the cool things we had access to by being a badged hunter. Remi had been the first they recruited.
And he would never leave his garage wide open like that.
"Something's wrong," I said and sped up.
Chase knew me well enough and was a decent hunter. He didn't need to question. He just ran along behind me, picking up speed and overtaking me. His feet hit the threshold of the garage bay before I did and he swung around in the maw of it to face me.
I had time to see the look of shock on his face before it pushed out that of gritty determination. He reached up over his head and yanked down hard on the bay door.
It came down with a grinding and I thought I could make out a growl coming from within just as he ducked and rolled out onto the street. The bay door settled into place with a clang that echoed into the street.
I skidded up next to him, my breath far more labored than his. I blamed his weekly lacrosse games for his damned well-conditioned lungs.
"What's all that about?" I heaved out, hanging over my bent knees. I had to grip my stomach to quell the stitch that had begun to cramp my ribcage.
"Golem," he said.
"It's in there?" I shoved him aside and tried to get to the door.
He held me back by the elbow.
"You can't even breathe," he said. "You can't go fighting a twelve-foot monster."
I kicked at his boot with my foot. "I can't breathe because I've already been fighting that monster," I said.
"Exactly." He tugged at my arm. "He's locked in. That gives us time to formulate a plan."
"We don't need to plan," I said. "We need to act. What if Remi's in there?"
"If Remi's in there, he's the one that made that thing."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" he said. "We haven't seen him for months. He's off his nut. And this is his garage. You said so yourself. Why would the monster come here if he wasn't slave to Remi's magic?"
"Remi isn't a witch or a sorcerer. He's Bahai, for heaven's sake."
Chase tapped the metal of the door with one finger. "The thing that's in there didn't just grow out of the earth like a carrot. Someone made it. If it wasn't Remi, then who?"
He had a point. If we flat out destroyed the golem, we might not find its maker and we'd be at the mercy of whoever had created it without knowing the motive. Might the person create another and fulfill their intention later.
Keeping the golem contained for now might be the best decision.
"We can watch it," I said. "Stake the place out and see who comes and goes."
"Exactly. Whoever made it, made it for a reason."
He folded his arms over his chest. "I'll take first shift. You go back to Slow Smoke and shower. I'll text Joy. Can't have you stinking up her cafe with that manky smell."
I glanced at the garage, ignoring his insult in favor of the more important issue.
"You're sure it's contained in there?"
He laid his palm against the door. "Unless Remi decides to drive his 911 tonight, then the beast is contained."
"Remi has a Porsche?" I said, trying to look in the window of the bay to see inside. "What in the hell has he been hunting to earn that kind of coin?"
"Still think he's innocent?"
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying yes. I knew Remi and so should Chase. He was one of the few hunters who had made me feel welcome when I'd joined. I also knew he had dilapidated old beater cars and a few eccentric ones. He had an Edsel in there for cripe's sake.
But he also loved cars. What car man didn't dream of owning a Porsche?
"Why would creating a golem make him rich?" I said. "You're barking up the wrong tree." I swiped at my jeans and shivered again. It was just as well. I didn't believe Remi was guilty of what Chase was ready to believe of him, but Chase did have a point. The golem was safe inside, out of danger of harming anyone. I was freezing and filthy.
"I'll get Joy to send over a replacement for you," I said and hugged my torso to stop the shakes.
Chase flashed me a grin that I only half saw from beneath the spotlight aimed down at the parking lot.
"Tell her to pick someone who can stay up all night. I'd like to get a second chance at that hot date." He peeled off his jacket and tossed it at me.
I caught it on my arm. "You sure?" I wrinkled my nose at him. "It may never smell the same again."
"You'll just have to make it worth my while," he said with a wink. "Now get going. I want relief tout de suite."
The way he said relief made me think it had nothing to do with being replaced. I felt a tingle of anticipation. How long had it been since I'd enjoyed a man's touch?
Too long was the answer and I didn't hesitate. I'd left my Chevy at the Slow Smoke because I didn't want Saul to know what I drove. Call me paranoid, but a gal didn't live this long as a hunter and trust every Tom, Dick, or Jane. I'd taken a bus and met him on site. I wasn't about to assault the innocent with my stench by grabbing a bus ride back to Rio Grande.
The cabbie I hailed had a partition that kept my smell from hitting him until I was all the way in the backseat. It took several moments and a pull out into traffic before he realized he had picked up a revolting fare.
"I'll pay you extra," I said when he glared at me through his rear-view. "Just get me home so I can wash this stink off."
He sped to Rio Grande. I ran up the stairs, ignoring the verbal abuse and good-natured ribbing. Hunters came through all the time smelling of various fluids and nasties.
"Spot me a fifty," I said to Terry.
He waved his hand in front of his face from across the bar. "I'll give you the fifty so long as you get the hell out of my bar."
I grinned at him and snatched the bill from his fist after he'd pulled it free of the cash register.
"It's the smell of money," I said. "You think working for you sends a gal tripping through tulips?"
The cabbie was happy to be paid an extra 40 and I thought it only fair. The ride from the Jewish borough had to test his resolve in more ways than his usual nights.
I was in the shower and soaped to the max when shots rang out inside the bar.
Chapter Five
It's next to impossible to save the world when you're naked and wet. I knew the sound of gun shot like I knew the smell of fear. You don't forget it once you've cataloged it in your memory banks.
As a rule, hunters didn't shoot their weapons in the Rio Grande. They had no need to. There were enough of us at any given time that unless there was some full-on war turning our home base into a battleground, whatever came at us could be taken out pretty quickly and efficiently. There would even be celebratory drinks afterward and rounds bought for the winner.
If someone was shooting their gun in Terry's bar it was either Terry or we were under assault.
The locker room at the Rio Grande was communal, mostly because there wasn't space for Terry to include separate showers and change rooms. Everyone had a choice to keep a locker there and use the showers, knowing full well privacy wasn't always at an optimum. We did our best and gave each other space, unofficially setting up the left side of locker room for those who wanted privacy and the rest was left to those who didn't care. Some were actually proud of their battle-scarred bodies and builds.
>
We were all pretty much inured to nudity. Even most of the female hunters, although an admitted few kept their distance and roped off the shower with a velvet theater rope when they wanted to keep the place to themselves.
At the sound of unusual gunshots, I leapt from the shower stall and yanked on the change of clothes I'd brought with me from my locker. The Glock I kept with me all the time, and the silver dagger hung over the peg over the door, and I lifted both from their sheaths before creeping out to meet whatever had decided Terry Sharp's bar was a good place to die.
My heart raced and ticked along faster than my breath, although I had to admit that was doing its best to keep time. I forced myself to inhale slowly and hold it as I laid the muzzle against the door jamb and panned left and right to be sure I was alone.
No one else was in the locker room. So far, so good. I was barefoot, so I made no sound as I rushed the door. I laid my ear against the wood, counted to three because that would be all the time I was willing to let go while I assessed the threat.
Laughter met my ears. Human laughter. But it was peculiar to hear it because I knew who the blazes was out there laughing like nobody's business and I decided if Terry Sharp was laughing he had to be in the throes of a nasty spell. The last time I'd heard him even chuckle, it had been at least three years ago.
I twisted the knob and kicked open the door. It swung wide while I planted my feet far apart. I pointed the muzzle into the room and swept the area with a quick scan.
Three hunters splayed leisurely across chairs and the sofa met my gaze. One, Scott, was lounging before a newly sparked fireplace. I heard the snap and crackle of kindling catching ablaze.
"What the devil?" I said and lowered my weapon beneath Terry's forbidding look.
"You make a habit of drawing your weapon on allies often, Graves?" he said and cracked a bar cloth in the air. Water sprayed off it in tiny droplets. He flung the damp rag over his shoulder and glared at me. "Do I have to take away your gun again when you come in here?"
"Someone discharged their weapon," I said in defense.
He rolled his eyes and pointed to the plasma television hanging over the fireplace. Scarface played on the screen and emitted a variety of sounds from the surround sound speakers.
"It's movie night," he said. "Just like every Thursday night. I'm guessing your evening didn't go so well."
I sighed and ran my fingers through strings of wet hair. I was puddling onto the floor, a fact Terry had not left unnoticed. He threw the towel at me.
"Joy's getting soft," I said. "Sent me out with a teeny bopper."
"Joy will never be soft," he said. "She was conceived on a bed of nails. If she sent you out with a kid, there's a reason."
There was a warning in his voice. I reminded myself that Terry had pulled the privileges from his own grandson for sassing Joy. Scott was only just getting back into the lounge after three days of being ostracized. That explained why he was lounging in front of the fire as though he was freezing. It was his favorite spot in the entire bar.
"Kid was a waste of time. Couldn't even de-animate a midget golem."
"Little golem," Scott said with his finger raised. "You need to be more empathetic, Graves. The term midget is unsavory."
I glared at him because he knew full well I wasn't trying to be prejudiced. "Little golem, then," I said, stressing the correction.
"I'm glad to see you've evolved," Scott said. "Although I'd wager the dear thing would be insulted by your insinuation that his third leg was anything but impressive."
He laughed and Terry guffawed. It was so odd to see him finding humor in the comment that I spun to face him, flicking off my wet fingers in his direction.
"You find it funny that your grandson and his partner molded a golem with a penis the size of a tree trunk?"
Terry's gaze fell to mine. "I find it funny that you're letting him reel you in."
I slid up onto a bar stool and turned my back to Scott. I wasn't in the mood for playing right then. I was sore and frustrated and tired.
"Whatever. But Joy should know the kid was a dud."
I leaned over the bar in an effort to pull a clean glass my way along with a nice bottle of Canadian Club whiskey. Terry watched me and immediately pulled out a pad from his pocket along with a pen. As the whiskey poured into the glass, he ticked the paper three times.
"Want to make it four?" he said when I didn't put the bottle back down.
I lifted the spout and considered it, then figured three ounces would be plenty to take the edge off and help me sleep off the nastiness of the night. If I was lucky, the effects would last until I could enjoy a late meetup with my hot date.
"Oh shit," I said as I realized exactly who that hot date was. "I left Chase out there."
I spun around on the stool to face Scott again who was watching the movie.
"I was so riled with that ridiculous gangster movie I forgot Chase."
Scott raised a hand over the backrest of the sofa and waved it at me in dismissal.
"He's a big boy."
"But that's not the point," I said. "I'm supposed to get someone to relieve him."
"Like I said," Scott drawled. "He's a big boy. I'm not going to take him potty."
I sighed in frustration. Always with the bad jokes these guys. "There's another golem," I said, realizing I was standing and had taken the bottle and glass with me several feet away from the bar.
Terry perked up at that. "Another one? You mean besides the one Chase and Scott built for you?"
I eyed Scott with a narrowed gaze. I should have known they'd be in this together, but it wasn't important right then. There were bigger fish to fry.
I went back to the bar and set the glass and bottle on the counter.
"We have it trapped in Remi's garage. We decided to stake it out to see if the maker comes for it or it tries to go to the maker."
I didn't say anything about the suspicion that Remi might be that maker. I decided to keep to myself the expensive cars until we could rule out any possibility that Remi had gone bad.
"Remi?" Scott said. "Our Remi? The one who hasn't set foot in Rio Grande since granddad heaved his ass out for hording spells?"
I swallowed and nodded. "Yeah," I said. "That Remi."
At a nod from Terry, Scott unfolded from the sofa and straightened his shirt, smoothing down the material over a quick peep show of abs and smooth skin.
"I'm on it," he said. "I wouldn't want Chase to miss out on all the priming that midget golem's third leg was supposed to work on you."
"Little," I said with a flush that heated my cheeks because I hadn't expected Chase to even mention our date to Scott.
"Oh darlin' Graves," he said. "I saw the thing. It was little the way granddad here is generous."
"Speaking of which, " Terry drawled, using the cue to reprimand me for breaking one of the house rules. "You bought the bottle."
"But it was an accident."
He shrugged, unmoving as usual. "You know the rules. The bottle leaves the bar, it's paid for."
I groaned but plucked another glass from the counter so that I was pinching it between my pinkie and ring finger of the hand holding the bottle.
"Put it on my tab. Have Joy take it off my pay."
Since it was paid for, I might as well use it to my advantage.
"I'll be bunking in tonight, Terry," I said and headed for one of the flop rooms.
He grunted in disapproval from behind me, not, I presumed, because he didn't want me staying in one of the rooms he provided for hunters on assignment but because he probably knew exactly what Scott did.
So I decided to use that to my advantage too.
"And when Chase gets here, tell him to bring another bottle to my room because this one is spoken for."
My cheeks burned but I refused to let them get to me. A gal needed to let off steam and if they were going to tease me about it, they were going to get an earful for their trouble.
Chapter Six
Chase didn't make it to my room, which was just as well because I drank enough of the Canadian Club that I woke at dawn with a significant amount of drool on my pillow. Not a pleasant picture that I'd want him or anyone else to see.
I also woke with a golem sized pain throbbing at the base of my skull in a closet sized room that was as stuffy as a tomb according to the nausea in my belly.
"Well," I said to the half-empty bottle that sat on the end table. "Aren't you going to say you're sorry?"
The bottle, contrary to what I'd heard about Canadians, did not apologize. In fact, it looked fairly smug.
It was the crisp banging on the door that indicated I'd not just awoke by myself, but from repeating knocks. The voice on the other side demanded I get my ass up and down to Slow Smoke.
"Coming," I said and winced as the sound of my own voice scraped a big hunk of pain from between my ears and served it up to my nerve endings.
"Don't keep her waiting," Terry said and gave one final wallop on the door.
I heard him retreating and imagined he was settling in for a morning of clearing out the mess drunks left in the lower level bar meant for regular, non-hunter types. It was his bread and butter, his bars. He had three of them. The Rio Grande was the nicest and because he'd been a hunter in his day, he kept the upper level elite to the club. We enjoyed a lot of privilege because of Terry and Joy Sharp. If she wanted me to meet her like yesterday, then hangover be damned. I'd cobble enough fortitude to descend the stairs to Slow Smoke.
I'd taken one of the six closet-sized sleeping quarters the night before, and I assumed at least two others were filled. Hunters were welcome to crash any time they wanted. It didn't hurt Terry's business that they usually socialized and drank together. It made sense to offer flop rooms but they were Spartan at best.
A chair, a bed with clean sheets, and a small prop up desk that doubled as an end table and could be lowered against the wall out of the way when not needed.
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 137