He blinked at her, hesitating just a beat too long. “Donner who?"
She shook her head. “Nice try. Were you paying Donner off—or do you know who did?"
His answering smile was bland. “I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not. I must've been crazy to think you'd own up to it. So what did you want to talk about?"
"Your future."
"My future is exactly what I want it to be, grandfather."
"Your future isn't playing with the freaks, Amanda. Your future is at the rudder of this company. I created it for your father, but you're all that I have left. It's your legacy, girl."
She flinched at the ‘freaks’ comment, but it wasn't anything she hadn't expected. Thomas Grey was an ‘anti-freak’ bigot. Quite a few of them out there, particularly on the high side of the economic scale. She wanted to hate him for it but it hardly seemed worth the effort. “I don't want the job. I like what I do."
His gaze grew flinty. “You're going to get yourself killed."
"And leave you without an heir. How awful. I'm sure you can find someone else who wants the job.” She aimed a glance at Baraz, who snorted in obvious derision.
Grey stabbed at her with a thin, gnarled finger. “The job is yours—whether you want it or not. I don't have the time to argue with you about it. If I die tomorrow, it goes to you regardless."
"I'll sell it,” she told him flatly. “To Athena Cross."
His fingers clenched into a weak fist and he made a gasping noise that might've been a growl. “No!"
"Give it to someone else, old man. I don't want it. Why would you insist I take it after I've specifically told you what I'd do with it."
"Why do you have to be so damned stubborn?"
"Genetics,” she snapped back. “Why do you insist on shoving something down my throat you know I don't want?"
"Because it should belong to you. Because you're all I have left of your father."
"I'm also a part of my mother, someone you couldn't stand. As I shouldn't even have to remind you."
He waved a hand as if that didn't matter to him. Maybe it didn't. Now. “I'm not just going to hand the company away to someone else. But I don't want it to go to Athena. Can't you understand that?"
"Oh—I understand it. I just don't give a shit."
His jaw clenched. He'd never been a big fan of profanity. Deep beneath his callous corporate exterior beat the heart of a religious zealot. But he was very old school, enough that his interest in turning the company over to her was a bit of a surprise. She knew he considered women to be both his social and intellectual inferiors.
It may have been different since she was his granddaughter, but somehow she didn't think so. He was still playing a deep game, motives obscure as ever. This wasn't as simple as he made it out to be. It never was.
"If I promise to drop the charges against Mr. Dalmas, would you agree to at least think about it? Imagine—being able to combine the resources of GreyCorp with those of Shea Industries?"
Now that's just ridiculous. He would never want that. What the hell is he after? She said none of this. “Okay. It's a deal."
He smiled. “Good. I'll have the charges set aside—"
"—you said dropped,” she interrupted. She knew the difference, and had no doubt he did as well. If they were ‘set aside,’ he could re-file them at any time.
"I've re-considered. I'll set them aside as long as you consider it. If you agree, I'll drop them."
"That's blackmail."
"You catch on quick. Do we have an agreement?"
She shrugged. “You don't give me much of a choice, do you?"
"I prefer negotiating from a position of strength,” he answered. “It's something you will learn too, particularly if you take the helm as you're meant to do."
Amanda just smiled. “We'll see."
She had no intention of accepting his offer, but the longer she could stall, the better. After all, he wouldn't be around forever.
Six
"What were you thinking?” Amanda raised a fist as if to punch him, then seemed to think better of it. She sighed and let her hand fall.
He grinned down at her. “I guess I wasn't,” he admitted cheerfully. “How'd you get him to drop the charges?"
"I didn't,” she said. She quickly explained the deal she'd struck with her grandfather.
He scowled. “That bites. It's not good enough to suck."
She snickered at that. “Making me laugh isn't going to save you from my wrath."
"Your wrath?” He chuckled and opened the restaurant door for her. “I'm scared witless."
"Ah ... scared witless. That explains the witless part, at least."
"Ooh. Funny."
They paused long enough to follow the hostess back to a small corner booth. She handed them their menus and scampered off, only to be replaced by a waitress a few minutes later. She poured them a couple glasses of water, then rattled off the day's specials in a bored voice. “I already know what I want,” Amanda told her, “but I think he'll need a few minutes to make up his mind."
He shook his head. “Nope.” He closed the menu. “I'll have the Captain's Platter and a coke."
"That was quick,” Amanda murmured. “I'll have the Cajun Shrimp Pasta,” she told the waitress. “And a Beam and Coke."
The waitress, a young, hip-looking woman with a glittering diamond nose-ring, gave her an odd look and asked to see her ID. Amanda sighed and plucked her driver's license from her pocketbook. The young woman looked it over carefully, shooting her an incredulous glance at the sight of her birth date. “You're twenty-five?” she asked. “You look like you might be thirteen."
"Gee ... thanks for noticing. I really appreciate you pointing it out to me, too."
Her sarcasm didn't go unnoticed. The waitress flushed, handed the license back, and hurriedly wrote down their orders. She beat a hasty retreat.
"That can't be easy,” Ben observed.
"It isn't,” she replied. “I get it all the time. Makes me feel really weird sometimes."
"You know—when I look at you I don't see a thirteen year old girl. I see a strong, capable woman who just happens to come in a very small package.” He grinned at her skeptical look. “I'm serious."
"Then why did you interfere with my grandfather? If you think I'm that capable—why step in where you're not invited?"
"Sorry to interrupt.” A cadaverously thin man wearing a shock of fire-engine red hair slid into the chair next to Ben. He flashed Amanda a wide grin. “Top of the morning to you, Amanda.” He tipped an imaginary hat. He affected a crisp British accent that hit a sour note. It wasn't a good British accent, Ben decided.
"Ben, I'd like you to meet Loki."
Loki? The Loki? She'd mentioned him once or twice. Ben didn't know whether to be awed or deeply disturbed by his presence. He'd just met the man and had the impression that this wasn't an uncommon reaction.
"Ah—this is the werewolf lad?” Loki asked. “Pleased to meet you, boy.” He stuck his hand out. When Ben reached out to take it, he yanked it back. “Just kidding. We don't shake hands.” Ben couldn't begin to imagine whom he meant by the word ‘we’ in this context.
Who's we, kemo sabe? Got mouse in your pocket? Ben glanced over to see Amanda rolling her eyes. “What's with the accent, Loki?” she asked. “And where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for days."
"I know. Renee told me. I've been at Scotland Yard. They asked for my help. Me. Not Loki, Father of Monsters, former Norse god of Fire, mischief, and chaos, but Doctor Loki—renowned American micro-biologist, geneticist, and virologist."
He seemed to get a special kick out of this. Far more than it deserved, by Ben's thinking. But who knew what drove a twenty-five thousand year old immortal? Certainly not him.
Loki leaned closer. “So—I hear you went a few rounds with Grey's aide. Tell me, was he as tough as I suspect he was?"
Ben frowned, uncertain how to respond. “I don't
know—how tough do you suspect he was?"
Loki cackled, an incongruous sound. “Good question. No one told me he was so smart,” he said to Amanda, who shrugged in response.
"Do you know something about Baraz?” she asked suddenly.
Loki shook his head, still grinning. “Nope. Suspect, yes. Know, no.” He lifted his forefinger in a warding gesture as she opened her mouth to speak. “I can't share it until I'm more certain than I am now. I promise you'll be the first to know—after myself and Renee, of course."
"Of course."
"Now, Ben.” Loki regarded him curiously, jocular mood falling off abruptly. His azure gaze grew intense all of a sudden. “I'm terribly interested in what happened to you. If you don't mind, I'd like to see you at my lab, take some blood samples and run a few tests."
Ben glanced at Amanda, who said nothing. Leaving it up to me. He nodded. Sure. Why not?
Loki clapped his hands together. “Good! After you finish here, Amanda can drop you off at my lab. You don't mind, do you?” he asked her, obviously not interested whether or not she minded. That much was made clear by the tone of his voice and the sudden frigid sharpness in his gaze.
Here was a man who didn't give orders, but when he made a request he expected it to be answered in the affirmative. Twenty-five millennia places quite a mantle of authority on someone, he thought. Even such a one as Loki. “You can meet us at the club afterward,” he told her.
"The club? He can't go in the club."
"Why not? It's my place, isn't it? Oh—wait a minute—that's a rule, isn't it?"
"It's the law,” she replied tersely. A note in her voice told Ben that they'd had this discussion—or a similar one—once or twice before.
He flapped one hand in dismissal. “If I say he can have a drink in my club, he can. No law-maker is going to tell me otherwise."
She gave an exasperated grunt. “You people aren't really a law unto yourselves, you know."
That brought a bright peal of laughter out of him. “Why not? Deryk was. Athena is. She's the last word on the paranormal in this country. One person, making damn near all the decisions. She says she answers to the President, but, honestly, what can the President do but answer to her? The President doesn't know shit about the paranormal. Neither do any of these other yahoos—Baxter, Seymour, or even your grandfather. They think they do, but...” he snorted. “What they know about the greater universe could fill a thimble with enough room left over to take a bath."
Ben shifted uncomfortably. This had all the sounds of a familiar argument, but it was one he certainly didn't want to become familiar to him. “Drop him off at the lab by six, then meet us at the Blue at nine,” Loki instructed, before pushing himself up from the table, offering a parting nod to Ben, and trotting off toward the front of the restaurant.
"Well, that was interesting,” Ben murmured, watching him go.
Amanda blew out a long breath. “That's one word for it. God, he's a pain in the ass."
"Is he really as smart as he thinks he is?"
"Probably smarter,” she muttered. “As much as I hate to admit it. I could have really used his help on this vampire killing case. He's the best CSI I know."
"Sounds pretty impressive."
"He is. But he's still a goddam headache to deal with. He lives by his own rules—not even Athena can do more than guide him. His wife—she's the first vampire, by the way—can get her own way with him most of the time, but anyone else is lucky to get a word in edgewise."
"Do I have to watch my step with him?"
The conversation was briefly interrupted by the arrival of their respective meals, along with their drinks. He took a sip of his coke and watched her take a huge swallow of her own. The alcohol relaxed her almost instantly. She heaved a sigh and seemed to sink deeper in her chair. “Christ. No. He's one of the good guys."
It took him a moment before he remembered what they were talking about. “One of the good guys—but you call him a pain in the ass?"
"That's the worst of it. He's willful, impetuous, and doesn't give a shit about the law. You remind me a little of him,” she laughed suddenly.
"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Not in this lifetime. I think I can appreciate what you were trying to do, but you fucked us six ways from sideways."
"Six ways from sideways?"
"Yeah."
"What would that be, by the way? Six ways from sideways?” He flashed her a smirk.
"Don't ask stupid questions. Eat your dinner."
* * * *
The door was unmarked, tucked beneath a high end auto dealership. Amanda nodded at his querying look and pulled out of the alley and headed back up the hill. Ben shook his head and rapped on the door with a knuckle.
The latch clicked and the door swung slowly open. He stepped inside, expecting—well, he didn't know what he expected. What he found wasn't it, though. He stood inside a small, well-lit alcove between two doors, the one he'd entered, and another. The second door was glass and bordered by stiff rubber molding.
As the outer door shut behind him he heard the cycling of air through hidden vents, smelled a sudden strange sweetness for about ten more seconds, then the inner door hissed open. He stepped inside and found a long hallway.
"Go to the first door,” Loki's voice instructed him. He did as he was told, pushing down on the handle and shoving the door open. The room was a laboratory, filled with long counters covered with various scientific instruments—microscopes, a Bunsen burner, and what looked like an alcohol still. A small refrigerator hummed away in the corner.
Loki stood at one of the microscopes, peering into the lens. He turned and motioned toward what looked like a dentist's chair tucked in the corner behind the door. “Have a seat."
Ben hesitated, then did as he was told. Loki waited until he'd settled, then walked over, holding a large syringe. He ran supple fingers down Ben's arm, seeking the roadmap of his veins. He found one and drove the needle in with one practiced stab. He pulled the plunger back, filling the small vial with deep crimson.
He went back to his equipment for a time, leaving Ben to sit there, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly Loki laughed. “Good news, werewolf!” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I can cure you!"
The exclamation sent a ripple of shock through him. He hadn't expected that, and certainly not so quickly. He thought about it for a long time before replying. “I don't want to be cured.” The admission surprised him as it left his mouth, but only a second later he realized that it was true. “It is my wyrd, and I accept it."
Loki turned around fully, staring at him as if he'd been speaking a foreign tongue. Then he smiled. “Good. I didn't want to do it anyway."
Then, a moment later, they were both laughing.
* * * *
They walked together down to the Foss waterway. Loki stood on the bank, pointing across it. A large building, lit up by what seemed like a thousand signs, blue and red and gold. But at the very top perched a huge neon coyote, lit up the color of a desert sky at midday. “That's my place. Coyote Blue. Best damn bar there ever was.” His face lit up briefly with pride. “My place."
"So you're a world-renowned geneticist, virologist, and micro-biologist, and a bar owner?"
Loki slowly turned and winked at him. “Yep. A man who doesn't wear at least a couple of hats isn't much of a man at all."
"That's more than a couple of hats."
"Means I'm twice the man as most. C'mon. Bridge is over here."
As they crossed the foot bridge, Ben glanced over and asked, “So how easy would it be to cure me?"
"Very.” Loki stopped mid-span. “Have you heard of nano-technology?"
"Sure. Who hasn't?"
"You don't really want me to answer that."
"I guess not."
"Einstein said that the only things that were infinite were the universe and human stupidity—and he wasn't sure about the universe."
Ben laughed
, even though it wasn't all that funny.
"I coined the term metavirus because I didn't want to advertise that they're actually nano-viruses, tiny organisms designed to perform a specific function, then die off. The one that made my wife into a vampire was supposed to emulate the effect that made us immortal. I miscalculated, apparently. It might have combined somehow with the AIDS retrovirus. It wasn't supposed to be able to do that, but it did.
"Now—you know what makes a vampire different from you?"
"Not specifically,” Ben admitted. “Other than the obvious. Vampires are dead, right?"
"That's how we look at it, sure. But the truth of the matter is that vampires are actually more alive than humans—every cell in the body becomes aware of itself and its relationship to others. A vampire is more a colony of organisms than a single being anymore. Every cell becomes a nerve cell.
"That's why a bullet through the chest of a vampire does very little damage at all, and heals almost instantaneously. Any of the nearby cells can take over—they are, after all, identical. The only exception seems to be the brain. The cells in the brain apparently have to be specialized. Destroy the brain, kill the vampire.
"Now, when the virus entered you through the dog—who I understand had been acting as some sort of host—it carried some of its DNA with it. I don't understand how any of that happened, really. I'd love to do some tests on that particular dog. You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?"
He shook his head. “When Cody disappeared, the dog did, too."
"Too bad. You drink?"
"Never been my vice,” Ben told him. “But I suppose I could take a couple sips in the spirit of brotherhood."
"In the spirit of brotherhood?” Loki chortled. “I like that. I like you, kid. I really do. We can talk and walk at the same time.” He led the way across the bridge. “A vampire's body will allow a bullet—or just about anything else, for that matter—to pass right through, and heal the wound behind it. I've already explained how. But you—as a werewolf—you don't do that, do you?"
"No. My bones and muscles are super-dense. They'll stop a bullet, or the blade of a knife, before they go in more than about an inch. When I shift, the wounds are healed. Bullets are expelled within minutes."
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