The door opened. I strained to see inside, trying to catch a glimpse of Calhoun. But Wendy was in and the door slammed closed before I had a chance to see.
The limo pulled away. The driver beeped.
I waved, but what I wanted to say was Up yours.
The Mercedes continued west. The taillights flickered and the limo turned north and disappeared.
I needed to cool off. I remembered passing a bar close to here and walked in that direction through an alley. I turned the corner and ended beside a battered entrance door. The sign above read: BIG JACK’S SALOON.
Inside, a wooden bar ran the length of the tavern. The bar was so old it looked like it had been shot at with muskets. Water stains, darts, and garlands of bras decorated the ceiling. College team pennants and a frayed Confederate flag hung from the altar of booze behind the bar.
Most other places in Charleston made an effort to present the refined side of Southern living. Not Big Jack’s. Every town needs a dive. In this part of Charleston, Big Jack’s must have been it.
What had to be a phalanx of the neighborhood lushes guarded their stools around the bar and talked extra loud like this was a gathering of the hard of hearing. A blond barback hustled drinks.
The smell of hootch tugged at my thirst. The barback leaned against the shelves of bottles and tapped the butt of a Marlboro against a fingernail. “Whatcha need?” She sounded like a ref yelling during the middle of a game.
I forced myself through the crowd around the bar. “A manhattan.”
The barback quit tapping the Marlboro. “Do you know where you are?” She pushed away from the wall of booze. “You want a froufrou drink, Charleston’s got plenty of joints for you and your silk panties.”
“Since when is a manhattan a froufrou drink?”
“Anything with more than three ingredients is froufrou. And that includes ice.”
“All right,” I replied, “gimme a beer.”
She squinted. “You get ditched?”
“Why do you ask?”
“If your face sagged any lower, I could use it to mop the floor.” She made a whiskey on the rocks. “You need stronger medicine than beer.”
“Thanks.” I stayed at the bar and worked on the drink.
The barback attended to the customers and pummeled them all with the same snarkiness she’d given to me. She moved with confidence, clearly enjoying herself as the mistress of ceremonies. She leaned behind the bar and made crunching noises as she dug into ice. “Where you from?”
“Denver.”
“Never been there. You been to Missoula?”
“Nope,” I answered.
“So you and me got something in common. We’ve both been places the other hasn’t.”
I got what she was going for. I gave her my name and she replied in turn, “Charly. With a y.”
No supernatural vibe. Purely human.
She kept digging into the ice. A couple of chatty girls made their way behind the bar. They clocked in and traded gossip with Charly.
I plowed through a couple more whiskeys. Many of the regulars began to leave—curfew at the halfway house?
When one of the other girls said last call, Charly clocked out and counted bills from the main register. She folded the bills into a fringed leather purse and came from behind the bar. “Gimme a sec.” She went to the ladies’ room.
She returned, wrinkling her nose, and her pupils were dilated to the diameter of dimes.
I gave a sniff.
There was that delectable cat-piss odor. Cocaine.
She asked, “Where you staying?”
Charly wanted to keep me company. She moved fast, and I wondered if she might be a setup by werewolves. Once we were alone, I’d use hypnosis to discern her intentions.
She repeated, “So, where you staying?”
I couldn’t say Atlas Mortuary without freaking her out, unless she was the freaky type. After getting curbed by Wendy, I needed the distraction of getting freaky.
“A boutique hotel. Not far. On King Street.”
She rubbed her nostrils like she had the sniffles. “King Street? Where?”
Didn’t figure she knew the city so well. “It’s a small bed-and-breakfast. A friend owns it.”
She shrugged, satisfied. Once we stepped outside, she lit a Marlboro. “Where’s your ride?”
“I walked. Like I said, the hotel’s not far. Where’s your car?”
“Needs work. A friend…a girlfriend gave me a lift.”
I started through the alley. From there, it was another four blocks to King Street. By then, I hoped to have figured Charly out enough to see if she was up for party time in the mortuary.
She said, “Things must be different in Denver, ’cause in this neighborhood, at this time of night, we don’t take shortcuts through alleys.”
I smiled. For us vampires, alleys were great hangouts. “We’re almost at Market Street. It’s okay.”
She tossed the Marlboro, grasped my hand, and pulled close.
Not to worry, we were safe.
My earlobes tingled. My fingertips buzzed.
We were not safe.
Not safe at all.
A musky odor curled at me.
Wolf.
No, werewolf.
In the shadows at the far end of alley, two pairs of red eyes burned like embers.
Correction. Werewolves.
CHAPTER 20
I put myself between Charly and the werewolves.
They came hulking from behind a Dumpster, two brawny-shouldered, furry shapes, halfway between man and animal. Smart and treacherous as a human, cunning and brave as a wolf. Add to that deadly combination, supernatural speed and strength.
“What the hell?” Charly turned to me, one eyebrow canted in question. “Your friends? What are they practicing for? Halloween?”
I grasped her wrist and pulled her behind me. “We should be so lucky.”
One werewolf was my height. He wore a pocket protector in his shirt pocket. The logo on the plastic flap read SuperTek IT Solutions. Werewolf software engineer?
“Look what we have here,” he said. “A bloodsucker and his gal pal.”
“Bloodsucker?” Charly asked. “What the fuck?”
Werewolf engineer’s buddy was tall and thick like a couple of barrels stacked on each other. He spread his arms and went, “Eeee. Eeee. I’m a bat.”
“What are they doing?” Charly asked.
“Being assholes.” I raised my hand and pointed to the left. “Listen, fellas, why don’t I go this way. You go that way.” I pointed right. “And we’ll—”
“How about we stay here and tear your ass apart?” the tall were said.
They lowered into a crouch, paws extended, snarling mouths exposing long fangs. Bulging muscles showed in shirts stretched over hairy torsos.
“Damn good costumes,” Charly said. “They look professional.”
The werewolves advanced, their pointed ears pressed flat. Werewolf Engineer scratched his neck.
Just my luck, run into a couple of werewolves spoiling for trouble before the full moon. If they attacked, to keep the odds close to even, I had to sprout my talons and fangs.
What about Charly? Once I revealed my vampire self and the fight started, she’d know this wasn’t a prank.
I pushed her away. “Get going. Now.”
She panned the werewolves, then back to me. “What? You’re serious, right? These clowns in doggie clothes are going to jump you?” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a cell phone. “Screw this. I’m calling the cops.”
I slapped the phone from her hand. “No cops.” The phone smashed into the ground. I didn’t know which kind of cop, human or werewolf, would show up.
“My phone,” she screeched.
The two werewolves spread out to attack in opposite directions. Heavy lupine musk clouded the air. They flexed their claws.
The tall were pushed Charly aside. She yelped. Blood trickled from scratches on her fore
arm. She frowned, not in pain, but anger. “You douche bag.”
The werewolf kept his eyes on me.
I had the werewolf engineer to my left and the tall were to the right. If I was by myself, I’d do the smart thing. Take off running. But I couldn’t leave Charly to face these furry brutes alone.
CHAPTER 21
Two werewolves against one vampire.
Me.
I needed more than talons and fangs: I needed a weapon. All I had was the next-to-useless revolver.
Charly smeared the blood oozing from the scratch on her arm. She scowled at the tall werewolf and cocked her leg. “I’m talking to you, dog breath.” She kicked him in the butt.
His ears sprang up and his eyes popped in alarm. He snarled and whirled about. Both werewolves glowered at Charly. I still had my contacts in, so I couldn’t read their auras. No problem, as I could glean their confusion in spite of their half-man, half-wolf faces.
I reached into my cargo pocket and got the pistol. I leveled it at the bigger threat, the tall werewolf. When I cocked the hammer, both werewolves faced me.
The werewolf engineer sneered. “What are you going to do with that popgun?”
Tall Were squinted at the revolver’s cylinder. “I don’t see silver bullets.”
The werewolf engineer gave his claws a slow and dramatic swipe through the air. “You might get one shot. Go ahead. Take it.” He looked at his partner with an expression that said, Get a load of this chump.
“Okay.” I flicked my wrist and threw the revolver just as the werewolf engineer turned back to me. The gun bounced off the top of his head. His eyes pinched shut and his head reared back.
The pistol arced upward and dropped against the pavement.
Bang.
I flinched. The gun worked. Maybe I should’ve shot him.
The tall werewolf yelped and dropped. Blood stained his shin. He clutched his leg and moaned as he rolled on the ground.
I went to vampire mode, talons and fangs full out.
Charly caught sight of my face. Her eyes lit up like I’d hooked her up to a car battery. She let out a siren-loud scream, her face reddening, until the last of her breath wheezed from her lips. She backed up to the closest wall and slid down until her bottom settled into the weeds and trash.
The werewolf engineer wiped his scalp and glanced at the blood on his paw.
Tall Were kept moaning.
Werewolf Engineer glared at me. “I hate vampires.” He reached for the tall werewolf and grabbed an arm. “Enough. Man up already.”
The tall were struggled to his feet, clearly in pain and embarrassed. He put weight on his injured leg and grimaced.
The werewolf engineer flexed his arms and shoulders. “Okay, bloodsucker, you took your best shot. Now get ready to feel the love.”
Tall Were limped to his side. With every step, he walked a little stronger.
I extended my talons and fangs to combat length. We were about to trade a lot of pain.
“That’s enough.” The gruff voice came from down the alley. A man approached, dressed in a dark suit and an open shirt with no tie. Under the alley lights, his hair and sideburns shone like copper wire.
Sean Moultier, the werewolf from Bourbon’s office. The time I’d been with him before, he looked like he wanted to trash me. Bad. With three against one, this was his chance.
I retreated, certain that if I was to survive this encounter, I’d have to exit. Now.
Sean remained in human form. He stepped between the other weres and grabbed their shoulders. He addressed the werewolf engineer. “Jerry, back off.”
Werewolf Engineer pointed to the blood-soaked trouser of the tall were. “We got a score to settle.”
Sean grasped Jerry by the snout. “I don’t like to repeat myself.” He lowered his voice. “Now go.”
Both werewolves relaxed their arms. Their claws and fangs retracted.
Sean gave a quick nod to the side. The two of them retreated down the alley, the tall werewolf limping.
I studied Sean, not sure what he was up to. “Did Bourbon send you guys?”
“No, they acted on their own,” he answered. “Trying to score points.”
His candor confused me. I thought my scalp would’ve made a great trophy. “Why’d you stop the fight?”
“I have my reasons, Detective.”
Detective? Was Sean being cute? Or was he getting at something? He didn’t seem like the cute type.
“I owe you. Thanks.”
“What happened here stays between you and me.” He stepped close and leaned menacingly. “Got it?”
“Got it,” I replied, confused.
Sean backtracked warily in the direction the other weres had taken. When he slipped into the shadows, he turned and disappeared into the gloom.
An undertow of intrigue between Sean and Bourbon swirled around me, unseen yet dangerous. Sean was Bourbon’s number one were; what game was he playing?
My fangs and talons shrank. I was back to looking as human as ever.
I picked up the snub-nose and checked the cylinder. All the cartridges had been dinged by the hammer. Each remaining bullet had been a dud, yet might still go off, as the first one had. I emptied the cylinder into my hand. I didn’t want the cartridges to go off again and this time hit me. I slid the empty revolver into my cargo pocket and dropped the cartridges into the trash in a nearby Dumpster.
Charly’s eyes looked as red and watery as stewed tomatoes. Her cheeks had lost color. Her blond hair jutted like clumps of broken straw. Blood clotted the scratch on her arm. Trash and dead leaves clung to her clothes. Even though she’d missed most of the fight, she had a dragged-through-the-alley look.
She dug into her purse. She pulled out a slender glass vial, twisted the cap off, and dumped white powder into her open hand. After staring at the powder as if in prayer, she jammed her palm against her nose and made a loud snort.
She brought her hand down. “Oh, man. Rehab never warned me about this.”
I’d left the saloon hoping for fun and games with Charly. Now, thanks to the werewolves—another reason to hate the hairy mutts—I had to ditch Charly and make her forget what she’d seen.
I flicked the contacts from my eyes. Her aura burned like a lit match.
“Charly, I gotta explain something.” I stood above her.
CHAPTER 22
Charly kept her face down and ran a hand through her hair, now stringy with perspiration.
I tapped her boot with my shoe.
She snorted into her hand again and raised her head. White powder dusted her nostrils.
When our gazes met, her irises screwed open.
I knelt and grasped her shoulders. Relax. My fangs grew. I nudged her head aside with mine and put my lips to her neck. Adrenaline, tobacco, alcohol, and cocaine tainted her smell.
My fangs punctured her skin. The warm delicious blood flooded my mouth. I gave her a dose of pleasure enzymes. Her pheromones scented the air like I’d brushed against a fragrant blossom.
I added a good measure of the amnesia-causing enzymes. She’d forget everything from the time she had kicked the tall werewolf in the ass until now.
I swallowed another mouthful of her blood. The heavy copper taste caressed my tongue. The warm liquid flowed down my throat like the most delicious of soups. Dizzy with pleasure, I lost my balance but caught myself before tumbling over.
Charly leaned to the side. I wiped the tiny drops of blood dribbling from my fang marks on her neck. By morning she’d have no souvenirs other than a blank spot in her memory.
I couldn’t take her with me. Better that I leave her here. I was sure Charly had woken up in stranger places.
I pulled her behind a Dumpster and left her stretched out over a bed of flattened cardboard boxes. Should anyone find her, what’s she going to say? I saw a fight between werewolves and a vampire. And by the way, don’t pay attention to my drug problem.
She had been scratched by a werewolf. Did that mea
n she’d turn into one?
With Charly and my appetite taken care of, I decided I’d had enough excitement for my first day in Charleston. Better get to bed, thankfully a coffin, and get ready for tomorrow.
I didn’t trust that the werewolves had given up. Sean might have changed his mind. They knew the city better than I did, and I didn’t want to blunder into a trap.
Werewolves can’t levitate, but I can. I took a couple of quick steps and leaped. My momentum carried me to the closest roof, a detached garage beside the alley. I set down quiet as a shadow and glided along on light feet, keeping my speed so I could spring off the roof and sail over the street to the top of the next house.
I crossed the city, levitating from rooftop to rooftop. Cars and trucks cruised below me, the drivers and passengers wrapped in shimmering auras. Every aura was red, meaning only humans were braving the darkness—no werewolves, vampires, or other supernaturals.
I halted across the street from the Atlas Mortuary. Streetlights illuminated the front of the pale yellow building. The coast was clear, so I jumped over the street and landed on the building next door—a print shop. Pines and mossy oaks marked the property boundary. The trees created deep pockets of shadow, and other than the telltale auras of foraging possums, mice, and raccoons, nothing else lurked in the night.
I glided to a dark niche close to the side door of the mortuary. After pausing for a moment to see if the way was clear, I went to the door and punched in the access code. I entered the mortuary so quietly that a cat could’ve asked me for lessons.
A light down the hall was on. I swept my psychic awareness like a ray. Someone was in the kitchen. I smelled herbal tea brewing—Tension Tamer. No hint of danger.
Lemuel Cohen waited in the kitchen, where he leaned against the counter. A small fluorescent lamp under the cabinets illuminated the room with a dim glow. A red aura hugged him like the calm flames of a hearth. Human.
Lemuel was one of the few exceptions to the rule that only “chalices” are permitted to live with the knowledge of the supernatural world. Chalices are humans who offer their blood in exchange for the thrill of serving vampires. But the cost of those kicks is silence about the supernatural world, under penalty of death.
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