Cal and Niko - Moonshine Part 4

"All three of us, huh? That's a lot of p.i.s.s." He was right, though. Between my shortcut, Robin's leg, and Promise's stubborn will, we had managed to screw things up more than a bit. "Hey, I was willing to go in by myself." Unfortunately, being lousy at poker ruled that out. I knew what a pair was... barely. With that in mind, getting in a game with Boaz would be a neat trick. And being on point on this one wasn't an option for Goodfellow now. He could hobble at a fair speed, but when you're running from wolves, fair isn't good enough. Promise had offered to step into his place. Actually, "offered" wasn't quite the word. Promise had laid down the law. She was a full partner too and she was determined to carry her load.

Robin had sat the two of us down and played a hand with us. Before that hand was over, there had been a knocking at the door. George didn't need to be buzzed in on the rare occasion the front-door lock worked. Anyone who saw her would just open the door. It was impressive, uncanny, and, at that moment, a pain in the a.s.s. George had given us all a smile, stood at my side, and said she would just watch. Anything else wouldn't be fair, she'd added cheekily. And Robin, who could say no to anyone and everyone, couldn't say no to her. She had pulled up a chair next to mine, and as we'd played, brown eyes peeked at my cards, warm fingers meandered up and down my arm, and explosive red hair lurked in the periphery of my vision like a field of poppies. Probably the same field of poppies that had taken Dorothy down on her way to see the Wizard.

Needless to say, I hadn't done so hot. At the end of twenty games Robin had decided that when it came to gambling I was unsalvageable, unteachable, and borderline mentally challenged. Promise was a competent player and he'd decided to concentrate his efforts there. Truth was, she'd never be half the player Goodfellow was, but she would pa.s.s. More importantly, she was nonhuman. She could walk into that bar at my side and raise fewer eyebrows than I would.

I stood and said seriously, "Don't worry, Nik. I'll take care of your girl. Nothing will happen to her."

"Strange. She said the same of you." From behind his back, he revealed a thick roll of white tape and stretched out a long piece with a ripping sound. "What portion of skin do you mind losing the least?"

I eyed him with suspicion. "This isn't revenge, is it?"

"Vengeance is a petty endeavor." With quick and efficient motions he taped the tiny microphone just below my chest. "Petty," he repeated, slapping on several more completely unnecessary pieces of the adhesive stuff, "but enjoyable. In any event, Promise is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And she can fly. Can you?"

"She can..." I started, then finished up with a scowl, "You're s.h.i.tting me, aren't you?"

He put the tape aside and studied his handiwork. Satisfied, he pa.s.sed me my shirt. "You watch too many movies, little brother."

The shirt was courtesy of Goodfellow. Black silk, it was worlds away from my more casual style, but the scent would match that of the silk tape on my chest.

It should fool curious wolf noses. I b.u.t.toned it, lifting my upper lip. "Who said disco was dead?"

"Actually I thought it more of the gigolo genre, but whatever lets you retain your self-respect." He looked me up and down, his own lip twitching slightly. "Such as it is."

Robin's silk shirt was the only exception to my normal look. I was still in my ever-present jeans with my hair pulled back. Hardly charging-for-it wear. "I'm beautiful and you know it." I grinned.

"You have been spending too much time with Goodfellow. Far too much time."

I ended up spending even more time with the puck. We all did. An hour later the four of us sat in a van from Robin's car lot, the same lot where he let us park Niko's ancient car, and went over last-minute details. Niko tested, retested, then tested again the reception of the microphone taped to my chest, while Goodfellow, wrinkling his n.o.ble brow in manfully concealed pain, propped his leg on a crate and pillow. I'd already fetched him two aspirin and then a bottle of water. I drew the line at the requested leg ma.s.sage. "The wolves are looking better and better all the time," I commented to Promise.

"The growling and snapping will certainly be less," she said solemnly, her gaze candidly aimed at Niko.

"I do not growl or snap." Niko didn't need to look up to register her glance. How telling was that? "I am centered and at peace." Deciding there was too much tape m.u.f.fling the sound quality, he jerked off a piece with no consideration for my pained yelp. "Perfectly at peace."

I rubbed my chest gingerly and let the shirt fall down into place. Maybe it would keep my peaceful brother's hands to himself. "I think we're more than ready here, guys. How about we get the show on the road while I still have some skin left?"

The place was out in Jersey... Newark. And while that made living with yourself harder, it did make parking somewhat easier. The van was parked about two blocks away, close enough for Niko to come to our aid if needed, and far enough not to arouse wolfish suspicions. Humans didn't tend to frequent this type of establishment; when the bouncer at the door has raw-meat breath, rabid eyes, and the personal hygiene of Sasquatch on a low-deodorant day, you tend to move on. It was called a social club, a private one. What that actually meant was a gambling "den" for the unnatural, den being a remarkably apt word, all things considered. Wolves loved to gamble. A chance to throw their money away had tails wagging like nothing else but a good juicy ma.s.sacre, and this place promised to give them just what they wanted.

Moonshine did look to be your typical wolf hangout. I hadn't been to but the one; still, the pups seemed to have a theme going. Seedy, smelly, and probably wall-to-wall fleas. Absently I scratched my arm in antic.i.p.ation. A split second later a can of flea and tick spray was slapped in my hand. Always prepared-it wasn't a personal mantra for my brother; it was programmed into his genetic code. Slipping the small canister into the pocket of my jeans, I reined in my usual sarcasm. "Thanks, Cyrano. Last time I was scratching for days." Before Goodfellow could open his mouth, I aimed a warning glare at him. "No smart-a.s.s cracks."

His mouth, already open, snapped shut and he returned the glare with an added helping of wounded hurt that I wasn't buying for a second. Ignoring him, I turned my attention to the shirt. Normally I would've left it hanging loose. I wasn't a tucked-in kind of guy, but for extra security for the microphone, I shoved the silk under the waistband. The shirt wasn't skintight or gigolo tight, but it was snug enough that you couldn't have fitted a weapon beneath it, and I didn't even try. Instead I wore my holster outside the shirt. One side held my Glock, and the other side was modified for my knife. The leather was black, but that hardly had the whole setup blending in with my shirt. It didn't matter. The bouncer would've been more suspicious if I hadn't been carrying. There wasn't a creature alive who would walk into that place unarmed.

Holding out my arm, I said formally, "Is milady ready?"

Amused, Promise tucked a hand into the crook of my elbow. "How gallant you are, sir."

"When you're dressed like you charge five dollars an hour, you have to be," Robin observed caustically, the moratorium on sarcastic comments apparently having pa.s.sed almost instantaneously.

Never mind, it was his shirt. I gifted him with the finger, then stepped down to the street after Niko slid back the cargo door. Promise followed. Her hair floated loose to her hips, a stained-gla.s.s banner in the red and green of the neon lights. Looking over my shoulder at Niko, I taunted lightly, "If we come back engaged, you have no one to blame but yourself."

Pale brows pulling together in an annoyed V, he shut the door firmly and silently in my face. "Cranky, cranky," I murmured, and started walking.

"He's worried," Promise said after a long moment of contemplation. She rarely said anything without considering it from all angles, and this was no exception.

"He's the only grandma I have." I grinned. "Now the same goes for you."

Surprisingly, the bouncer at the door was female and pet.i.te. That only meant she was more dangerous, a buck five of a.s.s-kicking fury. Inky black hair pulled back in a long tail was paired with arresting yellow green eyes. To your casual human eye the split upper lip could've easily been mistaken for a cleft lip and not the beginnings of a muzzle. It kept her from being cla.s.sically beautiful, but that didn't mean she still wasn't gorgeous. Exotic and strange, but gorgeous nonetheless. As we approached the door, she looked us up and down, sniffed, and then wrinkled that bifurcated upper lip in disgust. It was the same reaction I'd gotten from the albino wolf at Cerberus's office. The wolves I'd come into contact with last year, when I was possessed by Darkling, had been fascinated with my scent. The combination of human, Auphe, and Darkling had been a canine potpourri, a feast for the senses. Apparently plain old half-human, half-Auphe wasn't nearly as pleasing.

Tainted or not, we were allowed to pa.s.s. And lucky us, there was no cover charge. The club was smaller than I would've guessed from the outside. That indicated either a h.e.l.luva lot of walk-in closets or a few back rooms set aside for more interesting activities. Taking a look around, I didn't see too many fashion plates in the immediate area. All right, then... back room it was. No doubt that was where the poker game went on. The rest of the place was typical for what it was. Roulette and blackjack tables, occasional slot machine, tables and chairs, suspiciously wet floor, empty makeshift stage, poor lighting. Except for the regulars, it looked like every bar I'd ever slung a brew in. "Drink?" I asked Promise.

Raising her eyebrows, she declined. "That adventurous I am not. But, please, help yourself."

At the bar I ordered a beer, less for drinking and more for blending in. Not having had my rabies shot, I made sure it came in a bottle. The bartender was a surprise. A big one. Bored green eyes, wavy brown hair, and a foxlike face that was all too familiar. I couldn't help but stare. It didn't go unnoticed.

"You seem to have a problem, freak." It was Goodfellow's voice, only arctic and empty. Goodfellow's face, although set with a supercilious sneer. His eyes, lacking even a sliver of a soul. "Shall I cure you of it?" The blade he laid on the counter beside the beer was a Spanish poniard, more ice pick than dagger.

"No problem," I said evenly. Now was not the time or place for a fight. Not if we hoped to get in a game with Boaz. p.i.s.sing off the bartender-and, if I knew pucks, the owner of the club-wasn't the way to go about that. "It's just been a while since I've seen a puck," I continued on, lying smoothly. "Hard to believe this city is worthy of your presence." Complete sincerity over unadulterated bulls.h.i.t.

The toxic ennui in his eyes was eddied momentarily by conceit and self-satisfaction. "None is worthy. What can one do?" He tossed a towel over his shoulder and said dismissively, "Take your drink and go, freak. That shirt is an a.s.sault to my eyes." Freak. He was even quicker to pick up on the Auphe in me than Robin had been. Maybe like called to like. I'd never thought of Goodfellow as a monster. Annoying, vain, arrogant, glib, unscrupulous... and, yeah, an out-and-out crook, but never a monster. This guy was. It came off of him in waves. A rapacious predator, an utterly amoral sociopath... this particular Pan would gut you in a heartbeat for a penny. He did have better taste in shirts than Goodfellow, though. I had to give him that.

Picking up my beer, I left as ordered. I, better known as the freak, would've preferred to take the poniard and pin his hand to the bar or at the least plant a fist in his face. But neither was an option, not right now. Undercover work, let me count the ways in which it sucked. Promise tilted her head as I approached. "Peculiar, is it not?" she said as her eyes rested on the puck across the room. "How identical they all are... what few that are left."

"Trust me," I responded soberly. "They're not identical."

We chose a table close to the back of the room. We sat side by side, both of our backs to the wall. Niko would've been proud. The place was half-empty; it was still fairly early. Within the next hour that began to change. Moonshine might've been a predominantly wolf hangout, but it attracted all kinds. Sprinkled among the lupines were an afreet, a few ghouls, succubi plying their dangerous trade, and three lamias on what looked like a girls' night out. There were others, creatures I didn't recognize. Promise probably did, but quite frankly my curiosity just wasn't high enough to ask her. I was more concerned with Boaz. When Niko had called Caleb to accept the a.s.signment, he'd gotten a description of our mark, but so far I hadn't spotted him. Around us the wolves, some in human form and some not, drank, laughed, howled, cursed, and fought. It brought back memories, not particularly good ones. The last time I'd been in a bar like this had been to hire a pair of a.s.sa.s.sins. And although I hadn't been behind the wheel of my own body at the time, it was hard to forget that except for Niko and Robin, George would be dead now.

"Niko is a fabulous lover."

It was a good thing the beer was only for decoration. Otherwise I would've choked on it, or at the very least spewed it a few feet. As it was, I felt my face take on a hunted expression. As subjects go, this was not one any brother wanted to discuss. "Jesus, Promise," I said with not a little desperation, "that's the kind of information that could scar a man for life."

A dimple appeared in an ivory smooth cheek. "I'm sorry, Caliban. I was only testing you. Your attention seemed far from here."

"Yeah, it was. Sorry." Rolling the now-warm bottle between my hands, I scanned the crowd again.

She gave a gracious nod before speaking again. "Actually, Niko and I have not yet-" I groaned out loud, cutting her off. Amused, she relented and changed the subject... sort of. "Tell me, what was Niko like as a child?"

What had my brother been like as a child. It seemed like a simple question. But like most things that seem simple on the surface, what lurked beneath was a different story. Niko was two years older than I was, although when we were children he'd been four ahead. Neat trick, eh? When the Auphe had kidnapped me at the age of fourteen, they'd taken me to a place where time ran differently than it did here. For Niko it seemed as if I were gone only a day, but I had come back approximately two years older. I'd also come back a raving lunatic, but that was beside the point. Niko dealt with it, just as he always had.

One of my earliest memories as a kid was around the time I was four. I'd been sick. Who knows with what? It was mostly fuzzy, but I did remember vomiting miserably all over myself. And I remembered it had been Niko cleaning me up while Sophia drank whiskey in the next room. He would've been eight. And when I was well enough to eat again, it was Niko who fed me soup and crackers. It was Niko who walked me to school and picked me up afterward. Niko who bought me birthday presents, complete with a grocery store cupcake and candle. Promise wanted to know what he was like as a child?

"He never was one," I said soberly.

That was when Boaz walked through the door. I didn't need his description to know who he was. He strolled in like he owned the place... owned the world. He, like the higher wolves, was able to convert completely to human form. Whippet lean, he had his pale brown hair shaved close to his skull and a face carved from cold white marble. With eyes so black that they swallowed the light, he looked over the crowd with a curl of thin lips. Then motioning to the four wolves flanking him, he moved toward the back and disappeared through the only door. So much for ingratiating our way into a game.

"Well, s.h.i.t," I growled succinctly.

"That does seem to sum it up." Promise rose and discarded her cape over her chair. "Give me a moment." With that, she then moved toward the one wolf left guarding the door.

It was something to see, Promise at work. It brought home how much she truly cared for Niko. I had never seen her use on him what she laid on that poor G.o.dd.a.m.n wolf. It wasn't s.e.x or even the hint of it, although it was erotic as h.e.l.l. I'd compared her to royalty before and that was part of it. She was a G.o.ddess come to earth; at least she made you believe that. She didn't walk; she flowed. And when she smiled, she put the Mona Lisa to shame. Promise was a promise of more than you could ever imagine.

Five rich husbands... it was a wonder she hadn't had a hundred.

I whistled low under my breath. "Nik, she's going to eat you alive." That was all right. He was going to enjoy every minute of it.

In less than five minutes she was back. Scooping up the pile of violet silk, she said lightly, "Come along, Caliban. We have an invitation to a very private and exclusive game."

"Lucky us," I offered blandly. Carrying my beer, I followed in her wake.

The room was the same as a thousand others like it. Spare, smoky, and marginally clean. The owner wasn't wasting any overhead prettying the place up-that was clear to see. Although the painting of dogs playing poker that hung crookedly on the wall was a weirdly appropriate touch. Maybe that sociopathic puck had a little of Goodfellow in him after all.

As we stepped through the door, all eyes locked on Promise. The circle of black, brown, yellow, and pumpkin orange eyes held an identical emotion: awed l.u.s.t. Then those eyes moved to me, but the looks I received were a h.e.l.luva lot less complimentary. It was the same reaction I received from most nonhumans. There was the incredulous sniff, followed by expressions of sheer disgust and revulsion. This time, however, as the cherry on top, one of the wolves actually peed himself. Now, there was someone who'd obviously actually crossed paths with an Auphe at some point.

To most, the Auphe were a legend. Real and true, but with such a dwindled population that chances were good you might luck out and never see one in your lifetime. It was the kind of luck to pray for. But Auphe had always been the top of the food chain, and wolves, full-blown egotistic predators that they were, didn't like being reminded that once in a while they too were prey. And I wasn't about to tell them that a new spot had opened up for King of the Mountain.

The wolf in urine-stained jeans moved out of his chair and slithered past us through the door, giving me the widest berth he could. I lifted an arm and gave my pit an experimental whiff. "What? Do I offend?" In reality I didn't blame him. There had been times that the Auphe had me wanting to p.i.s.s my own pants.

Boaz ignored me for a more pleasant subject. "We have a new player, I see," he said, unreadable icy eyes resting on Promise.

"May I take a seat?" She gave him a slow smile. "Preferably a clean one."

Nodding at the wolf across the table from him, Boaz ordered flatly, "Leave." The guy scrambled to obey, scattering cards before him like leaves. As I held the chair for her, Promise took a seat and I took up position behind. With arms folded and eyelids drooping, I did my best to look sleepy and harmless. Niko would've said that was essentially my natural state. There might have been some truth in that, but pulling it off in a room full of werewolves wasn't as easy as all that.

"Why is that with you?" The repulsed sneer on Boaz's face as he bared teeth in my direction needed no faking at all.

Promise reached back and gave my arm a proprietary pat. "He's here to carry my winnings."

At least she hadn't said to carry her purse. It was nice having a shred of masculinity left to my name. As she gathered the cards before her, Boaz grunted, "A dangerous pet to keep."

"Where is the pleasure without the peril?" With a fathomless gaze from beneath sable brown lashes, she handed the cards to the hulking figure to her right and asked, "Shall we play, then?"

The game started and I was witness to some of the most subtle flirting I'd seen in my life. Granted, with my social agenda, that wasn't saying much. Still, I recognized excellence in the field when I saw it. Surrounded by creatures both lethal and of questionable hygiene, Promise was as at ease as she was at a charity event or dinner party. Soft conversation, pale polished nails touched to ivory skin. The hair of a jungle cat. Those pooches didn't have a chance. Grinning to myself, I watched the players and tried to keep my eyes from settling on Boaz too often. It didn't stop the doubts. Caleb had said that Cerberus's rival was a drinker and a talker. From what I'd seen so far he didn't seem the type. Cold, controlled, he was a wolf of ice and steel. But after an hour pa.s.sed, my skepticism was proved wrong. Boaz started tossing them back. It started slowly, but by the end of hour two his drinking hand was in near-constant motion.

Despite a discipline that I would've guessed ruled his business as well as his personal life... kinky... he was really putting the booze away. It was a fact that everyone had a weakness, and the more common ones were common for a reason. He stuck with the hard stuff as the game wore on, and finally, just as my legs started falling asleep, he began to talk.

It wasn't exactly a river of information, more of a vodka-flavored trickle, but it was what we were there to hear. "That two-headed son of a b.i.t.c.h."

The human wolf to his left hunched slightly, ears twitching with an unlikely flexibility. Apparently this was a familiar and potentially explosive refrain. "He's a s.h.i.t all right, boss. We all seen it," he offered in a placating tone.

Boaz was in no mood to be soothed. "Misshapen thing, he's no good for the pack. No good for the hunt. He should've been culled." He drained his gla.s.s. "Culled a long time ago."

"Culled." It was whispered around the circle. Heads nodded, some human, some s.h.a.ggy.

"He's deformed, weak, wrong." Knuckles blanched white around the cheap gla.s.s tumbler.

The heads nodded again. "Deformed." "Wrong." None repeated the word "weak." They seemed sure that while Cerberus was many, many things... disturbing things... weak wasn't one of them. As much as Boaz didn't want to admit it, that telling omission said that Cerberus was strong, cunning, and a power to be reckoned with. And wasn't that really what got Boaz's goat?

"He's an aberration." The gla.s.s shattered in his hand, blood-coated shards falling to the table, and a homicidal grin of suddenly lengthening teeth was aimed in our direction. "An aberration who sends his spies among us. Did you like the show, spies? Were you entertained?" Growing nails speared through the table as if it were cheap cardboard and his gaze focused on me. "You smell like Auphe, but I think you'll taste of human."

Spies. It was either a paranoid and freakishly good guess or someone under Cerberus had loose lips. And I wasn't a big believer in good guesses. It was a safe bet that someone had given us up, but I didn't wait around to ponder the subject. Neither did Promise. She performed a flip over my head that was a quicksilver study in deadly grace. I heard her land behind me and I wasted no time in pulling my Glock. I was going to get off only a few shots in these closed quarters; I had to make them count. Boaz was my choice for deadliest flavor of the month and I popped off my first shot in his direction. He was already half-changed as he catapulted across the table toward me, twisting to avoid my bullet. It was a lost cause. It took him high in the chest. Then his lost cause became mine; he kept coming. Silver bullets, like so many other things, were a myth. Your average lead worked just fine... eventually. But right now his jaws, about the size of a Kodiak bear's, were headed inexorably for my throat. I blocked him with my left forearm, ramming my arm far enough into his mouth that I could've tickled Boaz's tonsils. Less than that and my bone would've snapped like a twig. But back where the leverage was weaker, it held... barely. Granted, there was a white-hot pain from my fingertips to my shoulder that had black spots clouding the edges of my vision, but that was the absolute least of my concerns. I still held the gun in my right hand and I pulled the trigger again and again. With his chest against mine I couldn't aim for his heart, but there was someplace else open and vulnerable. Every one of my bullets found a home in Boaz's center torso, about diaphragm level. If that didn't stop him, nothing would. He might be the biggest baddest son of a were-b.i.t.c.h to walk the earth, but he had to breathe.

Or so went the theory.

In reality, Boaz was doing his d.a.m.nedest to rip my arm from my body. With the last shot in the magazine, I blew off a good hunk of the lower part of his jaw. Pulling my arm free, I wedged a knee between us and flung him off. The brown wolf, half again bigger than a Shetland pony, tumbled onto the table, which promptly shattered beneath his weight. Dropping the gun, I staggered to my feet, unsheathed my knife, and whirled to slash at the throat of the next wolf in line. Vision clearing, I kept Promise in sight out of the corner of my eye. I'd made a pledge to my brother; I wasn't about to break it. Lucky for me, being a little occupied at the moment, she was more than holding her own. In a pirouette as flowing as that of any dancer, she spun her cape of purple silk around one wolfs head, blinding him, and then tossed him headfirst into the nearest wall. I heard something crack... wall or skull, I couldn't say for sure. Then she leaped backward and up, clinging high to the wall and facing the fight with calculating eyes. Now that was something I hadn't seen out of her before. It was kind of... well, spooky as s.h.i.t just about covered it.

"Okay, Princess," I called out, "you are seriously freaking me out." I didn't mention her real name. Wouldn't do to put any of us on the radar of Cerberus's enemies. Life was complicated enough. She didn't acknowledge the comment, instead descending again into the milling pack with the grace of a diving falcon. Wolves scattered beneath her. Yeah, she was holding her own all right. Now time for me to do the same.

Gushing blood from his carotid artery, my wolf went down and two more rose in his place. These were a little more wary. From the panicked flaring of wolfish nostrils and the rolling of white-ringed eyes, they were far more impressed with my Auphe heritage than Boaz was. What had been a bald guy and a black one had turned into a sadly mangy wolf and a rangy, long-legged obsidian one. Growling and snapping at each other to bolster their courage, they finally managed to get up the furry cojones to make their move. Patches went down with a blade in the eye. I felt queasy on that one. He was a Were determined to rip me into Snausage-sized pieces, but that moth-eaten coat gave him the last-dog-in-the-pound look. Albeit a rabid dog with a thirst for blood and pain. As I pulled the blade free, his pal hit me from the side, and down I went again. This guy had nothing on his boss. He growled like an entire pack of wolves and lunged at my face with snapping jaws, but hesitated for one critical moment when I snarled back.

I took advantage and broke Bowser's top teeth out with the blade of my. knife. Pointed fangs half the length of my hand went flying accompanied by a pained howling. If a wolf had vanity, it lay in his pearly whites. s.n.a.t.c.hing a glance over my shoulder, I saw the spike heel of Promise's elaborately strappy shoes take one wolf directly between the eyes. He somersaulted head over paws backward with a glazed sheen across his yellow eyes. We had six wolves down for the count, or so I thought. That left three more... three until Boaz resurfaced from the wreckage of the table. G.o.dd.a.m.n, what did it take to keep that hairy b.a.s.t.a.r.d down? Even in wolf form, oddly enough, his eyes were still black, and they held the same pitiless and implacable chill of death.

It had been barely two and a half minutes since the fight had begun. Still, it didn't surprise me in the slightest when Niko came through the door, a dark-clad missile of destruction. I was wearing a wire for a reason, and my brother wasn't one to let the gra.s.s grow under his feet. The wood of the door was st.u.r.dy enough; it didn't matter. It disintegrated under Niko's kick. Boaz didn't turn; he didn't have a chance. The gape-jawed wolf was the recipient of Niko's sword through his broad brown chest. "Let's go," Niko ordered tersely. "This isn't what we're here for." Gee, a little death and dismemberment wasn't on the schedule? What a pity. I dodged a big gray wolf-all of them by now had turned-and booted it in the a.s.s hard enough to send it flying into a still-thrashing Boaz. G.o.dd.a.m.n, that was one tough wolf.

Promise flowed past me with, if you could believe it, her cloak retrieved and folded neatly over her arm. She paused for the briefest of moments to murmur in Niko's ear and then pa.s.sed through the door to the outer room. Niko turned his attention to the convulsing Boaz with calculating consideration. I saw his hand tighten slightly on the hilt of his sword before he came to a decision. Killing Boaz wasn't the job we'd taken. It wasn't one we would've taken. Boaz was Cerberus's problem, not that that changed the fact there were three more wolves rushing forward to take us out. Niko looked at me sharply and repeated, "Go."

It was a tone I'd learned not to argue with when I was in diapers. With one arm virtually out of commission I had to leave the Glock. It was stolen and untraceable, with the numbers destroyed by acid, though no one in this crowd was going to be calling the police. It didn't change the fact I was going to miss the hunk of plastic and metal. It had gotten me out of a jam or two in its day. Knife still in hand, I made to follow Promise. "They're going to smell your blood," he added grimly. "So use some speed, little brother."

That Promise, what a tattletale. Cradling my arm against my chest, I went with one parting shot. "Nothing but my dust, Grandpa." Ignoring his snort, I headed out. Speed was a relative term, but I liked to think I set a land-speed record for an injured man in gigolo wear. Throughout the club heads were turning in my direction, some lupine, but not all. I saluted them with my knife hand and drawled, "Good game, great company. Thanks for the hospitality."

Some wanted those thanks personally. Two lamias drifted up and away from their table. The round and blazing gold eyes of owls peered through strands of floor-length inky black hair. Flashes of their pale skin could be seen through the black veils as they moved toward me, their lipless mouths showing round rings of transparent baby teeth in hungry smiles. There was a flutter of silk at my elbow and Promise said firmly, "No. Go back to your muck, leeches. This one is mine." They hesitated for a moment, and taking my good arm, she goaded me into a faster pace. As the relatively fresh night air hit my nose I heard the sc.r.a.pe of more chairs and tables behind me. Everyone smelled the blood all right, and there was plenty of it. The cold sweat of adrenaline and pain was probably a savory olfactory side dish. I wasn't too worried, though. They might be behind me, but Niko was behind them. And that wasn't a fair fight in anyone's book.

Outside, the van was only inches from the door, pulled up on the curb with reckless disregard for the life and limb of your average pedestrian. Robin waved an impatient hand from behind the wheel. "The meter's running, kid. Get your disco a.s.s in here."

Hissing as the movement jostled my arm, I climbed into the back of the van after Promise. "Your evil twin in there isn't nearly the pain you are, but d.a.m.n if his carbon-copy a.s.s isn't dead-on you."

Dark brows winged upward. "There's another puck in there?" There was definite ambivalence in his voice. "Which one?"

Yeah, that wasn't an unrealistic expectation to dump on me. I doubted they could tell one another apart, supernatural clones that they were. I knew I sure as h.e.l.l couldn't. "The annoying, smart-a.s.s one," I growled. The van was made for deliveries, and there were no seats in the back. Instead, I took one on the floor and wedged myself into the corner in preparation for a fast getaway. "That narrow it down for you any?" Ignoring his caustic humph, I told Promise, who crouched gracefully by the door, "Better get back. Nik is going to be moving."

That was an understatement if ever I made one. Niko came through the opening so fast I was halfway expecting a sonic boom to follow him. He slid the door into place with a metal-rattling slam a split second before something hit it hard enough to dent the metal. "Drive," he rapped. "Now."

Goodfellow obeyed with alacrity. The wheels of the van squealed as we b.u.mped over the curb's edge, and the smell of burning rubber followed us down the street. I'd already shoved my knife back in its sheath and used my hand to grab on to the driver's seat. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. "Well, that was fun."

"Anyone for a late supper?" came Promise's voice. "My treat. I came out nearly five hundred ahead in the game."

"Two hundred and fifty of that is mine," Goodfellow reminded over the struggling engine. "And I'm not treating anyone."

"Of course not. Your next perm should cost at least that much. I wouldn't dream of depriving your fashion budget."

The squabbling went on and I let it wash over me like a fractious lullaby. Job number two and it hadn't turned out any better than the first. Mission accomplished, if you call f.u.c.ked-up and blown out of the water an accomplishment. Bad luck or bad karma, things just weren't working out for us lately. A touch on my shoulder had me opening my eyes. "You're dripping," Niko said quietly.

In the dark it was difficult to see the color of the puddle that was forming on the floor beside me. But there wasn't much chance of it being purple, now, was there? "The true tragedy is I'm ruining Loman's shirt," I said with a halfhearted grin. My arm was propped carefully on my knees and the blood was briskly wending its way to the tips of my fingers, then trickling to the floor. It didn't make a difference. I could be gushing a river; a hospital wasn't a choice for me. Or Goodfellow or Promise for that matter. Of the four of us, only Niko had that option. If my arm were broken, maybe I could've risked it. But with a very obvious dog bite, there would be rabies shots and blood tests. I had no idea what a blood test would say about me, but I doubted it would be anything normal.

We had had a local healer, the one who had once knit together the Niko-inflicted hole in my stomach and then later had stopped my heart to drive out Darkling, but Rafferty had left several months ago. I couldn't much blame him. He was on a hunt for something, anything, that would cure his twin of a particularly nasty and wolfish illness. Luck to the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but with him gone, this healing was going to be a do-it-yourself job. Joy.

Chapter 7.