I eased myself onto my elbow and rolled toward the edge of the bed because I didn't have the energy right yet to sit up and stand. I let gravity pull my feet to the floor, and when they hit the wooden laminate, I realized I was barefoot. I'd at least had the sense at some point to pull my socks off. That had to be encouraging, despite the size of the hangover.
It was only when I realized I'd pulled every stitch of clothing off altogether, as evidenced by the pile of fabric that littered the floor from door to chair where my boots lay on their sides, that I guessed the hangover was going to last much longer than I hoped.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. When I couldn't remember getting undressed to the point of airing out my birthday suit, I knew the nausea would stick around for a few hours.
I bucked up and pulled on the bits and pieces, buttoning up my shirt and pulling on my boots. The laces gave me a bit of hard time as the bending over made my gorge rise. I managed to hold back a blast of bile and leaned against the door for a few minutes before I inhaled deep enough that even that nearly threatened my resolve.
"I'm up," I announced to the room when I minced my way from the room to the main lounge.
"Someone call the Royal Swedish Academy," Terry said as he wrestled a bag of empty cans toward the storage room. He was alone, so I felt a bit less embarrassed.
"Funny," I said, and halted mid room to keep the surroundings from kaleidoscoping. Someone was cooking bacon and my stomach twisted. "Sweet Jesus," I said.
"Yeah," Terry replied, straightening up and casting a beady look in my direction. "She's making you a breakfast sandwich. Heavy with bacon and sausage."
"Oh God. And sausage?"
He didn't so much as grin. He knew my past as well as I or Joy did. It was part of the initiation. I imagined he wanted to remind me that my father was an alcoholic but wouldn't pass judgement quite so verbally. Instead, they'd send subtle, but clear messages.
Like bacon and sausage spitting oily residue all the way up the stairs.
"I told her you'd be very hungry," he said.
I aimed my boots in the direction of the stairs that led directly to the all hours cafe. "You're on thin ice, old man."
"If you manage to skate over to me without breaking through the ice yourself, I'll be sure to be worried."
He swung his back to me and continued cleaning up and I went down to meet my doom.
The aroma of greasy meats met my nose long before I opened the door. I knew Joy would no doubt be plying information from a variety of hunters, or had already done so long before dawn. She was an early riser, and while the cafe's only public door led to an alley way, she did have plenty of clientele. Most of them hunters who subsisted on coffee, donuts, and her incredible crustless lobster quiche with satay sauce.
"You get a bead on the new guy?" she said without turning around.
Her red hair was tied up this morning, and spilled out in tendrils past the plaid hair wrap that contained the most of it. The woman who had retired from hunting officially when she turned 45 still looked as good as any thirty-year-old. Maybe better. But for the hard edge to her jaw and the scar that ran down her throat to her collarbone, she might look like she'd had a cushy life. Hunters bore their scars, the best ones wore them beneath their skin instead of on it.
That one scar that marred Joy's skin made me wonder how many emotional ones she kept hidden.
I slid onto a stool and reached for the coffee pot she'd left next to a gargantuan mug that said, I'm on the hunt for a magical cuppa Joe.
I noted the empty plate next to it and breathed a sigh of relief as I answered her.
"If you're asking about Saul, then don't bother calling him a new guy."
The coffee was dark and dusky and it steamed over the rim of the mug as I poured a hefty stream of it for myself.
From the edge of my vision I caught her flipping a pancake and meaty sausage round onto the plate. I lifted my gaze to hers and physically shuddered at the thought of eating it, even if she had made it special.
"That bad?" she said.
"Ho, yeah." I pushed the plate back at her after my stomach did its own flip flop. It was all I could do to keep from puking up the bile in my stomach.
Her well-shaped red eyebrow lifted over the right eye playfully. "Not hungry?"
"You know perfectly well I'm not hungry."
"Because I'm psychic?" she asked in a tone that indicated she did indeed know but preferred letting me bask in my shame.
I supposed it didn't matter. Joy knew everything because the hunters spilled their guts in the only other therapy we had besides drinking atop the Rio Grande. No doubt someone had come traipsing down here while I was comatose and laughed about it. Probably even Terry.
"He didn't show, huh?" she said and used her finger to push the plate back at me. "It's none of my business, but it wasn't a good idea anyway."
"You're telling me," I said and gripped my stomach this time because the smell of grease was far too overpowering.
She sighed and took the breakfast away. "I shouldn't punish you. He is pretty damned charming."
"Too charming," I agreed. "Wait a minute. This breakfast is to punish me for making a date with Chase and not for getting overly drunk after losing track of your recruit?"
She lifted one finger and narrowed her gaze at me over the counter. "We'll come back to losing the recruit in a minute, but first; Chase?"
I nodded. "He was my hot date. I thought you knew."
Her jaw bobbed sideways and she said, "huh."
"Who did you think I coerced into a booty call?"
She waved her hand over the counter and spun on her heel. "No one. I just wasn't thinking. So." She changed the subject quickly. "Tell me about how you managed to lose our first potential in two years."
So I did. I explained the golem, describing it in detail, and she laughed as I expected. She frowned where it was appropriate, and she looked concerned when I told her how he'd just disappeared, leaving me and Chase to stake out a second, bigger golem.
"Luckily you know where it is," she said. "Did you log it with Willy?"
Willy Cross was our librarian and resident grouch who managed the library beneath the Rio Grande. We alternately loved, hated, tolerated, and loved him in equal measure, mostly because he took great pains to make it so.
It was likely he might have dibs on information about creators in the area. He wasn't a fan of Remi's after Remi had complained Willy bought a diary from a very old vampire. The book was said to explain exactly how to make a thrall. Remi, like the rest of us, was pretty upset and wanted the book destroyed so it wouldn't fall into the wrong hands and Willy informed him, with the added microphone of a shotgun pointed at Remi's face, that he kept all information secure. How dare he infer the library would be anything but safe.
But that was Willy. He was an information nerd, and information was useful. I hadn't thought of going to Willy and I was about to admit the fact to her when the bells rang over the public doorway.
It was Scott who tromped in first, with Chase hard on his heels. Both of them looked angry but it was Chase who stormed the room and smacked me on the back.
"Hey," I demanded.
"Hey nothing," he said and squeezed his meaty palm over the tender areas of shoulder meat. "Where in the hell were you?"
I spun on the stool and caught sight of Scott dutifully avoiding both of our gazes.
"I was here, right where I said I would be."
He rocked back on his heels and emitted a small sound that indicated he'd just remembered an important detail.
I waited for him to explain himself.
"Sorry, Graves," he said but he wouldn't meet my eye at first until Scott snickered from beside him. Then he back handed his friend in the stomach. "Not my fault," he said. "She had me watching a golem pick his nose all night."
"I sent a replacement," I said.
"Hell if you did," he said. "I waited for hours."
I swiveled my head to Scott.
"Well?" I asked. "What happened to you?"
He toed the floor tiles. "I went to the wrong garage."
I felt my eyebrows raise an inch. "The wrong garage. You know where Remi's garage is. You've been there."
"He has two of them, Graves," he said and this time it was my turn to say, "huh."
"So, the golem?"
"Yeah, that's why we're here," Chase said. "I had to take a leak."
"Meaning he's bladder shy," Scott cut in.
"I'm not shy about my bladder," Chase drawled. "Or my penis for that matter. But the last thing I wanted was to get caught by the golem with my pants literally down, so I stepped around the corner. I mean, he'd been digging in his nose for hours like he was mining gold in there." He shuddered. "I didn't think a two minute piss would change the fact."
"Sweet Jesus," Joy said.
"Yeah," Chase agreed. "You guessed it. The thing is gone."
Chapter Seven
Gone. It was an incredibly foreboding word, considering today was Halloween and within a few hours, thousands of kids of all ages would be running about the streets.
"Could there be a worse time for a golem to be loose?" I said and swiveled on the chair, my nausea all but forgotten in the fear that one of those kiddos would end up getting hurt.
But the nausea didn't forget me. It swamped over me when I stood up too fast and it was Chase's hand that steadied me.
I looked up into his face. I couldn't muster a word of gratitude until my belly decided to stop swishing like a liquor barrel, but he smiled at me anyway. I suffered a moment of sadness that we'd missed each other the night before. I was willing to bet the pent-up tension I'd been holding onto was half the source of the hangover.
Scott must have seen my face blanch because he offered me my mug of coffee. I shook my head.
"Not yet," I said and I could swear he chuckled beneath his breath. I decided it was best not to let him think he'd got beneath my skin, but I realized he'd offered me the drink on purpose. Just to see me quail. I shoved him aside and threw off Chase's arm.
"Where are you going?" Chase said as I headed toward the door.
"Where do you think?" Joy answered for me. She got it. I couldn't let a bit of a hangover keep me from taking care of something I'd left undone in someone else's hands. "Text me your location when you get there," she said from behind me. "I'll see if Willy can find something that will track its maker."
I had my hand on the door when Scott came up behind me.
"I'll come with you," he said. "Chase is going to need a few hours sleep."
I put my finger to my temple in the hopes a bit of pressure would dam a few minutes of pain. "I so don't need this today."
I felt him reach past me to push open the door. "No one needs this today," he said. "Shitty timing."
He shoved at the door and held it open until we both made it into the back alley. I minced along beside him as we headed for the street. I caught him looking at me from the side of my eye.
"What?" I said.
"You need dad's hangover cure."
"I'm afraid to ask."
He slung his arm over my shoulder and tucked me close to his torso as we walked. At first, I resisted but it felt so good to be supported that I melted in within seconds.
"The cure isn't awful," he said. "Just a bit of watered down tomato juice and some electrolytes. We'd best get that into you. I can't have you puking if we corner the golem."
"About that," I said. "How do you think a thing that size was able to give Chase the slip?"
"Dunno," he said. "I set off to relieve him but by the time I got there, it was gone. We spent the better part of the night trying to locate it again."
"I'm guessing Remi didn't come back."
We'd reached the mouth of the alley and the breeze that came up off the downdraft from the buildings picked up and lifted my hair. I sighed and tilted my chin up so the air could waft down my shirt and brush over my neck.
"Oh God, that feels good."
He tensed beside me and I felt his hand slip away from my waist.
"What, you don't think that feels amazing?"
"I think hearing you moan like that is something best reserved for a dark room and some sultry music."
He stepped up his pace, leaving me to rush to fall back in step.
"You're such a prude, Scott."
"Apparently," he said, then halted in front of a convenience store. "Wait here. I'll get you some tomato juice."
"I'm not so sure."
"You want to feel better, right?" he said. "Besides, I don't want to be working with you if you're subpar."
"I am never—"
"You are." His gaze landed on my neck and I had the feeling the trickle of sweat that was beading there and running down to my collarbone was giving away more than I wanted.
"OK," I conceded. "But if I puke it back up, it's on you."
I leaned against the building, grateful to have the excuse to stop moving while he disappeared inside. I watched passersby go about their business. A few parents of toddlers were out on the streets already with their kids in costumes. One mother of a baby lamb was juggling a sippy cup in one hand, toddler in the other, and battling a plastic pumpkin that hung from her arm and kept slipping down to knock against her hip.
She caught my eye and shot me a fleeting smile. It was a stark reminder that kids of all ages would be out very soon if they weren't already. What if a mother had already been cornered by the golem and blasted into a smoking lump of polyester fabric and caked makeup?
I checked my phone. Six pm. Where had the day gone? Darkness would be on us in less than an hour and we were no where near the borough. I tapped my foot impatiently and knocked my fists against the wall at my sides until Scott reappeared with a bottle of water in one hand and a can of tomato juice in the other.
"I'm going to be sorry, aren't I?" I said.
He grinned. "Only if you loathe tomato juice."
"Like I said..." I let the statement trail as I reached for the can. He pulled it back.
"Not yet," he said. "It's too thick."
"Said no woman to you ever," I said.
"Do you want this cure or not?" He didn't wait for the answer, just opened the water and chugged down half the bottle before upending the can of juice into the bottle.
"That looks disgusting."
"Let's hope you can stand the taste."
"Says you to every woman who—"
"Don't go there," he said and thrust the bottle at me.
I inhaled like I was going to dive beneath a pool of water and chugged hard at the bottle till it was gone.
It was disgusting. I almost retched and had to hang over my knees while I struggled to keep it down. He held my hair back for a moment until I straightened back up. If it had been Chase, I was pretty sure he'd make gagging sounds, not hold my hair.
"Not so bad," he said.
"I swear if you give me one more chipper commentary, I'm going to kneecap you."
"Save it for the golem."
I glared at him, but I had to admit he was right. I was already feeling more human. I leaned back against the wall and let the juice coat my poor aching stomach. Moments passed as he watched me. Kids continued to filter into the streets with parents or older kids. I noticed a cluster of preteens gathered together comparing costumes. A little orphan Annie partnered with an Incredible Hulk with a crocheted muscle torso and torn pants.
I had to admire whoever could knock together such a great costume and was checking out the crocheted red wig on the Orphan Annie, realizing the two must be relatives when the girl caught my eye. She nudged her partner and they both ambled over.
"Trick or treat," she said and held out a fabric shopping bag.
Scott started rummaging in his pocket but I held his arm.
"We don't have any candy," I said.
She canted her head at me, letting the yarn curls dangle to the side. "Tricks, then," she said and pulled out a cannister from her bag and aimed
it at me.
Before I could protest, she pressed the nozzle and lime green streams of liquid sprayed all over me.
It smelled of rotten eggs. I gagged at the back of my throat and the juice started to burn at the back of my uvula. I had to jam my fist against my mouth.
Scott, however, surrendered immediately. He stuck up his hands.
"Hey," he said. "I was already digging for money. Don't shoot."
The Hulk held Annie's arm when she raised the cannister again. "Hang on, Tawny," he said and sidled closer, his nose wrinkling at the stink.
"How much money?" he demanded.
"I'll pay you, you little—" I started to say, but Scott laughed and cupped his palm over my mouth.
"Ten bucks," he said.
I bit down on his palm but he didn't budge.
"She'll give you ten too," he said.
"Hoodlums," I uttered when Scott pulled his hand away long enough to dig into his pocket again. He withdrew a wallet and peeled out two ten-dollar bills.
"You owe me," he said to me over his shoulder and passed the bills to each of the kids.
The girl stuffed her cannister back in the bag before lifting one ten from his grip. "We'll take it. But we need another ten for Danny."
"Danny?" I said, smelling a scam.
"Yeah," she said. "He'll probably use his money for milk or something stupid instead of candy, but it wouldn't be fair to leave him out even if he's too embarrassed to trick or treat."
She cast a look over her shoulder to where a skinny kid with no jacket lurked beside a laundromat door.
"We made him come with us 'cause he don't have no fun ever. He's the one with the pillowcase."
Danny was obviously the kid without a costume who was hanging back and looking dejected. The grungy looking pillow case dangling from his hand was nowhere near as filled as his friends'.
"Shit," Scott said.
I wasn't ready to believe the girl's hype and rolled my eyes at his naivete.
"Say," he said with a note of coyness that told me he wasn't completely believing her. "You kids see anything weird tonight?"
The girl sucked her teeth at the foolish question and he chuckled low and breathy. "Yeah, dumb question, right?"
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 138