“I know.”
He glanced up at me. “Oh?”
I pretended to study the menu, too. “It is my fault. I shouldn’t have intervened.”
“You did it for the right reasons.”
I coughed. “Not entirely.”
“Oh?”
Honestly, this laconic thing could drive a person crazy! “I like you,” I admitted. “I can’t help it, Cody. I’ve liked you since I was ten years old and Freddie Cooper tried to pull my pants down on the bus to see if it was true that I had a tail. You told him to stop, and when he wouldn’t, you punched him in the head. Remember?”
His eyes crinkled. “Uh-huh.”
“So . . .” I gestured helplessly.
“Daisy.” Cody reached across the booth, capturing and stilling my hands. “That was a long time ago. You know enough to understand why it wouldn’t work now.”
“Time is relative,” I murmured, trying not to feel hurt. “Rather like age.”
“What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
He squeezed my hands, and let them go. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me . . .” He hesitated, searching for a safe topic. “Okay, tell me this. Daisy? What the, um, hell kind of name is that for a hell-spawn? Where did that come from?” Despite everything, I laughed. “I’m serious!” he insisted. “You can’t tell me it isn’t a little odd.”
The waitress drifted over to our table, bringing glasses of water. Cody ordered ribs again. I ordered the spaghetti-and-meatball special.
“It’s from a book,” I said. “My name, I mean.”
Cody looked perplexed. “If it’s The Great Gatsby, we read it in Mr. Leary’s class, and no offense, but I don’t get it.”
I sighed. “Not Daisy Buchanan. Princess Daisy.” Cody looked blank. “It’s the title of a romance novel. A big, sprawling one with dethroned royalty and secret twins and incestuous half brothers.”
“Still not getting it,” he commented. “Possibly more than ever.”
“Not a lot to get. It was guilty pleasure reading for my mom and my grandma back in the day, long before I happened. That was one of their favorites.” I tugged on a lock of my pale Scandinavian hair. “It has a blond-haired, dark-eyed heroine, okay? And a happy ending. My mom’s a big believer in happy endings.”
“Ah.” Cody’s expression changed. “That must take a special kind of strength.”
“Yeah.” I drew a line through the condensation on my water glass with one fingertip. “She was nineteen when Belphegor knocked her up,” I said without looking at Cody. “A freshman in college, the first person in her family to go. One of her roommates’ parents rented a cottage in Pemkowet over spring break. The girls thought it would be fun to use a Ouija board. No one knew enough to warn them. At three o’clock in the morning, they found Mom levitating several feet above the bed in the act of, um, congress with a shadowy figure with glowing eyes, bat wings, and a tail.”
“Yeah, I heard.” His voice was low. “She told you herself?”
“Not that part, no.” I fell silent as our food arrived, then busied myself twirling spaghetti around my fork. “Two months later, Mom found herself pregnant. She dropped out of college to have me. Grandma and Grandpa weren’t happy about it, but they stood by her. Pretty much everyone else tried to convince her it wasn’t a good idea to carry the baby to term.” I glanced at him. “Either because they believed her, or because they didn’t and they thought she was mentally ill and that the pregnancy would totally unhinge her.”
“I’m sorry,” Cody said quietly.
“It’s okay.” I gave him a wry smile. “I’m here, right? Mom refused to listen to any of them. She decided I was her baby, dammit, and she was going to love me no matter what. And that that was all that mattered, no matter who or what my father was. And if part of that was naming her little black-eyed hell-spawn after her favorite character in her favorite book, no matter how silly or inappropriate it sounds . . .” I stuck a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “You know what? I’m okay with it.”
Cody picked up his ribs. “Better to light a candle than curse the darkness.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Exactly.” I pointed my fork at him. “What about you, Officer? I know what made you turn your life around the second time and become a cop. But in eighth grade, you were a JV all-star. A year later, you were a burnout. What happened?”
He tore a hunk of meat from the bone with his teeth. “Puberty.”
I waited for more. “That’s it?”
Cody didn’t elaborate. “Yep.”
Okay, then.
I thought about it while we ate our meals. I didn’t know a lot about werewolves. They were too clannish, too secretive. But I knew adolescence was hell on wheels for me, trying to control my temper, trying to cope with unexpected desires. There had been a few . . . incidents. A few things had spontaneously combusted or burst in my presence, most memorably the hot-water pipes in the girls’ locker room.
I got suspended for that one. So did Jen, for defending me from the girls who’d been taunting me. Well, actually for threatening to cut off Stacey Brooks’s hair in her sleep if she didn’t shut up.
The memory drew a reluctant smile from me, accompanied by a pang of guilt.
Anyway . . .
If it was at all the same for werewolves, no wonder Cody had sort of dropped out. Real life isn’t like the movies. If he’d gone all Teen Wolf on the basketball court, parents on the opposing team’s side would have been screaming for an animal control unit, and the entire Fairfax clan could have been outed against their will.
“I get it,” I said. Cody looked up at me from his dwindling plate of ribs. “I’m curious. As an adult, do you have full control?”
He glanced around. The café was emptying and no one was seated near us. “Depends on your willpower and self-discipline.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” He gave me an unexpected grin that it’s only fair to describe as wolfish, sending a shiver down my spine and setting my tail a-twitch. “Twenty-nine days out of a lunar month. The chief would never have hired me if I didn’t. Do you?”
I sighed with regret. “Me? Not even close.”
Fourteen
After dinner, Cody insisted on escorting me home.
“I want to take a look at that Dumpster,” he said in a pragmatic tone when I objected. “And I’ll sleep better knowing at least you got home safe. You’re in the thick of it now, Daisy Jo.”
“Oh, fine.”
We poked around the Dumpster behind the apartment. No one was lurking back there. Cody shone his flashlight beam on the dented lid to examine it. I had to warn him not to step in the puddle of dried Mogwai puke that obscured the boot print, but I showed him the photo I’d taken of it. Across the street, a handful of guys were playing a late game of pickup basketball beneath the streetlights over the court, the ball thudding rhythmically, a poignant reminder of Cody’s younger days.
“Looks like it may have been a peeper,” he said. “I still don’t like it. You’re sure you won’t stay at your mom’s tonight?”
I nodded. “No way I’m putting her in danger.”
“What about the other friend you mentioned?” he asked. “The one who helped out with the naiads?”
“Yeah, um . . .” The memory of Lurine’s coils wrapped firmly around my waist was a little too fresh. I felt my face grow warm, and cleared my throat. “For reasons I’d rather not go into, no. Not tonight.”
Cody gave me a dubious look. The light above the side door that opened onto the stairway leading to the apartments upstairs did him all kinds of favors, casting shadows on his chiseled features, glinting on a new growth of stubble that I very much wanted to touch again. Plus, he still smelled good. “Okay. You’ve got my number?”
I clasped my hands behind my back, concentrating on willpower and self-discipline. “Yep, sure do.”
He shrugged. “Then I’ll see you at the station in t
he morning.”
I waited until Cody was out of sight to open the side door . . .
. . . and froze.
Al the Walrus, the big pool-playing, mustache-sporting ghoul from the Wheelhouse, loomed above me on the bottom stair. His eyes glittered, all pupil. He lumbered toward me, his hungry eyes like twin abysses. “There you are!” His voice was low and grating. “Give us a taste, just a taste!” His nostrils flared, and I felt my terror drain unnaturally, and spike again. “Oh, yes! More!” He licked his lips with his thick tongue. “More and more and more!” He leered at me, coming closer. “You’ve got all kinds of more, don’t you?”
I unfroze enough to back away, raising my voice. “Get the fuck out of here!”
“That’s right.” He kept coming. “Go ahead, get angry.” He made a nasty slurping sound. “I like angry.”
In a panic, I let my anger rise, feeling my hair lift. The lightbulb in the lamp above the door burst with a popping sound.
Al the Walrus moaned, draining my anger. “Oh, so delicious! Keep it coming, little girl!”
Gah, gross! I could feel my emotions going into him, and it was disgusting, like a part of me was trickling into a sewer. Also terrifying.
Since I didn’t know what else to do, I screamed. High, loud, and piercing, like a victim in a slasher film.
Across the street, the thudding basketball went silent.
Cody came tearing around the block, moving so fast he was a uniformed blur, his eyes flaring phosphorescent green. I caught a glimpse of his face, and it was distorted with fury. Like, really distorted, as in he was beginning to shape-shift. With a growl, he flung Al away from me and up against the wall of the bakery, pressing one forearm hard across his throat.
The big ghoul laughed. “Oh, he’s an angry pup!” He licked his lips again, eyes glittering. “I’ll take that, too.”
Cody backed away uncertainly, shaking his head in confusion. “No feeding on the unwilling.” His voice sounded thick and strange, maybe because his mouth suddenly had too many pointed white teeth in it. His ears were awfully pointy, too. And furry. He bared his teeth and laid his ears flat against his head. “You know the rules.”
“Yeah.” Al’s pupils shrank, then dilated. His gaze fixed on me, his leer returning. “But rules were made to be broken.”
From across the street came the sound of running feet. “Hey!” one of the basketball players called. “Hang on; we’re coming to help!”
I grabbed Cody’s arm. “Mundanes coming, Officer Down-low.” He glanced at me in the dim light, his ears twitching slightly. I gave his arm a shake. “Better rustle up some of that famous self-discipline and get ahold of yourself.”
In the few seconds it took him to reassert control, Al the Walrus took off across the park at a dead run, moving surprisingly fast himself for a bulky guy, and the basketball players arrived. From the far side of the park came the distinctive sound of a Harley-Davidson roaring to life.
“Hey, hey, everything okay?” one of the ballplayers asked anxiously. “You okay, lady? We heard a scream.”
“I’m fine.” I made myself smile at him, keeping my grip on Cody’s arm. “Just some pervert. I was lucky Officer Fairfax was just around the corner.”
“Yeah.” The ballplayer glanced at Cody with awe. “Dude, that was sick. You’ve got some mad speed.”
“I shouldn’t have let him get away.” Cody sounded disgruntled, but his voice was normal again. So was his face. Full control, huh?
“It’s okay.” I squeezed his arm. “We know where to find him. Thanks,” I said to the ballplayers. “Everything’s okay, really.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded. “Positive. But I appreciate it. You were collectively awesome.”
“Thanks, guys,” Cody added, extricating his arm from my grasp. “Nice work. I’ll take it from here.”
They drifted amiably back across the street, four college-age kids by the look of them, frat boys maybe, not much different from Thad Vanderhei and his friends. Except these guys had run to the aid of a lady being attacked by a ghoul, even if they hadn’t known that was what they were doing, and Thad Vanderhei and his friends had done . . . what? We still didn’t know, except that it involved ghouls and ended with dumping Thad’s body in the river.
“That settles it,” Cody said.
“It does?” Lost in my thoughts, I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Pack a bag.” He nodded at the side door. “You don’t want to stay at a friend’s place, fine. You’re not staying here, not until we pick up Al.”
“And charge him with what?” I asked.
“Assault.”
“He never laid a hand on me,” I said. “The police can’t enforce Hel’s rules, Cody. That’s my job. If this Stefan Ludovic is really in charge of ghoul territory here, that’s who I have to report Al to.”
That muscle in his jaw twitched. “You expect him to do something about it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do. If he wants to stay in charge, he has to.”
“Unless he’s at the bottom of this business,” Cody said grimly. “We didn’t have this kind of trouble before he showed up.”
I stifled a yawn. “Well, if he is, then I’ll have to report him to Hel. If he’s broken mundane laws, we’ll have to negotiate between authorities. But right now, I’m not going anywhere but to bed.”
“Right,” he said. “So pack a bag. You’re staying at my place.”
Another time, I would have jumped at the opportunity. But I was tired and cranky. I’d started my day at the crack of dawn being insulted by naiads, and ended it with a totally creepy encounter with a hungry ghoul who’d apparently fixated on my tasty, tasty emotions. In between, I’d learned that it looked like we were dealing with a murder; I’d managed to further alienate my estranged best friend; and Cody’s response to my declaration of affection could pretty much be summed up as dismissive.
“No,” I said. “Look, I don’t think Al’s coming back tonight. I’ll keep my doors locked. Mrs. Browne will be here in a few hours.” I put my hand on the doorknob. “I’m staying.”
Cody placed his hand flat on the door, holding it shut. “No, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I am.”
He raised his voice. “No, you’re not!”
Before I could summon a suitably immature retort, a dune buggy pulled into the alley.
Oh, crap.
Cody lifted one hand to shield his eyes against the glare of headlights. “Hey, there!” he called out. “This isn’t a through street.”
The headlights blinked out, and a large figure climbed out of the buggy, raising its left hand. The spear-headed rune Teiwaz, indicating one of Hel’s guards, shimmered silvery on its palm. “Daisy Johanssen?”
I sighed and lifted my left hand in answer. “Yeah, hi. Nice to see you again.”
The figure inclined its head. Now that I wasn’t blinded by headlights, I could make out who and what it was. To mundane eyes, it would appear to be an ogreishly tall, long-haired, and bearded man sweating profusely—and I do mean profusely, actual rivulets running down his skin and dripping from his beard to puddle on the concrete beneath him. I, on the other hand, saw an ogreishly tall man with bluish skin rimed with melting frost, his eyes as pale and colorless as dirty slush, icicles dripping from his head and chin to puddle on the concrete.
Cody’s hand dropped instinctively to his holster. “What in the hell is that?”
“Frost giant,” I said. “His name’s Mikill. It means ‘big,’ right? Or ‘large’?”
“True.” Mikill lowered his hand. “Daisy Johanssen, I am bid to summon you to an audience with Hel.”
Great.
Fifteen
At least it put an end to my argument with Cody. Even a stubborn werewolf on the down-low knew I couldn’t ignore a summons from Hel herself.
“I don’t mean to belabor the obvious, but will he”—Cody lowered his voice—“melt?”
I shook my head, cl
imbing into the passenger seat of the dune buggy and putting on my seat belt. “Not anytime soon.”
“So, you’ll—”
“I’ll see you at the station!” I had to shout the words as Mikill clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. “Tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay!”
A wash of cool air, accompanied by a pelting of icy droplets, rolled off Mikill and gusted over me as we headed out of town.
“Forgive me.” The frost giant shot me an apologetic look. “It cannot be helped.”
I shivered. “I know.”
Steering with one massive hand, Mikill reached into the tiny storage area in the back and hauled out a thick fur coat. “Here.”
I draped it over me, snuggling under it. “Thanks.”
The Pemkowet Dune Rides was a mile or so north of downtown, its gaily painted sign promising thrilling family-friendly fun, vistas of the lake, and even a glimpse of Yggdrasil II, the famous world tree. At this hour, it was closed for the night, all the big, tricked-out dune schooners in their stables, the windows of the gift shop dark. Mikill gunned the engine and roared around the establishment on a narrow side track before plunging into the wooded dunes beyond. Bouncing involuntarily in the seat, I clung tight to the roll bar as we hurtled into the darkness, careening around steeply banked curves at death-defying speeds. In daylight it might be exhilarating. At night, lit only by the buggy’s headlights, it was pretty much heart-stopping. I admit, I closed my eyes a few times.
The official Dune Rides trails were graded and maintained, both for the sake of safety and the environment. They had to be. Sand dunes are sort of like living things. They don’t stay put, moving and shifting, especially if they’re not anchored by indigenous flora.
This fact escaped the attention of the settlers of Singapore, who built a logging town here on the shores of Lake Michigan in the 1800s.
Yeah, a logging town. Brilliant, right?
And once they’d cut down a sufficient number of white pine trees, the dunes rolled over the town and pretty much swallowed it. Talman “Tall Man” Brannigan, the lumber baron responsible, slaughtered his entire family in a fit of madness and despair. Supposedly, the Tall Man’s ghost roams the dunes wailing for forgiveness, and if you see him, it means you’re going to die.
Dark Currents: Agent of Hel Page 10