Fright Court

by Mindy Klasky

  “A jacket.”

  I rolled my eyes at his infuriatingly simple tone. “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “You can’t walk past the night guard looking like that.” He nodded toward my chest, and I looked down. His blood might have healed my throat, but it hadn’t done anything to save my blouse. The white silk was a total loss, streaked with stains that were rapidly oxidizing from crimson to rust. Reflexively, I tugged the line of buttons so that it hung straight, even though the garment was ruined. Only when I’d smoothed the side seams on my skirt did I take James’s jacket, slide it on to cover my bloody clothes.

  He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a key fob. I caught the glint of an expensive, computerized car key. I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll take a cab.”

  “Too many things can go wrong. Besides, it’s late. We’re off the clock in an hour, anyway.”

  I thought of my clutch purse locked inside my desk, of my single twenty-dollar bill, lonely inside my wallet. I didn’t want to waste it on a cab. And it would be awkward, if James’s jacket slipped to show the riot of my clothing while I was sneaking home. “Fine,” I said grudgingly.

  Of course, he drove a Mercedes—top of the line, luxury everything. The car was parked in the secured garage underneath the courthouse. I’d heard that it took an order from God before someone could get a space there. God, or Judge DuBois, more likely.

  The Mercedes purred to life as James turned the key. He drove the way he did everything else—calmly, smoothly, without a hint of hesitation. He followed my directions dispassionately, making precise turns on the deserted pre-dawn streets.

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised when he parked directly in front of my house, ignoring the fire hydrant at the curb. I was still collecting my purse as he came around the car to open my door. Like a professional bodyguard, he placed his hand under my elbow to escort me to the three-story stone townhouse, not hesitating a bit as I led us down the steps to my basement apartment. He took my key as if he’d planned this all in advance, fitting it into the lock smoothly. It turned without a hitch, without the usual hesitation that I battled every day. He returned my keychain, dropping it into my waiting palm.

  I started to shrug out of his jacket, but he shook his head. “No,” he said, and I was surprised when he reached out to twitch the lapels into place. His palms lingered on my shoulders for just a moment. “Bring it back tomorrow.”

  I could have argued. There wasn’t anyone around to see us, no one close enough to be horrified by the disaster of my blouse. But I pulled the jacket closer, huddling inside it as if I were cold. “Thank you,” I said. His lips quirked in a faint smile. “What?” I asked, sounding a little defensive.

  “We don’t say thank you very much. We don’t like the implied exchange of obligation.”

  We. Vampires, he meant.

  I almost scoffed at the notion of “implied exchange of obligation.” As if I could ever have anything that James Morton might want. Anything that he couldn’t just take. Before I could come up with some coherent reply, he turned the doorknob, pushing my door open with the same fluid motion. For one crazy moment, I thought about asking him in for a drink.

  That was absurd, though. I barely knew the guy. Besides, he didn’t drink. Alcohol.

  But there was another reason I didn’t ask him in. There was that threshold thing. Even though James had saved my life that night, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain that I could trust him in my house. And once I’d extended an invitation, I knew that I could never take it back. Ever.

  “Um, goodnight,” I finally said, because one of us had to say something.

  If he regretted my decision, he gave no indication. “Lock the door behind you,” he said.

  I did. But I watched through the peephole as he climbed the stairs back to the street. And I listened for a long time after the Mercedes drove away.

  * * *

  I was dreaming when my phone rang. I was lost in a landscape of endless sand dunes, breathing in desert air perfumed with lemon blossoms. I fumbled for my cell, squinting first at the clock—7:03 p.m.—then at the incoming number. Allison Ward. My best friend—the one who had actually told me about the clerk job in the first place. I punched a button and mumbled something that might have been “Hello.”

  “Hey there!” she said, her voice bright and energetic. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” Why does everyone do that, lie when we’re startled awake? I knew that part of my reply was because I was embarrassed to be caught sleeping when the rest of the world was going about its business, coming home from work, thinking about dinner.

  Dinner. My stomach growled, its sudden insistence bringing back my memory of everything that had happened the night before.

  I had to tell Allison. But could I do that over the phone? Hey, Al, you would not believe what happened at my dream job last night. Vampires, yeah. I basically died after one slashed my throat. But everything was okay, because I drank another one’s blood. Cool, huh?

  Right. She would have me committed, in about thirty-seven seconds flat.

  “I won’t keep you,” she said, oblivious to my internal monologue. “Steve and I finally picked a date for Nora’s birthday party. October 5.”

  Nora. My god-daughter, who was turning one. I was finally awake enough to sit up in bed. The date was a few weeks away—plenty of time for me to get organized. “What can I bring?”

  “Oh, nothing. We’re just going to grill and have a little cake.” I knew Allison. “Nothing” meant that she would create personalized party favors for everyone, string crafty home-made garlands throughout the house, and try out a half dozen gourmet recipes. Somehow, she’d find the time to get everything done—between being a lobbyist for Better Kids Now, and Nora’s mother, and Steve’s wife.

  If Al hadn’t repeatedly proven herself to be an ideal best friend, I’d have to hate her for being perfect. Fortunately, we’d met on our first day of law school and we’d become fast friends before I realized that she had no flaws. (That was the same law school that I’d walked away from six months later. Often, it seemed like my own catalog of flaws was virtually endless.) Al was always generous with her invitations, at the same time that she gave me easy outs. Case in point: “If things are too crazy with the new job, you can always skip the party.”

  “Over my dead body!” I protested. The glib phrase made me shiver, though, and my fingers drifted to my throat. When I closed my eyes, I had a sudden stomach-swooping image of James’s wrist against my lips.

  I glanced at the telephone in my hand. I had to say something else or Allison would think I was nuts—even if I didn’t mention bloodsucking fiends in the night. I shoved enthusiasm into my voice. “I’ve been looking forward to Nora’s party for weeks!” Well, I would have been. If I’d stopped to think about how close we were getting to the milestone.

  “Are you okay?” Allison asked. “You sound strange.”

  “Just tired,” I lied. “It’ll take a while to get used to my new schedule.”

  “Sure,” she said, and I could tell that she was laughing at me a little bit. When we had roomed together, Al had often accused me of keeping “vampire hours”—staying up all night, sleeping away the day. If she only knew…. Now, she teased, “Like staying up all night is anything new for you.”

  There was something about the way she said that, something about the shadow of a hint of a suggestion of sadness that fell on the last word that made me sit up straight in bed. “Allison? What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  She hesitated for a split second before she said, “Sure. I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Another micro-pause. “Nothing. Really. Steve has been on the road forever. You know I hate it when I’m in the house alone.”

  I didn’t know that. I’d never heard her say anything like that before. I forced a smile into my voice. “Hey. Let’s grab dinner on Friday night.”

/>   “Dinner?”

  “Well, dinner for you. Breakfast for me. Before I go to work. Steve will be around, won’t he? That’s his night with Nora, right?” Allison and Steve traded off Friday evenings, guaranteeing them each some private time with their daughter, letting the other keep up with friends. They were uber-organized that way. That way, and every other.

  “Yep,” Allison confirmed, and the note of relief in her voice made me really glad I’d suggested the get-together. “That sounds perfect. But won’t you have to get up early?”

  “You’re worth it.” I swallowed a yawn. “I’ve got to go. Time to get ready for work.”

  Allison signed off with typical good grace, and I hurried through my evening routine—showering, washing my hair, brushing my teeth as if everything was absolutely normal.

  If I blinked for too long, though, I could see myself back on James’s leather couch. I could feel his arms around me, feel the steady, solid power of his chest against my back. He had protected me, saved me, even before I’d known that I needed to be rescued. And, while I hadn’t been in the market for a knight in shining armor, I was more than a little intrigued by the one I’d somehow found.

  My ruined blouse was draped over the bathroom sink, where I’d placed it the night before. Out of reflex, I folded it neatly before shoving it into the kitchen trashcan. I would pour coffee grounds on top of it, make sure that it got stained with something more benevolent than rusty streaks of my blood. That was the best that I could manage. I didn’t have a fireplace; I couldn’t burn the damn thing, as much as I wanted to.

  I glanced at the clock on the stove and realized that I had to get moving or I’d be late. Tardiness was hardly the image I wanted to present when I was pleading to keep my job. I raided the refrigerator for a Tupperware container—leftover beef with broccoli from a weekend splurge at China Star. I collected James’s jacket.

  Well. No time like the present. This should be easy. Simple.

  I liked my job. I wanted to keep my job. All I had to do was convince James that I should stay on.

  His door was open when I got to the courthouse. He was sitting behind his desk, already looking up as I moved into his line of sight. I made a mental note not to try sneaking up on him. Courteously, he stood as I crossed the threshold.

  “Good evening,” I said, secretly proud that my voice was steady. I held out his jacket. “Thank you.”

  Even as I said it, I remembered the whole “implied exchange of obligation” thing. Mentally, I shrugged. He’d saved my life; I couldn’t have exchanged much more obligation than that.

  He walked around his desk to take the garment. His movements were tight and controlled as he pulled a hanger from a hook on the back of his door, as he settled the jacket with the precision of a tailor displaying his finest merchandise. I only had a moment to feel soothed by the neat lines, though, before James closed the office door, trapping us both inside.

  I was afraid of whatever he was going to say, afraid that he might fire me outright, so I spoke first. “What happened to Brauer?”

  James’s arched eyebrows proved that I’d managed to surprise him. “He was charged with contempt of court.”

  “Contempt —” I started to splutter, expecting something more along the lines of attempted murder.

  James cut me off. “It’s not an imperial crime for a vampire to attack a human.”

  Of course not. We humans were just supposed to lie back and think of England.

  James registered my silence with a frown before he said, “I questioned Brauer. He was not … forthcoming with an explanation of why he attacked you. I have an investigator following up on his business contacts from the past few weeks. It looks like he’s been associating with a vampire named Maurice Richardson, a recidivist criminal known to the Night Court.”

  “‘Associating with?’ What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. Yet. The whole goal of the Schmidt prosecution, though, is to get to Richardson. To get information about his criminal enterprise.”

  I pictured a Depression-era mob boss, surrounded by fedora-wearing assistants. James made an intriguing Eliot Ness, but I wished that I had never been cast in the role of “innocent bystander victim”.

  As if he heard my rueful concern, James said, “I can take your ID card now. The court will mail your final paycheck by Friday. I have an … arrangement with HR; you’ll get paid for three full months of employment. I’ll include a recommendation letter with the check, for your future employer.” He turned back to his desk and retrieved a slip of paper. “Here’s a cab voucher, so that you can bring home your personal effects.”

  Personal effects, as if I’d died.

  Strike that. I hadn’t died. James had seen to that.

  I met his gaze defiantly. “Or I can just keep working here.” As I said the words, I realized how much I wanted them to be true. There was something about this job, something that made it special. I didn’t want to walk away from it. Didn’t want to leave it behind. I was drawn to working in the courthouse in ways that I could not begin to explain. Even if there were vampires and griffins and sprites haunting the courthouse hallways.

  I’d been coasting since college graduation—four years of trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. But this job, organizing and filing and making things run smoothly—even in one night, I’d learned that it soothed me. It calmed the constant chatter at the back of my mind, the certainty that things were out of place, not in order. Well, it had, before my throat was ripped to shreds.

  The cords in James’s neck tightened as he swallowed. He obviously wasn’t used to people contradicting him. “Your life is in danger in that courtroom. I had thought —” He cut himself off, and his uncertainty made me realize he was more shaken by Brauer’s attack than I’d ever expected. Nevertheless his voice was calm, determined as he started again. “Your human emotions make you vulnerable, turn you into prey. No one can fully protect you there. Not DuBois. Not me.”

  “I don’t need your protection! You just didn’t give me any warning last night. Brauer caught me by surprise, but I won’t ever be surprised again.” I put all of my determination into two more words. “I promise.”

  James stared at me for long enough that I wondered if he was trying some new Enfolding technique. I held his gaze, though, refusing to concede, refusing to back down. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low that I had to lean forward to make out his words. “You have three months to prove yourself.”

  “Fine.” I tried to sound more certain than I felt. I tapped my thumb against my coral ring, as if that would steady my voice.

  “Three months of probation. And you’ll need some training.”

  Training. Sure. What could he make me do? Memorize the Vampire Safety Manual?

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “Whatever it is.” Even as I heard the utter certainty in my voice, doubt sparked at the back of my brain. Isn’t that where fairy tale heroines got into trouble? Making promises before they knew exactly what was at stake?

  James’s smile seemed to indicate that he was thinking along the same lines. “Why don’t you wait to hear what I require?”

  His curved lips shot steel beneath my stubbornness. “Go ahead,” I said, but there was nothing he could say that would change my mind.

  “You need to learn how to defend yourself. Against vampires.”

  I grimaced. I’d tried the Self-Defense 101 thing back there, and I’d come up sadly lacking. I didn’t want to think about how vulnerable I had been in the courtroom. About how much I had needed James to rescue me.

  But he’d seen all that. He must have some other training in mind. If so, his demand made sense. And even if I ultimately washed out here at the courthouse, it couldn’t hurt to learn how to fight the undead. Especially when some of them had already built human blood herds in the world at large. Allegedly.

  I resisted the urge to rub my hands against my upper arms. I didn’t want to do anything that would make me
look less than one hundred percent certain about my decision.

  “Fine,” I said. “But I don’t think the local gym teaches Vampire Self Defense.”

  He was not amused. “I’ll train you myself.”

  “Don’t you have more important things to do? I mean, heading up Night Court security and all?”

  “Not more important. No.” His eyes sliced the air between us like weapons-grade lasers.

  I swallowed hard and held out my hand. “Deal,” I said.

  He folded his cold fingers around mine, squeezing just tightly enough that I could begin to imagine what else his strength could do. For a heartbeat, I was back in my dream from earlier that evening, slipping down a sand dune, gasping for air infused with the elusive scent of lemon.

  Fine. I might have a tough time climbing my proverbial mountain of sand. But when I got to the top—when I completed my training—I was going to see one hell of a distant horizon.

  And I would get to the top. I was ready for Vampire Combat School to begin.

  CHAPTER 3

  I WAS READY for Vampire Combat School. I just hadn’t expected the first class to be at two o’clock that morning.

  I made it through the first part of my shift that night without any surprises. Human defendants and their lawyers filled several hours—ordinary, mundane Night Court, the exact job that I thought I’d been hired to do. I handed out papers to nearly a dozen lawyers. There was a rush of solicitation arrests; the mayor must have launched some new “Clean Up the Streets” campaign. A huge fight had broken out at a sports bar, where baseball playoffs had somehow become a matter of life and death. Fraternity hazings from one of the local universities brought in a group of underage drunks to round out the court’s holding cells.

  I processed the paperwork like I’d been born to it, creating new case files with a speed and efficiency that amazed even me.

  I was ravenous by the time my lunch break rolled around. I went down to the cafeteria to microwave my beef with broccoli, sitting alone at a quiet table to gulp down my food. Peanut M&Ms sang a siren song from the vending machine and I ate them back at my desk—brown first, then red, orange, yellow, green, and blue, in order. As always.