“Zephyr,” she said, “a surprise to see you up so early.”
“I merely wanted to appreciate the warm bounty of our rising sun,” I said.
Mrs. Brodsky’s lips twitched. “As you and Aileen did yesterday? A fine incident that was. If you get arrested, Zephyr, I’ll have you know I won’t hold the room for you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What if I pay my rent?”
She paused. “Well. In that case. Though I do not know what people will think of an establishment that houses a known felon!”
A known felon? Just the thought made me shiver. But I made my voice firm. “I assure you, Mrs. Brodsky, I am in no danger of arrest. The officers merely wanted some information from me regarding that incident last January. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to use the phone.”
“Information?” Mrs. Brodsky said. She shook her head. “I’ll need a dollar for the phone.”
This was extortion, pure and simple, but I refrained from arguing. The fees to call the Hamptons would be greater than calling within the city, and if I did find myself in prison stripes money would be the last of my worries.
I gave Lily’s information to the operator and waited while the line rang.
“Hello, who is this?” said a woman’s slow, sleepy drawl.
“Is Lily Harding there?” I asked.
“Isn’t it a bit early? Lily, someone says they want to speak—”
“Who is it?” Lily’s voice came over the phone after a brief struggle, sounding strangely eager for such an early hour.
“Zephyr,” I said.
“Zephyr!” she practically cooed in delight. “Why, I believe I have missed your voice! How are things in our big red apple? Frightfully interesting, I’m sure. You must tell me everything.”
“Lily?” I said. “Is that you?”
She laughed, but it had a high, brittle edge. “Who else would it be? Have you forgotten me so quickly? I told you marching in this heat would addle your head.”
“And clearly lazing about has done wonders for yours,” I said.
“Oh, it’s the berries, of course. Everyone whose anyone is up here. It’s a social whirl, I’m telling you. Why just today I have no fewer than two lunch dates and a boat party with a very eligible fellow of whom my mother quite approves.”
“That’s a berry, at least.”
“What? Oh, ha ha. Anyhow, Bill is terribly handsome. And rich—his daddy owns a manufacturing plant in Poughkeepsie, which he expects to take over. It makes him gobs of money.”
I had never thought of Lily as especially prone to babbling, but I could think of no other description for this frenetic cataract of words tumbling through the receiver. Mrs. Brodsky glared at me from behind her reading glasses, but I had plenty of practice ignoring her.
“What does he manufacture?” I asked.
“Oh, some widget or other. I endeavor to avoid the subject, he can drone on so.”
I laughed. “Sounds like a match made for a notice in the Times.”
“Throwing stones, as usual? Or do I need to remind you what I caught your very handsome beau hiding in his warehouse this January?”
I winced. “He’s not my beau.”
“As you keep saying.”
Lily had been the one to put together Amir’s role in bringing Faust to the city, though in retrospect I should have seen the signs earlier. I only believed her when she came to me with photographs—stacks and stacks of frankfurter boxes, all filled with unlabeled bottles of a dark, thick beverage. Amir had asked for my help, but he’d been careful to hide the deal he’d made to distribute Faust. A deal that had gone very, very sour.
“You didn’t spare the money for a chat,” Lily said. “Does that mean I smell a story?
I smiled to hear her hard-nosed reporter’s voice finally return. She must be dreadfully bored. “Faust is acting up again,” I said.
“Really? Like in January? Are all the suckers going mad?”
I shuddered at the thought. But Amir promised no one else could access the “good stuff” once he had cut his personal connection. The goods on the street now were far less potent and dangerous than what had caused such trouble that first week. I hadn’t told any of this to Lily, who knew too much already. “No,” I said, “but they seem to be dying.”
Lily’s silence hung heavy on the line. “Dying,” she said, flatly. “I thought at least the damn stuff didn’t pop them like liquor. Wasn’t that the whole point?”
“That’s the trouble, Lily. No one knows, but those suckers are dead. And I heard…” I paused, remembering the strangest part of Harry’s hastily written note. “There are rumors the vampires didn’t pop.”
“Suckers always pop. How else do they die if they don’t exsanguinate?”
Lily had a point. “Maybe it’s an effect of Faust we haven’t seen before?”
“Well, bloody stakes,” Lily said, and I heard her mother issue a sharp “Lily!” in the background. “I’m taking the next train into the city. I’m sure Breslin won’t cry if I cut my vacation short. Oh, Mother, tell Bill I’ll see him some other time. The whole city is breaking. Zephyr, I’ll leave a message when I get there. And don’t you dare talk to another reporter in the meantime!”
* * *
Acutely aware of my impending meeting with Jimmy Walker, I hunted through my chest until I discovered Lily’s cache of pity discards. Only one was remotely appropriate to the sweltering weather—a relatively simple day frock of blue cotton twill, lined in patterned yellow at the collar and hem. It wouldn’t look particularly good with my faded green hat, but I decided that was better than the brown one or—heaven forbid—going bareheaded. I reasoned with myself that Beau James, punctilious dresser though he might be, could hardly fault a bluenose such as myself for her fashion sense. Though of course I had plenty of fashion sense. It was the funds that I lacked.
“Are you really going to wear that?” Aileen said, her voice drifting like a sleepy Irish ghost from the gloom.
“Do you have cat vision for clothes? It’s darker than Hades in here.” Aileen had purchased some blackout curtains a few months ago, prompting Mrs. Brodsky to suspiciously examine our skin and teeth until satisfied that we had not turned vampiric without prior notification.
“The door is open,” Aileen said, rising on one elbow. The powder had rubbed off, but she still looked pale as a sucker, with a rasp in her throat. While sleep had revived me, she looked like she needed at least another twenty-four hours of it.
“How long were you at the Society, again?”
She sighed. “They do know how to keep an evening going. At least I don’t have to regurgitate cheesecloth. It must be hell on your throat.”
“Pardon?”
She laughed. “Ectoplasm, dear. The old-timers have learned to ingest yards of the stuff and regurgitate it on cue. It’s all a farce—even what I’m doing for them, in some ways, I suppose. Who knows who I’m contacting when I’m deep into it, though they all seem pleased enough with my performances, which is all that matters.”
“You look terrible,” I said.
She shrugged. “And you look like you should be selling flowers in Times Square. Aren’t you meeting his Honorable Mayor this afternoon?”
I swallowed. “It’s not so bad. Is it?”
“Zeph.” She shook her head and leveraged herself off the bed with the care of an old woman. I didn’t smell booze or cigarettes on her—hangovers seemed easy compared to the effects of an evening using her Sight. She opened her own chest and pulled out a hat. A jaunty little thing of light blue, with a white flower attached to the band with a white ribbon. It matched my dress perfectly. I bent down to look at myself in Aileen’s cracked dressing mirror and smiled. The hat seemed like the sort of thing Amir might comment on—perhaps I would see him today?
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
She yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “Oh, Lily gave it to me. She was bored of it, I’m sure. She gives me cast-offs all the time.”<
br />
I swallowed back a childish bleat of jealousy. If Lily didn’t feel I was worthy of her discards, I could hardly argue with her assessment.
Aileen did not sit so much as tumble back onto her bed. I made sure she hadn’t fainted and then left her to her slumbers. Perhaps she’d feel better after a few more hours.
Outside was noticeably less sticky than it had been last night, and I even felt the rudiments of a breeze as I wrestled my bicycle out from the storage area beneath the steps. I pushed off and swung my leg over, wondering if Lily’s dress perhaps rode a little too high up my legs. This suspicion was confirmed when two boys from down my block catcalled and whistled as I made the turn onto Houston. I gave them a cheery wave. Aside from periodic wobbles to wrest the handlebars straight and prevent the rusted gears from locking, I had a leisurely journey west to Greenwich Village. I wanted to know more about what Harry had heard about the Faust deaths. His letter was more than intriguing enough to warrant a visit before my meeting with the mayor. Troy’s Defenders had relocated to a house on Bleecker and Perry, which contained not only a suite of rooms for him and his guests, but also a training arena in the basement. Troy had invited me to see it this past spring, and despite my loathing for his activities, I had admitted being grudgingly impressed. Troy gave Harry the attic room for very little rent, and I was content that my little brother was being well cared for. The Village was hardly a bastion of Defender supporters, but their bohemian neighbors tolerated nighttime activities far better than anyone might in a more upscale neighborhood. And the rent was a steal, Troy bragged.
The building was three stories of white brick, with bright blue shutters. It didn’t open onto the street, but rather its gate led to a pathway through the garden and the side of the house. The gate was open, so I walked up to the side and knocked.
Derek opened the door a few seconds later. He grunted a greeting at me and wandered back to the front office. I did not take his laconic nature for rudeness—I might not approve of what the Defenders did (namely, the extra-judicial slaughtering of Others for whichever private citizens or public organizations could afford their retainer) but I occasionally felt some nostalgia for the gruff camaraderie of the lifestyle. Here, no one cared about my gender or the Montanan drawl that occasionally infected my speech. So long as I was handy with a blessed blade and didn’t much mind the stink of a popped sucker, I was good enough for them.
Derek sat back behind the desk with a wince I pretended not to notice. He’d been hurt pretty badly during the fight with Rinaldo’s gang and hadn’t yet fully recovered. “Is Harry here?”
“Out back,” he said. “Drinking lemonade with Troy and two officers from vice squad. I haven’t seen many sucker police officers,” he said, and shrugged. “I guess it takes all kinds.”
I thought about running away, but some masochistic impulse led me to nod as though this news was of as little import to me as the Yankees score. I needed to know why they were here. I walked through a brightly wallpapered hallway to the open back door, which led to the courtyard garden. Troy was seated at a picnic table with my kid brother, glasses of lemonade nearly full.
And across from them sat the two men whose visages I had already learned to fear: agents McConnell and Zuckerman. McConnell hunched in his chair, alternating sips of icy beverage with a cigarette. Zuckerman had pushed his untouched glass closer to his partner, and I wondered at the awkward hospitality that would have prompted Troy to give a vampire lemonade. They were in the shadow of a large, shady umbrella, probably to ensure Zuckerman’s comfort.
“We know you two were involved in that business with Rinaldo Sanguinetti in January,” McConnell was saying, while Zuckerman took notes. “So you must have heard something about this child vampire. I’m sure I don’t have to tell good Defenders like yourself of the seriousness of this crime. We just can’t let this sort of thing slide, and, ah, your group is up for renewal soon, right? I think we could put in a good word with the licensing officer? What do you say, Mort?”
Zuckerman nodded thoughtfully. “I think we could. Provided cooperation.”
McConnell smiled happily and downed his lemonade like it was a shot of triple-distilled whiskey. I heard the threat as clearly as Troy and Harry did, I’m sure. Rank corruption, and it made me furious. I stepped fully into the courtyard. “Well,” I said, “at least no one can accuse you of inconstancy, Officers.”
McConnell looked up and doffed his hat. Zuckerman just stared at me for an uncomfortable moment, then made a note in his book. “Too late, Miss Hollis,” Zuckerman said, “if you were planning to warn your former colleagues.”
“I rather thought I was going to save them from two bullies with police badges. But please continue. I was merely paying a social call on my way to a meeting with the mayor. I can wait.” I made my way over to a wicker armchair and sat down. I smiled and waved my hand. “Go on,” I said. “And Harry, if you’re not going to drink that, mind bringing it over here?” I fanned myself. “Nothing like a New York summer, is there?”
Zuckerman still stared, immune to my powers of conversation. “You still deny harboring this child vampire?”
“Of course I do.”
McConnell picked up Zuckerman’s glass and shook the melting ice cubes like he could divine the truth from their motion. “Mort doesn’t believe you,” he said.
“Maybe Mort doesn’t know everything,” I snapped.
Harry stood awkwardly and walked over to where I sat, across the courtyard. He gave me a look of something close to terror and mouthed, Judah? I gave a slow, discreet nod and took the drink from him with loud thanks. I could only pray that even if the officers proved my own role in Judah’s rescue, they wouldn’t follow his trail back to my family in Yarrow. Harry knew the danger, but he acted unconcerned when he sat back down with the officers. He might be young, I thought, but Harry learns fast. A Hollis trait, perhaps, drilled into us by our crazy daddy.
The officers took their leave soon after, and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at McConnell’s willowy back. Troy and Harry had been as one in their denial of any knowledge about any child vampire. As far as Troy knew, he only told the truth—I had not been fool enough to confide my involvement with Judah to him, and I assumed that Harry had been discreet enough not to mention the latest addition to our family.
“What the devil was that about, Zephyr?” Troy asked. He plucked a few ice cubes from the bottom of his glass and dropped them, with very little ceremony, down the back of his shirt. He practically groaned in pleasure; Harry gave him a lopsided smile.
“Beats me,” I said, with I hoped convincing bafflement. “Those officers are convinced I’m guilty of some felony or other. Something to do with the Rinaldo affair, I think. But they don’t have enough evidence to arrest me, so I’m just hoping it will go away.”
With a little help from the Mayor.
Harry pursed his lips, looking, for a moment, much older than his nineteen years. I could not believe that the same brother who once dropped part of a hornet’s nest down my knickers was now helping me avoid police investigation two thousand miles from home. How times change.
“You should steer clear of those two, Zeph. There’s something about ’em I don’t trust.”
“Don’t be daft, Harry,” Troy said. “They’re officers, even if one is a sucker. Our Zephyr can take care of herself, as she always tells me.” Troy patted his dirty-blond hair in a vain attempt to reinvigorate the pomade, which seemed to have given up in the heat. Stray strands resolutely insisted on curling and sticking out in a fashion I had not seen since we were much younger.
I sucked down the dregs of Harry’s lemonade and contemplated emulating Troy’s idea for the ice. “Did you hear anything else about those deaths yesterday?”
Harry shrugged and sprawled on the grass beside my chair. “The bodies are at the morgue, but we’d have a better chance of getting into Grant’s Tomb.”
Troy nodded. “I’ve tried to call in favors with some
friends in the Sixth Precinct. Professional curiosity. But the bodies are in a warded room and even the top brass can’t get in. Zephyr, are you really meeting with the mayor this afternoon?”
“I think she means picketing in front of City Hall.”
I glared at them both. “I’ll have you know I will be meeting with him—at his personal invitation—at four o’clock.”
Harry whistled. “I heard you were a little famous down here. Daddy said so.”
“Daddy thinks famous is your picture in the paper. People knew who I was for a week, and I’m grateful for my return to obscurity.”
It was getting hotter in the garden. Would the ice ruin Lily’s dress? I settled for removing my hat and rubbing the ice along my hairline.
“Well, if you really are meeting Beau James,” Troy said, with a curled lip that clearly said which I doubt, “then you might ask him about the bodies yourself. Rumor has it he’s visited the morgue.”
“If they’re in a morgue,” I said, “do you think that means they didn’t pop?”
Harry chewed his lip. “Could be.”
“They bring poppers for autopsies sometimes, too,” Troy said. “As you should know, Zephyr. The police spent a week cleaning out Rinaldo’s lair.”
Considering that Troy knew I had spent most of that week huddled in my bed, I thought this was unfair. But I didn’t want to tarnish Harry’s image of his daring big sister, so I let it pass.
“I’ll ask,” I said, “but if none of your contacts have learned anything, I rather doubt he’ll tell me.” I stood. “Anyway, I must be going. Harry, would you walk me out?”
Harry scrambled up obligingly enough while Troy frowned after us like he wasn’t quite sure what had just happened.
“Zephyr,” Harry said, as soon as we were out of earshot, “what’s all this about the mayor?”
I sighed. “I’m not sure. I got a visit from those two officers yesterday and before I can say striped pajamas I have a note from the mayor requesting my presence. He hinted he might be able to help me with my legal difficulties.”
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