by Jim C. Hines
I double-checked Smudge and my books. Hopefully I wouldn’t need them. I pushed the door shut as quietly as I could. “Shall we?”
“Never let it be said that dates with you are normal.” She swatted my backside with the flat of one sword.
“I wouldn’t want my lady to get bored.”
The front lawn was mowed, which surprised me a little. I couldn’t imagine Deb pushing a mower back and forth every week. Though she was certainly capable of manipulating one of her neighbors into doing it for her.
Weeds grew through cracks in her driveway. An old tire hung like a blackened wreath over the fire hydrant by the curb. Bars covered the first floor windows, and curtains blocked our view of the inside. The porch light was broken.
I squinted to read a paper sign taped to the screen door: SOLICITORS WILL BE EATEN. Given that Renfields fed on bugs and birds, I was pretty sure it was a joke. I opened the screen door and knocked. When nobody answered, I tried the knob. “Locked.”
Lena touched the doorframe. The wood warped and twisted, and the door popped inward. “Did you bring a flashlight?”
I clipped my reading lamp to my jacket and switched it on.
The house was a wreck. Rotting brown carpet covered floorboards that creaked and sank with each step. Peeling wallpaper revealed crumbling plaster and visible studs. The air smelled like mildew and animal piss.
Red flame rippled over Smudge’s back.
“Deb? It’s Isaac.” I pulled my jacket tighter. If she had a working furnace, she hadn’t bothered to turn it on. “It’s been a hellaciously long day.”
Lena raised one sword and approached the staircase. She touched the rail, then one of the steps. “The wood’s old, but sturdy. It’ll hold our weight.”
Her skin roughened as she climbed the steps. The wood living within her flesh usually grew alongside her bones. It made for fascinating X-rays. But she could manipulate that wood into a kind of subdermal armor when she wanted to, growing plates of hardened oak over muscle and organs.
She could grow the armor externally as well, along with sharp wooden spurs from her knuckles and joints, but for the moment she retained a more-or-less human appearance.
“I’m not in the mood for games, Deb,” I called out. “This doesn’t have to get ugly.”
“Breaking into my house, issuing threats and demands?” The voice came from upstairs to the left. “The Porters never change, do they?”
“Can you see her or her magic?” whispered Lena.
“I don’t have X-ray vision.” Though if I dug up a Superman novelization, maybe Roger Stern’s The Death and Life of Superman . . . I mentally added that to my never-ending list of potential research projects.
Footsteps creaked overhead, on the opposite side of the house from Deb’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” I called. “Did you have company?”
“Oh, you know. The life of a MILF.”
“MILF?”
“Monster I’d like to—”
“Right.” There was an image I didn’t need.
I checked Smudge, then signaled for Lena to go ahead. She moved forward and flipped a light switch at the top of the stairs. A lone incandescent bulb lit up overhead. I tucked my reading lamp away and followed.
If anything, the second story of Deb’s home was in worse condition than the first. The doors had all been removed from their frames, exposing a truly foul bathroom suffering from water damaged ceilings and decorated in a mildew and rust stain motif. To the left was a bedroom with an old twin mattress on the floor and a swarm of carpenter ants attacking what looked like leftover Chinese food.
The only room that showed signs of civilization was a small library on the other end of the hall. Deb might have let everything else go, but she continued to care for her books. The lone window in the library was undamaged and covered with a sheet of insulating plastic for additional protection. A small dehumidifier hummed by the wall.
There was no sign of Deb or her guest.
“Renfields can’t change form or go invisible,” I whispered. “She’s here somewhere.”
“Check the library for an attic door,” said Lena. “I’ll look in the bedroom.”
The dust on the shelves and books suggested Deb hadn’t been in here lately, which was a shame. She’d once told me the best part of her transformation was the near-immortality that came with it, giving her more time to catch up on her reading.
I skimmed the titles: mostly history and biography, with a smaller section of vampire-related fiction. With a sigh, I pulled myself away to search the walls and ceiling. “No attic access in here.”
Something scampered past the window. I ripped the plastic away, opened the window, and peered out to see a bulky figure—too tall to be Deb—jump to the ground. Judging from the way he’d scrambled down the wall, he was probably a vampire. It would have been easy enough for him to transform to mist and sneak out through a vent.
“I’ve got a runner,” I called. “It’s not Deb.”
“Found it.” On the other end of the hall, through the empty doorways, I saw Lena rummaging through a closet. “There’s a door in the back—”
Two men lunged out. One grabbed Lena around the waist like a linebacker and pushed her across the bedroom, slamming her against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. The other grappled for her weapons. Lena brought her knee into the first attacker’s chin. When that didn’t work, she braced herself and struck again. Though the strike was identical, the sound and the result were very different. An oak spur punched through the man’s chin with a popping sound. He staggered back, screaming and clutching his bloody jaw.
“Quite the House of Inamoratos you’ve got here.” I was halfway to the bedroom when the front door smashed inward. Two more men moved toward the bottom of the stairs. Deb must have sent them out and around to flank us. Both appeared human and looked to be in their early twenties. I could see the vampiric magic in their veins from here.
I moved to the top step and folded my arms. “Listen, I’m having a bad day. I’d prefer not to take it out on you, but—”
They charged up the stairs.
“Love, do you mind?” I called.
“Do it.”
I reached out to touch Lena’s magic. Her power came from an old book called Nymphs of Neptune. I’d read it several times to better understand her and her origins. That familiarity made it relatively simple to read the story within her and pull a particular passage into myself. I channeled that power into the staircase.
The wood surged to life, remembering the touch of sun and soil. Branches sprouted to entangle the lead vampire’s foot. He went down hard enough to do something crunchy to his knee. While he screamed in pain, his friend struggled to climb past.
I redirected my borrowed magic. When contestant number two was almost within reach, the steps simply collapsed beneath his weight, sending him crashing down into what sounded like a storage cabinet or cupboard of some sort.
The first vampire was dissolving into mist to escape the branches. I released my hold on Lena’s magic, returning her power. Not that she needed it at the moment. Both of her attackers lay bloody and groaning on the floor.
“Last warning,” I called out, studying the mist-vamp’s power and preparing to strip it from him.
“That’s enough.” Deb DeGeorge emerged from the attic door in the closet. She held a silver revolver in one hand. “Drop the swords, Lena.”
Deb appeared . . . unwell. Her short, graying hair was a dusty mess. Her face was gaunt, and she looked like three-day-old death. Smelled like it, too. The stench suffused the entire hallway.
A wasp flew from the open attic door behind her. I flinched instinctively.
Deb snatched it out of the air, crushed it between thumb and forefinger, and bit off the end. After spitting what I assume was the stinger onto the floor, she popped the rest into her mouth. The gun never wavered. “The swords. Don’t make me shoot you, Lena. Or Isaac.”
“Shoo
t him and you’ll die slowly.” Lena stabbed the swords into the floor. “Ever had a really nasty splinter? Imagine them growing through every inch of your skin.” She flexed her hands. Her knuckles made a distinctly wooden popping sound. “Shoot me, and you’ll just piss me off.”
I studied her battered minions. “The one with the perforated chin looks like a Renfield. You turned him?”
“Consensually. I have the notarized paperwork to prove it.”
Which would be worth absolutely nothing in any court. “You were expecting us,” I guessed.
She shrugged. “I figured someone would try to round me up sooner or later. Isn’t that how these things work? First they came for the vampires, et cetera.”
Each time I encountered Deb DeGeorge, I saw more of the monster and less of the person she’d been. Her humanity wasn’t entirely gone. The sleeveless black dress and knee-high studded leather boots were pure Deb. But not much remained of my one-time friend.
“Sandy Boyle,” I said.
“Never heard of her.” Despite being armed, Deb took a step back as I advanced.
“Cut the bullshit, Deb. I examined the body. I saw your magic worming through the meat of his brain. This is the part where you tell us everything you know, and we take your cooperation into consideration when deciding what to do with you.”
“Or what, you’ll beat the truth out of me? Hon, I’m the one with the gun. I’d rather not use it, but if you keep trying to play alpha librarian, I’ll put a bullet through your knee. Same goes if you make one move toward those books of yours in your trench coat there.”
“It’s a duster, not a trench coat.” I studied her weapon. The barrel was relatively short, no more than two inches, but at this range it would be hard for her to miss. “Six-shooter, eh? What’s it take, .44 caliber? .45?”
I didn’t wait for her response. Just as I’d done with Lena, I pulled Smudge’s story and power into myself and hurled it forth, into the bottom chamber of Deb’s revolver.
The bullet discharged. Normally, the force would have propelled the bullet out of the case, down the barrel, and through my flesh . . . but that bullet hadn’t been aligned with the barrel, meaning all that energy had to find another way to escape.
Fire flared from the cylinder. A sliver of hot steel embedded itself in the wall beside me. The gun clattered to the floor.
“Son of a fuck!” Deb jumped back, clutching her hand. The gun’s cylinder looked like a cracked walnut. “What the hell was that?”
“That was the last of my patience.” I pulled an M&M from a bag in my pocket and slipped it to Smudge as I returned his fire. He didn’t like it when people messed with his magic. Having been on the receiving end of something similar from Gutenberg, I didn’t blame him in the slightest. He scarfed down the M&M and demanded two more before he forgave me and settled down.
I looked around to make sure none of her minions had started moving again. “Last chance, Deb.”
Deb sat down on the edge of the mattress and nudged the leftover Chinese food, sending the ants into a frenzy. She licked her thumb, pressed it down, and brought a group of injured, squirming ants to her mouth. “Trust me, hon. You’re on the wrong side of this one.”
“Are you suggesting the right side is the one embracing terrorism and assassination? Do you realize how much harder you’ve made things for all of us? They’re going to use tonight as an excuse to come down even harder.”
“Oh, Isaac. You really need to step out of the sci-fi section and brush up on your history. You think they needed an excuse?”
“So tonight was what?” asked Lena. “A preemptive strike?”
Deb’s laugh was dry, bitter, and more than a little disturbing. “Tonight was retaliatory.”
I stepped sideways, where it was easier to keep an eye on Deb and her pet vamps. “This is about the Detroit nest.”
“This is about survival. About being gunned down in the streets. Driven from our homes. What are the Porters and your precious New Millennium doing about that, Isaac?”
“We’re trying to show the world we can exist without killing each other.”
“I forgot what you’re like.” She smiled bitterly, displaying a dying ant squirming between her front teeth. “I bet you hate every minute of your trips to D.C. and your time in front of the cameras. You’d rather be locked away in your ivory tower, shut away from the real world.”
I spoke softly and quietly, fighting to keep my anger under control. “The blood on my sleeves looks pretty fucking real to me, Deb. So were the bodies I saw tonight.”
“What happened in Lansing was part of several coordinated attacks,” said Lena. “Who are you working with?”
“How many vampires do you have working at New Millennium?” Deb asked.
“Seven,” I said.
“Let me guess. They’re all in security?”
“Six are security, yes. The seventh prefers janitorial work. She works nights, and it’s nice having someone who can command insects and rodents to evacuate a building.”
“While everyone with any real power is human. Typical Porter setup. For all your talk about remaking the world, did you ever consider who you’re remaking it for? Because it sure as hell isn’t us. And don’t pull that ‘But my best friend is a dryad’ bullshit. Your pet nymph doesn’t prove shit.”
“Pet nymph?” Lena repeated softly. The room fell silent, save for the creak of wood as she flexed her hands.
Deb snorted. “I read your file, back when I was like him. I read your book. You’re just a happy little sex slave.”
Lena lifted Deb by the throat. A spike of oak grew from the palm of her other hand. “Are you trying to make us kill you?” She hesitated, then tossed Deb away. “My god, that’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it.”
I studied Deb, and the anger drained out of me. I recognized the numbness in her voice, the despair and hopelessness in her eyes. “Lena’s grown beyond her book. We could help you do the same.”
Deb rubbed her throat and worked her jaw from side to side. “Beyond her book, hm? How’d you pull that off?”
That spark of curiosity was the most I’d seen of the old Deb since we’d arrived.
“You first,” I said. “Who planned those attacks?”
“Hell if I know.”
I pulled a book from my jacket. “I could make you tell me.”
“The fact that you haven’t is why you’re losing.” Deb rubbed her eyes. The skin appeared strangely loose, like old, ill-fitting latex. “You’re the only one playing by the rules.”
“Who hired you to manipulate those werewolves?” asked Lena.
“Don’t know that either. Everything was done by phone. I had three conversations totaling less than five minutes, all with the same woman. She never gave me her name.”
I swapped books, taking out The Goblin Wood, a middle-grade fantasy. Shadows vignetted my vision, and characters whispered of war and refugees. I squinted to read a scene with an enchanted bell. I didn’t need to create the actual bell; simply making the connection should be enough. “Lena, would you mind telling a lie for me?”
“Bacon-crust pizza was a brilliant invention.”
From within the magically active book, a bell rang, signaling a lie. I glanced at Lena. “Really? I thought that was your kind of culinary innovation.”
“Too greasy,” she said. “They’re trying too hard.”
I turned back to Deb. “You messed with their heads and helped them commit murder, and you didn’t bother to ask who you were working for?”
Deb spread her arms, a gesture that encompassed her crumbling home. “Do I look like I can afford to turn down paying work?”
“No evasions. Do you know who they or you were working for?”
“No.”
The book remained silent. “Senator Alexander Keeler,” I said, taking a shot in the dark. “He was one of the first out of the gate with a press conference following the attacks, and he’d have the connections to get his h
ands on Governor Sullivan’s schedule. Is he involved?”
“Could be. He’s a bigot and a jackass. Hey, do you mind?” Deb gestured to the groaning man with the bloody chin. She dropped to one knee. Her magic swept over the line of ants, who turned to march toward him. He scooped them into his mouth like a half-starved man at a Vegas buffet. “His whining was getting on my nerves, and he needs to feed to fix himself back up. Like I was saying, I don’t know anything.”
I watched her Renfield servant. Healing himself was one thing, but if he took one step toward me or Lena, I was going to end him. For the moment, he seemed fully occupied with devouring bugs. “Sandy Boyle and his two friends—there’s no way you’d pass up the chance to pick their brains. You can start by giving me their names. Then you’ll tell me everything else you learned from them, including whatever you know about Vanguard.”
“Vanguard’s as much a terrorist organization as the Girl Scouts. They’re a wannabe underground railroad that got started after the feds burned us out of the salt mines. They keep tabs on things and try to give people like me a head start when it’s time to run.”
“Maybe they got tired of playing defense,” I suggested. “Keep talking.”
Deb lifted a corner of the mattress. Lena raised her bokken, but Deb just cringed and froze.
“Go ahead,” I said.
Cockroaches scurried out as she pulled an old spiral-bound notebook free. “You’ve got a hacker on your team, yes?”
“Talulah Polk, yes.” My team’s names were public record. I wasn’t telling her anything she couldn’t have found from Google.
Deb tore off a piece of paper, slid a well-chewed pen from the spiral binding, and started writing. “Here are the names of Sandy’s friends. You’re right, I tried to loosen their tongues a bit. They didn’t know much more than I do, but one of them said he was originally supposed to hit a different target, a Coast Guard ship off the east coast. The USCGC Kagan. Have your hacker look into the Kagan. Find out what would have made her a target, and what changed.”
“Are you part of Vanguard?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you aware of any other plans to assassinate or harm anyone?”