by Greco, Karen
Shit. Darcy was close to tears. If she started crying over this dude, it could be deadly for the 20-odd humans currently drinking in the bar.
"You need to go home, sweetie?" I asked Darcy quietly.
She looked at me, eyes brimming with tears, and nodded. This was going to be close.
"Frankie!" I hollered a little too loud. With his vampire hearing, I could have whispered.
Frankie moved so quickly that he didn't make a sound coming down the stairs. I wondered if his feet even touched the ground.
"Everything all right?" Frankie said, looking quickly around the bar. When his eyes landed on Kittie, he stood a little straighter and fluffed up his hair. "Oh, hello again!"
He fluffed up his hair. What the hell?
Eyes wide, I rounded on him. "You need to take Darcy home."
"In a minute, love." And just like that, he blew me off and walked towards Kittie, Matty and Elias.
My blood began to boil. I felt my teeth start to shift, fangs at the ready.
"She's not feeling well," I insisted. "She needs to go. Now!"
Darcy sniffled. Frankie just ignored us.
"You want me to take her?" Max asked, still glowering in Elias's direction.
"No!" Darcy and I yelled at the same time. If she started wailing in the car, Max was a goner. It had to be Frankie. She couldn't kill what was already dead. Maybe she'd give him a headache. But that was the worst that could happen.
Taking a small running start, I dove onto the bar and bodysurfed my way to the end, where Frankie mooned over Kittie. Beer bottles and shot glasses went flying as I slid down the bar. I felt splinters from the old wood bar embed into my skin. My tank top rode up to my bra, and the thin fabric of the yoga pants offered zero protection to my legs. Only Alfonso was quick enough to save his drink.
Latching onto Frankie's arm, I skidded to a halt. Ignoring the needling pain of fresh splinters, I swung my legs over and landed on the floor. Still gripping his arm like a vice, I marched him towards the door, cursing under my breath.
I pressed the key to the Fiat into his hand. "Snap out of it, Frankie. Darcy's about to blow."
He shook his head, as if clearing the cobwebs. "How much time do we have?"
I shrugged and watched Darcy scramble to get her stuff together. "Hopefully enough. Get her home and into the soundproof room."
Silently, I hoped that the crying jag would last until tomorrow afternoon, tops. I had never seen Darcy cry when it wasn't her time to let loose. I had no idea how long she would be out. "How much time did she and Matty spend together anyway?"
"I fell asleep, but they were talking for a while. Matty said he only got an hour or two of sleep before sundown. I guess they stayed up talking until she left for the bar."
I groaned. Darcy was smitten. Between the she-devil wrapping herself around Matty and Darcy's banshee nature, nothing good could come of this.
"Darce," I called, as cheerfully as possible. "Frankie's going to take you home now, sweetie! I'll close up."
She nodded and rushed toward the door. Her eyes were watery and red. She looked about ready to burst.
"Drive fast, Frankie!" I said as I shoved the two of them out the door and headed back to my post behind the bar, picking splinters out of my thighs as I went.
During the ruckus, Al took beer matters into his own hands. With his glass under the spigot, he was pouring himself a draft from his perch opposite it. Of course, it was half head. I killed the tap, tossed his pour in the sink and started over.
"No one pours like you, Nina," he slurred, his eyes half closed.
"This is your last, Al." He sure tied on a good one tonight. Al was a barfly — a serious drinker — so for him to be hammered meant a lot of booze. I was kind of shocked that Darcy served him so much. She was usually the levelheaded, responsible one. When she wasn't wailing, of course.
He scowled and opened his mouth to argue but then caught sight of Max, brooding to his left. He raised his eyebrows at me and shrugged. "I'll make this one last." He brought the pint glass up and missed his mouth twice before he sipped a bit off the top.
Wiping down the spot beside Al, I gestured for Max to sit.
"God, you look amazing," Elias settled in next to Max and Max shot him a look. "What are you doing in Providence, of all places?"
"I live here." Uncapping a bottle of Raging Bitch, I took a long pull from it and then handed it to Max.
"I thought you lived in Vegas."
"Outside Vegas," I corrected. "I moved."
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" He grinned at me and looked like a goddamn cherub. I felt my face flush.
Max reached over and squeezed my hand. "Obviously lots of things changed."
"Are we getting any service down here or what?" A shrill voice carried up to the bar, making my neck hairs stand on end.
"We're closed," I said as I pulled my hand away from Max and yelled down to Kittie, who was still hanging all over my cousin. Matty looked appropriately uncomfortable with her over-the-top PDA.
"We'll move on then," he said, trying to untangle himself from her kudzu-like attachment.
"You aren't closed," Kittie sneered at me.
"It's under consideration," I sneered back.
"The girls are meeting us here, then we'll hit the bar around the corner," she cooed at Matty. "Trust me, I don't want to hang out here any longer than I have to." Her eyes flicked critically around the bar before making contact with me.
"Well, you don't exactly class up the place," I shot back. Her eyes went pitch black, and the rattle on the snake tattoo began to shiver. I was amazed that no one believed she was a demon except me. Why didn't anyone else see it?
In a rush of anger, I marched to the end of the bar, fangs forcing their way through my gums. My green eyes made contact with her coal black ones and I leaned into her, just inches from her face.
"Calm the snake," I warned her. I didn't want any trouble in the bar. Too many normals were around. Plus I'd already dealt with The Cleaner twice in one week. Dr. O would start sending me the damn cleaning bills.
She smiled coyly, pulling away from me. "Whatever do you mean?"
And that's when I snapped. I just hauled off and punched Kittie square in the nose. There was a satisfying crack of bones breaking, and blood sprayed out. Matty — his face a twisted mess of fear, disgust and hunger — grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins and handed half to her while he used the other half try to wipe up the mess on his obnoxious jacket. He tossed the wet pile of napkins aside after grinding the blood further into the fabric, turning part of the sleeve of his purple crushed velvet coat into matted spots of crap brown.
"You witch!" she half-sobbed. (And ain't that the truth?) "You broke my nose!"
The entire place came to a standstill, except for Alfonso, who stood and applauded before staggering down to the end of the bar, grabbing onto customers to keep himself from falling over.
"Thank you for stopping this thief," he slurred. Then like some gonzo magic trick, Al pulled his wallet out of Kittie's cleavage. He turned and gave me a wink.
"Yes, thief! Out of my bar!" I played along, but nearly botched it out of surprise.
"I'm not done with you yet." It was hard to take her threat seriously when her voice was so nasal from the nose injury. It was like being threatened by Betty Boop.
Al grabbed her by the arm and hustled her to the door. He swung it open and shoved her out, slamming it behind her. Then he turned to the bar and took a bow.
That's when I caught Matty licking the blood off his fingers. He made a face and took another taste. I hoped that everyone else was too focused on Alfonso to notice.
"Nina!" Matty called to me. I ignored him, wanting to avert my eyes from his repeated finger licking, as if it were fried chicken grease instead of demon blood. But he repeated my name. Twice.
"What Matteo?" I asked shortly.
He held out his hand. "Does this taste weird to you?"
"Stop that!" I sw
atted his hand away from his mouth, and glanced at Elias, who was walking to us.
"Closing early?" he said, smiling. "Maybe we could take some time to catch up?"
That was tempting. So tempting. "I need to clean up, and maybe we can...Elias?"
His face went slack, and his eyes vacant. He turned and ambled towards the door.
"Kittie's outside," he mumbled on his way towards the door, leaving it wide open after he stumbled out to the street. Al slammed the door shut behind him.
Stunned, I looked at my cousin. "Matty, is something up with Elias? He's been acting weird."
"Nina, please. Dude's just not that into you anymore, okay?" He was still going to town, nibbling the blood off his fingers.
"Clean up your hands! Please!" It was really grossing me out now. I tossed him a wet bar rag already streaked with Kittie's blood from wiping down my own knuckles.
"I am not asking because I am interested," I lied. Sort of. "He's just not the same guy I hung out with in Chicago, that's all. I mean, he barely acknowledged me last night. Now we're besties?"
I glanced at Max, who was headed our way.
"Yeah well, he was into you in Chicago," Matteo said. "It's the scene, cuz. Girls in every city. One hot night of rocking sex isn't going to change that."
"Please," I scoffed.
"Those were his words, exactly," Matty insisted. "When he heard you were my cousin, he said you guys had a hot night of rocking sex. So it's not like you're a bad lay."
I cringed. Max was within earshot.
Max rose his eyebrows. "And I was worried about your hand."
Matteo clearly enjoyed running his mouth. "Elias said she was like a tiger. Rawr!"
My cheeks went hot, and I wanted the floor to swallow me up. Instead, the door blew open and the nasal greeting "Hi, it's Eva!" rang through the bar. I owed her big for the perfectly timed distraction.
"Here she comes," Alfonso groaned from his perch, where he was once again refilling his own glass. At this point, I'd given up keeping track of his bar tab.
"Come on, Al." Eva pulled her tarot deck out of her coat pocket. "Just one reading! I'll do it for half-price!"
As Eva cajoled Al into getting his cards done, Matty looked between me and Max, and a look of understanding wiped the confusion from his face.
"Ooohhhh, you guys have a thing."
"A thing?" I snorted. "There's no thing. Here. Between us."
"No thing." Max tilted his head a bit. Did he look almost hurt?
My stomach knotted as I considered our brief fling from a few months ago. After Bertrand turned him into a Berserker, things kind of cooled between us. The Berserker made him angry. Or maybe he was angry he was turned into a Berserker. But that was a chicken and egg argument. I'd never been a fan of boyfriends, so the idea of having an angry one wasn't exactly appealing.
The door blew open, and Bertrand entered with a rush of cold air.
I crossed my arms and glared. "Where's your sidekick?"
"Consoling a woman with a broken nose," he said pointedly.
I grinned. "She had it coming."
He waved his hand at me. "I am here to discuss the terms of tomorrow evening..."
I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "No terms. We aren't doing it."
"You'll be called in anyway," he pushed.
"Then I'll wait to get the orders from the usual source." I postured a bit. Honestly, the orders came from Dr. O. I was usually shielded from his contacts in the Department of Defense, and I had no problem with that. The few DoD lackeys I met were shits.
"What do you want, Nina?"
"Get a pen. That list is long."
He sighed. "Can we just unite in this one thing? I need the city to feel secure. I don't need a riot on my hands right now."
The demon actually looked exhausted.
"How do you do that?" I said, my voice low. "How do you get your face to look all human and tired?"
"Years of practice." Even his smile was tired. It was irksome how he could manipulate his facial expressions. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"
"Nope." I turned my back on him and stacked the dirty barware into the dishwasher.
Bertrand's eyes followed me. He looked bemused. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"
"I could ask you the same damn question," I countered, scraping lipstick off a glass with a dirty bar rag. That long-wear stuff never came off without a good scrub.
His laugh was interrupted by a burst of snow sweeping in with the open door. Good old New England weather. If you don't like it, wait a minute.
A diminutive man removed his overcoat, shaking snow on the floor. Shivering, he settled a few stools over from Bertrand.
"You look like you could use a whiskey," I said as I dropped a cocktail napkin in front of him.
"Thank you." He nodded gravely. He kept his head bowed down, but his eyes followed me as I pulled a bottle of the cheap shit off the shelf and poured out a finger. Looking at him again, I poured an extra half. Poor guy looked like he could use it.
When I placed it on the cocktail napkin, he caught my arm, pulling me toward him with unexpected strength. Caught off guard, it took a moment for me to recover and pull away. I moved so quickly, and forcefully, that he actually ended up sprawled on top of the bar. But his grip remained on my arm.
"Please," he whispered. "I need your help."
I shook off his hand. "Rule number one: Don't manhandle me."
"Sorry." He bowed his head. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"Right here works just fine."
He shook his head, eyes moving to Bertrand and back to me. Well, hot damn. Did he know?
I worked on scraping lipstick from a second glass. "How can I help you, friend?"
With his eyes still fixed on Bertrand, the man sipped his whiskey and hedged. "I heard you fixed...stuff."
"I'm known to be handy from time to time." I looked at him curiously. "What kind of stuff needs fixing?"
"Friends of mine. They aren't feeling so good lately."
"They offer that kind of help at the bar down the block." I glared at him. I heard rumors that one of the bartenders at the dive around the corner had a nice side job pushing illegal drugs through the joint. It was irksome when people mistook Babe's for that shit hole.
Shifty-eye dude visibly jumped when Bertrand stood and slapped a $10 bill on the bar. "That should cover this man's drink. We'll see you tomorrow night."
"No. You won't!" I flushed with anger. But he dismissed my protests with a wave of his hand before he disappeared out the door.
I snatched the ten and tossed it into the till, slightly placated that Bertrand more than paid for top shelf and I poured the well whiskey. It's the little things, right?
"Not that kind of sick," the man piped up. With Bertrand out the door, he looked a lot less constipated.
"I can't deal with cryptic right now, Mister. Tell me what you want or finish your drink and get out." The crowd was thinning, and I really wanted to get some sleep.
He grimaced, this time showing me two tiny fangs. Beta. I wasn't expecting that.
"I think you know the kind of sick I am talking about," he said. "Had one of those in here last night. Right?"
That gave me pause. I admit, I started to panic. "Wait, you aren't—"
He shook his head. "No, no. Not infected. But last night, that was my friend."
"Did he come here looking for help?"
The guy nodded.
"There's a bunch of us, we came to this state together. Look out for each other, that sort of thing." He dropped his voice. I had to lean in to hear him. "And like half of us are sick now. And we have no idea why."
"Where do you get your..." I paused. "Nourishment?"
Beta-Vamps couldn't bite. If they had a willing donor, it would be easy to trace the source of infection. If not, they used a blood bank. My heart accelerated at the thought. I satisfied my bizarre blood craving from a blood bag at the hospital.
I took a
deep breath, hoping to calm my nerves. Getting blood out of a blood bank wasn't easy. And Betas couldn't glamour like regular vamps. They had all the drawbacks and none of the bonuses of vampirism. That made them a whole lot more risk adverse.
"Jackson," he said. "Jackson got bags for us."
"Jackson?" I poured another finger of whiskey out for him, this time from the good stash, and one for myself. "Where did he get the bags?"
The Beta shook his head. "Not sure."
"The bags usually have an info label on it. Expiration date, that sort of thing."
"Not these," he said.
I exhaled in relief, not even aware that I was holding my breath.
"They didn't even have a label with the blood type," he continued. "And I hate O positive, so when I broke open that bag..."
I held up my hand to silence him. The whiskey was taking effect, and he was getting a little loud. "I get it."
I glanced at Max and Matty, who were both eavesdropping on the whole exchange. I wished Frankie hadn't left. He knew the most about this weird disease, having lived through the good old days of legal opium consumption.
But Max was the next best thing. Blood bags without a sticker sounded like black market shit to me. I motioned for Max to come over.
"What's your name?" I asked him.
"Chuck," he said.
"Okay, Chuck, I want my friend Max to join us for a minute." Chuck's eyes went wide and he shook his head violently. "Don't worry, he knows about this sort of thing."
I reached out and squeezed his arm gently. He stared into his whiskey glass for several seconds before nodding.
"Max, this is Chuck. Chuck is a Beta, and he says a guy called Jackson has been getting him and his friends blood bags with no stickers on them."
Max shook his head. "There has to be stickers on them. Regional blood donation center codes, blood type, that sort of thing. It's how they track the blood."
Chuck was shaking. "These don't, sir, I swear."
Puzzled, I glanced over at Max, this time noticing that he was wearing his damn FBI shield on his belt. That explained Chuck's panic. Hell, I was lucky the bar didn't clear out completely when he walked in. Gritting my teeth, I made a mental note to tell Max to hide his shield before entering the bar. He'd put us out of business.