Under Pressure

by Isobella Crowley

  The butler smiled. “That is the plan, sir, yes.”

  He gave the old man a thumbs-up, trod gently down the hallway, and paused near the door to the library. Bending forward, slow and steady, he could see Taylor seated at the reading table alone, her back to him.

  She turned her head halfway, the corner of her black eye making contact with his gaze.

  Of course, she could hear you coming down the hallway, he chastised himself. She probably even recognized the meter of your footsteps.

  He went ahead and swung his head through the aperture. “Hey there. Is…uh, everything okay?”

  “Yes,” she responded and turned away. It didn’t appear that she was reading or doing much of anything except staring at the polished wooden surface of the table.

  Again, he decided to intrude—to exceed his boundaries a little. They were going to war here, and if it took a little forwardness to get her to open up to him with anything he should know, then that was that.

  He entered the doorway, ambled to the table, and sat down across from his partner, technical boss, and friend.

  Faintly, he detected a hint of annoyance on her part, and yet there was something she was holding back— something she wanted to say or do but still struggled with. Rather than pester her, he simply sat, and waited, keeping his own face calm and neutral.

  Finally, the vampire released a short, sharp sigh. “David,” she almost whispered. “I am…concerned.”

  “That is understandable.” He adjusted his cufflinks. “We all are, and I imagine you’ve burdened yourself with the issue of our safety. I had a taste of that when I had to run the agency while you were gone.”

  She closed her eyes for a second. “No. Well, yes, that too. But what I mean is… I worry about…what will happen to me during the fight. Like we talked about. I may…begin to lose control. It has been so, so long since that last happened that I…don’t know if I’ll be able to bring myself back. I may hurt someone without meaning to, exactly like the monster some people already think I am.”

  He listened to her speak and made sure he’d heard and comprehended her words before he offered an answer.

  “I will be there,” he stated, and he reached across the table to put a hand over hers. She didn’t try to stop him. “To watch over you. To make sure that does not happen—no matter what.”

  Taylor took his gaze into hers. She had always had that ability to not only hold someone’s gaze but practically engulf it. “No matter what,” she echoed. “I will hold you to that, Remington.”

  The vampire slid a hand into her jacket, which she’d not taken off since she arrived, and produced the small blue bundle she’d carried when she first returned from Israel. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure he liked where the conversation was going.

  “This,” she explained and unfolding the cloth, “is the Al-Harb Dagger. The weapon was sanctified against vampires over a millennium ago. We are primarily interested in its magical abilities, but the very construction of its blade makes it far more deadly to our species than a normal knife or sword.”

  “Oh,” he replied, sweating, “that’s…uh, good news if Moswen tries to—”

  “If,” Taylor cut him off, “I lose my…humanity…I want you to promise to take this dagger and kill me.”

  That was exactly what he’d hoped she didn’t say. His abdomen felt like it had collapsed around a miniature black hole.

  She continued to talk as he struggled with a response. “It may be difficult to slip this into my heart in the thick of things, but that would at least wound me badly enough to be finished off by other means. This would also be far easier than trying to take my head off in straight combat. But if I become a danger to innocent people, you must.”

  Steeling himself and inhaling deeply, Remy insisted, “It won’t come to that, Taylor. Shit, I can practically feel it. But…if it makes you feel better, then yes. I promise that in that very unlikely event. I’ll do it.”

  He almost cringed. It wasn’t the kind of vow he could renege on. But it wouldn’t come to that. It wouldn’t.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Right, right,” he drawled, stood, and smoothed his hair. “Anyway, I’d better get to it. We’ll kick ass, though. I’ll see you at the other, even bigger library.” He touched her shoulder as he departed the chamber, realizing he’d lost track of time and probably kept poor Riley waiting.

  Lower Manhattan, New York

  The fairy had seemed perplexed by something all through the drive, but it wasn’t until they were on their way out of Greenwich Village that she finally spoke.

  “Remy,” she asked, “how will we find Alex? I thought maybe you knew where you were going so I didn’t try to track his scent. Do you need me to?”

  “Oh, right,” he stammered and snapped out of his somber reflections on the promise he’d made to Taylor. “Nah, I don’t think that will be necessary—unless I’m wrong, of course. And how often am I wrong? That’s right—almost never.”

  He reached for his phone, drew it out, and after checking carefully for nearby cops, dialed the number of a business.

  “Hi, it’s me,” he said into the receiver. “Is Alex there? Yeah? Mkay. Okay, yup. I’ll be there in ten to fifteen minutes.” He hung up.

  “Who was that?” the fairy wondered.

  Remy smiled, supposing that it looked almost rueful in a way. “I’ve had someone keep an eye on Alex lately. And by someone, I mean Porrillage, mostly, since his bar is the only place where our friend from Down Under really drinks these days. Since he likes to complain about work incessantly and even in New York you can’t really rant and rave about vampires and dwarves in a bar too long before someone will start giving you shit.”

  To his pleasant surprise, Riley tittered. “That’s funny. I haven’t seen him drunk before. I wonder what he’s like?”

  “He’s not a happy drunk,” he said. “But that would imply he was sometimes happy, so it’s no great surprise. I might have to have a talk with him about how substance abuse isn’t exactly a great way to deal with your problems—something I happen to know a thing or two about—but at least his increased drinking habits have made it easier to keep tabs on what he’s up to lately.”

  The fairy rolled over on the dashboard and began to kick her feet into the air for no particular reason. “That makes sense. Do you think he would…help Moswen?”

  “No,” Remy stated. “Maybe if she cornered him and threatened him enough—since he already did that once, after all—but for all his bitching about, well, everything, he hates her and looks forward to being rid of her as much as we do. Perhaps a little more, even. It might mean he can go back to the University of Melbourne and ambush the freshmen to lecture them about what a great place it is.”

  Remy wove his Lincoln through the evening traffic and soon reached the inconspicuous little corner of Manhattan where Por’s Bar lay hidden more or less in plain sight in the basement beneath a shop.

  He parked in the next alley over, locked the car, and had the fairy throw a quick protective enchantment over it, just in case. That done, he walked toward the iron staircase leading to the pub with her flapping over his head.

  Minutes later, he pushed through the door and stepped into what had always felt rather like another world.

  Standing against the wall to his right and sipping drinks so pungent he could smell them from ten feet away were two withered, desiccated humanoids. They gave off a dry aroma of dust and spices and were bundled up save for their faces—probably mummies, he reasoned. Remy wondered if they’d ever bumped into Moswen during their original lifetimes.

  Meanwhile, the pool table had seemingly been taken over by trolls, who were sufficiently loud and aggressive that the other patrons gave them a wide berth. He didn’t blame them and still recalled how one Mr Shauckburn had almost throttled him after he slightly misspoke while investigating the troll’s wife’s infidelity.

  And at the bar itself was the usual smattering of elves, dwarves, greml
ins, and shapeshifters, along with a single average-looking blond man hunched over the surface and yammering away in a low voice as he gradually drained a mug of beer.

  “The quality control here,” Alex said vaguely to the space behind the bar, “isn’t up to snuff. Did you know that Melbourne has produced some of the finest craft breweries in the world? Not to mention that we're already in the running as one of the planet’s best coffee cities, on par with Paris. Or New York, for that matter.”

  Porrillage the gnome darted within his domain, dispensed beer from taps, dried freshly washed glasses, and mixed drinks. He hadn’t noticed Remington yet. It was a busy evening.

  “Por!” he shouted. “Hey there.”

  The gnome caught his gaze briefly and waved a hand before he disappeared behind an ice machine with a half-complete daiquiri in hand.

  Alex turned his head slowly toward the new arrivals. “Whuh? What are you people doing here? Come to deliver my check, have you?”

  “Alex,” said Remy, “we need you. It’s time to finish your drink. We’ll buy you a cup of coffee on the way to the library.”

  “Library?” the man sputtered. “Who gives a shite about a library? Well, the one at the University of Melbourne did have an excellent film selection, not simply all this direct-to-video crap from the last ten years that you see on Netflix.”

  The investigator exchanged a quick glance with Riley. “Uh, yeah. Standards have declined. It looks like your beer is almost finished. Por, he’s done after this one. Sorry! We’ll make it up to you after this is—”

  Alex interrupted him with another slurred rant. “And, of course, they need me, which is to say you plan to use and abuse me again, right? Send the intern to get everyone coffee and donuts, no matter that he still has a fucking piece of evil itself lodged in his chest. The A-Team never calls me to do anything cool. It’s all merely availing themselves of my utility as a homing device. Isn’t there some word for that like ‘dehumanizing?’ Meaning no offense to other species. ‘Depersonalization?’ You know what I mean.”

  For all his usual barely suppressed snobbery, Remy had to admit that he felt bad for the guy and even vaguely understood where he was coming from. He was only in the United States, to begin with because Moswen had forced him there on pain of death and now, he was the lowest man on the totem pole. It would help if he wasn’t so bitchy all the time, but still.

  “Well,” Remy said to him, “you have, in fact, been helpful. And think about it—when this is over, you might even be able to go home.”

  The Australian drained the rest of his beer mug. “I’ll believe that when I see it, but I suppose I’m willing to believe anything.”

  That doesn’t even make sense, Remy grumbled inwardly. Fortunately, Riley intervened.

  “Aww,” she said in a cute voice dripping with sympathy. “Poor Alex. You haven’t tried to…uh, kill any of us ever since we freed you from Moswen, and that does count for something. And Melbourne does sound like a wonderful place. I’d like to visit it someday. But help us this one time. Please? You’re the only one who can.”

  She hugged the muscle that joined his neck to his front shoulder area.

  He sighed and looked at her. “Very well, I guess,” he drawled and attempted to hop off his stool. He stumbled immediately, and Remy caught him but almost ground Riley between their bodies in the process.

  “Sorry,” he grunted and heaved the man to his feet.

  Por called to them from behind the bar. “I’ll send his tab to the office, okay? Have a nice evening.”

  “Yup, great,” he said. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him, Por. Next time I’m in, I’ll order, like, three Bloody Marys. Modern, not historical.”

  Holding the intern’s arm, he helped Alex the rest of the way across the pub floor. Riley then used a little light levitation magic to help him up the stairs and soon, they staggered their way into his car. Alex slumped in the passenger seat and didn’t even attempt to look sober as Remy fastened the seat belt over him.

  “So,” Alex asked as Remy took his own seat and fired up the engine, “which library are we going to?”

  He smiled. “The library. You know, the one that was in Ghostbusters.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  New York Public Library Main Branch, Midtown Manhattan, New York

  The distinctive structure came into sight, less recognizable at night but only slightly.

  “We’re here,” Remy announced. “Elvis has…uh, reached the building. And will leave it later.”

  “What?” Riley asked, her wings moving out of sync.

  He flapped a hand. “Never mind. It’s a classical reference. Treat ‘we’re here’ as the important part of the statement.” He pulled into a parking space near the opposite corner from the library.

  After they hauled Alex out and made sure he was able to stand, they performed the usual routine of locking it and having Riley put a protective magical shell around it.

  “That reminds me,” he said to the fairy, “once we get inside the library, can you do that thing with the soundproof barrier? I know it’s a big building but perhaps at least with the vault area we finally choose.”

  “Hmm,” she responded thoughtfully. “Probably. Let’s look around and I can tell you afterward.”

  “Aye.” He hooked an arm under Alex’s shoulder and urged him forward, pushing, pulling, or steadying him as needed, given that he still swayed randomly. They’d poured most of a cup of coffee down his throat but it hadn’t had much effect yet.

  As they left his car behind, he hoped Riley’s rather basic spell would be enough to protect it from Moswen and her dark army of douchebags.

  They’re out to kill us, not vandalize our rides, he reminded himself.

  A group of people stood on the steps that led up to the library’s main entrance. It seemed they’d noticed the approaching trio but were content to wait for them to arrive.

  First, though, Remy saw a black van parked on Fifth Avenue with MOONLIGHT SECURITY stenciled on the side. That was a new one on him. He dragged Alex along as he approached its driver’s side window.

  “Hey,” he called, “Volz. It’s good to see you back to being capable of safely operating a motor vehicle again. How do you feel?”

  “Hi, Remy,” he reciprocated. “Um, better. They had me park here, behind that,” he pointed toward a couple of orange and white barricades, “and gave me this thing, which will control traffic lights so no one drives past here for a while.” He hefted a heavy black device from his lap, laden with switches and blinking lights.

  Remy nodded. “Right, that thing. You actually invented that. I’m not sure if you remember, but you did. Do you know how it works? Still? Again?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted and adjusted his position in the seat. “It’s a little…complicated…but I got the hang of it.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “Keep fighting the good fight, and ask…uh, probably Kendra if you need help.”

  It was clear that Volz wasn’t completely restored yet, but he’d probably recovered a good seventy percent of his intelligence. That ought to be enough for now, given how smart he was normally. Part of the problem might be the disorientation he must have felt as the curse wore off.

  Alex mumbled something as he continued to drag him along, and when they reached the base of the stairs, Riley used another slight levitation spell on the Australian to essentially reduce his weight to the point where Remy could manipulate him without struggling.

  All the faces gathered on the first landing were familiar. Their group was there, along with Kendra’s usual crew, whose names he had mostly forgotten, but at least he recalled seeing them a few times.

  “Sorry we’re late,” he stated. “I had to get Alex a cup of coffee. You know, for medicinal purposes.”

  Taylor looked mildly irked but all she said was, “You’re just in time, really. We’re finalizing the roles each of us will play. We’ve already shuffled the security guards off to their homes, not to mention
a grad student who had permission to study late. We have the library all to ourselves for the night.”

  Alex, for some reason, responded to this. “That’s encouraging. We wouldn’t want to have to fight the crowds. Ha, ha. What time is it?”

  Agent Gilmore’s face was stern. “Late. We’d best not waste time. The longer I have to keep this place off-limits to the public, the more suspicious it gets.”

  She glanced between the nearby rows of buildings. “By the way, I contacted Colonel Russel. He texted me asking where we’d be, and I told him as we arrived—the goal is to take him into our confidence, after all—but he hasn’t replied yet. There’s an off-chance he’ll simply report us so we might have company.”

  Remy winced. He hoped it would be the welcome kind of company, if so.

  Taylor raised a hand. “We shall burn that bridge if we come to it. Now, let us review. First, Agent Gilmore, I understand you will form a second perimeter around the library. The first perimeter will consist of the rest of us inside, of course. Gilmore’s team will ensure that no one gets in—besides Moswen and her followers, obviously.”

  Everyone nodded their assent.

  “We should know by Alex’s reaction when Moswen is close,” the vampire went on. “Now, everyone else—inside. We will discuss the rest of our roles within.”

  They took a moment to look at the sprawling, well-aged building with its imposing Classical architecture. The iconic lion statue seemed to watch them from the side.

  Remy tapped his lips. “In a way, it’s the perfect tomb,” he remarked. “It already looks like an ancient Roman mausoleum or something. And it’s full of old things.”

  “Very highbrow,” Taylor riposted. “Come. We have one more thing to do tonight.”

  She led the way and Remy, Riley, Alex, Bobby, Alice, and Conrad followed. The front doors were open and they did not lock them.

  “You know,” Alice said with a slightly mischievous smile, “Kendra really looks good in that tactical gear, doesn’t she? It flatters her. It makes you imagine that she must be good at…uh, taking charge of situations. All kinds of situations.” She giggled.