Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) (4 page)

“I don’t know. Not everyone reveals their blood lineage.”

“But they check for that now, don’t they? That’s how you got shoved into the supernat department when what you wanted was to investigate terror threats, right?”

Sloane nodded, watching the bartender who was pouring a drink with one eye on him and Moon. Sometimes, Sloane wondered if there was anyone in the world besides Fulsom who trusted him. Sometimes he wondered if anyone should.

“So I ask again. How many supernats work in the other departments?”

Sloane blinked and swallowed down the rage that simmered just under the surface. Always there, always contained, eating away at him slowly, just like the job. “None.”

Moon nodded, satisfied. “I like you Sloane Rice. I do. But you’re a fucking idiot. You’re working for the wrong people. You are working for the enemy.”

“I’m not coming to work for you.”

“Someday you’ll change your mind. They’ve got us all registered now, did you know that?”

He nodded. He knew. He hated the registry as much as every other person with fae blood or supernatural abilities, but he couldn’t say that out loud. Complaining about the situation would do nothing to make it any better.

“What do you think is coming next, Sloane?”

“You get to vote?”

“Fuck you. Don’t bullshit me. I’m too damn old for it. You’ve worked for them long enough to know that whatever’s coming next ain’t gonna be good.”

“You don’t know that,” Sloane said, but a part of him knew Moon was right. His hope that Moon was wrong was what kept him getting out of bed every day, but his fear that Moon was right was what kept him working hard to be strong and well-positioned in the government for when the bad arrived.

“I tell you what, Sloane. You come work for me, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about me and my wolves.”

“I’m not a wolf.”

“That’s the difference between us and your government, Sloane, we don’t discriminate.”

Sloane looked at the bartender and snorted.

Moon threw back his head and laughed. “I didn’t say we all love non-shifters, but we don’t discriminate.”

“Tell me what’s going on with your wolves.”

Moon took a drink of his pink beverage, grimaced, and shook his head. “Wolves aren’t the problem,” he said. “Mermaids are the problem.”

“What do you know about the mermaids?” Sloane asked, the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck rising.

“I know they aren’t getting killed by fucking eels, Sloane. I’ll tell you this much, because as much as I hate your government, I don’t hate all non-shifters. I’ll tell you that some figure the humans are due a reckoning and the mermaids are the beginning.”

Sloane grimaced. He hated Moon’s riddles. “The mermaids are fae, Moon. Why would the fae start a war against the humans with the mermaids?”

Moon winked at a female shifter on the other side of the bar, before turning his attention back to Sloane. “You find the answer to that question, and you’ll have a shot of surviving.”

Fulsom stood next to the car, and blatantly flirted with a female wolf while her mate watched. Luckily for Fulsom, her mate was currently torn between amusement and anger. If the female wolf had been returning the flirting or if it looked like Fulsom was even remotely serious, he might have had a fight on his hands. If Fulsom was human, he probably would have had a fight anyway, but wolves didn’t fight trolls unless they had to. They were too evenly matched, and trolls, especially Fulsom, fought dirty.

Sloane ignored the scene and got into the passenger seat of the car. Fulsom blew a kiss to the male wolf and sashayed to the driver’s side door. He climbed in and ignored the wolf staring stonily after him. “You have a death wish?” Sloane asked, once Fulsom had started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

“I haven’t been in a good fight in two months,” Fulsom said. “I need to hit someone.”

“Huh.” He would never understand Fulsom. The guy always seemed so laid back that Sloane sometimes forgot the troll
could
get angry. Fulsom had given no indication of needing to let off steam, not even to Sloane, and Sloane was pretty sure he knew Fulsom better than anyone else. He started to ask the troll what was going on, but he stopped himself. Fulsom wasn’t a sharer. He was also annoying as hell and didn’t seem to care about anyone or anything. Sloane knew him well enough to know his apathy was pretense, but even Sloane wasn’t sure what Fulsom truly cared about.

“What did Moon say?”

“He’s got nothing to say about the wolf sightings. I say we park down the street and watch for any big groups leaving the bar.” As territorial as wolves were, they always ran in groups of at least three. Sloane didn’t tell Fulsom what Moon had said about the mermaids. The boss wouldn’t care about what Moon thought or knew. She didn’t trust shifters and she hated Moon. Sloane suspected she hated all supernats, but he thought it equally possible she hated everyone and everything. She was as miserable about life as Sloane was about his career projectory.

“Fuck.” Fulsom sighed. “Gotta call about another missing mermaid while you were with Moon. Boss wants us on it.”

Now Sloane wanted someone to hit. “So we can discover she was killed by another rogue eel?”

Fulsom said nothing.

“Why doesn’t she put someone else on it? Aren’t we supposed to be watching the wolves?” Sloane didn’t want to have to face Mellita’s sadness at losing another of her mermaids. He didn’t want to see another of his friends dead on the beach. But he also didn’t want anyone less sympathetic to the mermaids doing it.

“Mermaids asked for you. Boss is sending someone else to watch the bar.”

Sloane felt his shoulders slump and wished for a moment that he could say no and just go home, have a beer, watch mindless television with Frankie on the couch, but nothing in his life was ever that simple. If he went home, Frankie would be there waiting for him and she’d want to hash out their issues and she’d say she never came first with him, and he’d have to reassure her that he really cared about her. He did care about her, but he’d never loved her the way she should be loved. He’d tried. He’d wanted so badly to love her, for her to be that person who made his shitty days better and made his house feel like a home, all that sappy shit. He’d asked her to move in with him, because it was what people his age did, and because he liked her better than any other woman. If he went home, he’d have to break up with her, ask her to move out, because that’s what she deserved.

Fulsom studied him for several moments. “You know, you could go surprise Frankie. Get to sleep in a bed tonight. I’ll cover for you with the boss, and I’ll talk to the mermaids. Mellita will understand.”

Sometimes, Sloane wondered if trolls had a mind-reading ability they’d never revealed. He wished he was tempted to take him up on his offer, but Fulsom talking to the mermaids was a fucking disaster waiting to happen. Maybe if he’d had a better partner, he could have put more time into his relationship with Frankie. Yeah, it felt good to place some of the blame on Fulsom, but deep down Sloane knew the problem was all him. “No. Drop me by home so I can change and I’ll meet you there.”

Fulsom shrugged. “Okay, but I’m telling you, Frankie deserves better.”

“Yeah. I know she does.”

*Liza*

Seaside Seafood was slammed and buzzing with noise and laughter. Liza moved between the tables taking orders and delivering food without having to think about it too hard. She’d been waitressing since she was sixteen, and it came easy to her, talking up the customers, flirting a little bit, laughing along, it all gave her a buzz of extra energy, like her morning coffee did. She could do all that and, in the back of her mind, she could think about her dissertation on the effects of climate change on the local emerita, or sand flea, population. Not too many people paid much mind to sand fleas. They weren’t exactly the most exciting crustacean, but they’d been her favorite sea creature as a child – they were easy to catch and to play with. If they were being negatively impacted by the increased acidity of the sea, she wanted to know. She had two more weeks of collecting to do, and she’d have all the data she needed to finish writing her dissertation and get her degree. Then she was heading out on a ship somewhere. With her degree, she could teach at the college level or run an aquarium, but she wanted to see the world from a boat. She wanted to get her hands dirty and live on the ocean for a while.

“Hiya, honey, how about coming over here and giving me some sugar.” The voice jolted her from her thoughts about fish, and she turned toward it knowing who she’d see before she looked.

Arty Munsinger was 85 years old, but that never stopped him from flirting with Liza and every other woman he saw. He was seated at a table in her section and she blew him a kiss. “I’ll be right with you, Arty, I’ve got an order up.” He shot her a wink and her step was a bit lighter on the way back to the kitchen. Arty always made her smile. He was weather-worn and looked every bit his age, but he had kept in shape and still went for long walks on the beach every morning. If Liza was 85, she’d be all over that, but Arty had told her once he preferred younger women – as in old enough to be his granddaughters. The old guy was loaded and charming and wasn’t entirely unsuccessful in his exploits, and Liza always rooted for him, but she would never go home with him.

Liza picked up her order from the kitchen and headed back out to the front. She probably could have gotten a job somewhere like the Lobster Palace and made more money in tips, but she preferred the locals to the tourists. Especially the older guys, like Arty, who still remembered what it was like around there when Greenville was landlocked. Arty had been smart, a waiter himself, who’d snatched up every bit of property he could before the ocean rose to meet the city and made it beachfront. While other people had been running around screaming about the world ending, Arty had been planning for the future. Many people had moved as far from the coast as they could, but there were still people who loved the sea and vacationed there, even a few wealthy people who chose to live there permanently. Since the government had forbidden new construction, in an effort to curb carbon output, he’d made a killing.

As Liza approached Arty’s table, she noticed he looked different and she studied him for a moment before she figured out what it was about him that had changed. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Arty you have horns.” And he did, little white nubby horns almost entirely hidden by his hair, but visible none-the-less. Arty’s expression changed from hopeful to intrigued and he raised his eyebrows.

“And if I do, would that make you more likely to come over and sit on an old man’s lap for a bit? Maybe tell him what you want for Christmas?” He looked her up and down. “Maybe something red and lacy?”

She swatted him on the shoulder, but couldn’t hide her smile. If a guy her age said something like that, she’d punch him in the nose no matter how cute he was, but Arty… Arty could get away with just about anything.

“Seriously, Arty.” She gestured to the horns. “Are they a prop to get women?”

He threw back his head and chuckled. “You think it would work?” When she just shook her head, his smile widened. “Why don’t you rub them and see if they’re real or not.”

She looked around the restaurant, but no one was looking at them, everyone intent on their food or their conversations. She put her hand in Arty’s surprisingly fine and soft hair and felt a horn. Holy shit, it felt like real bone. She pulled on the horn a bit and Arty moaned with pleasure. She jerked her hand away and sat down at the table across from him. Arty was laughing at her again, and she figured the moan had been his idea of a joke.

“Holy shit, Arty. They’re real,” she hissed at him.

He sobered up and his expression grew more serious than she’d seen it before. “Yes, they’re real and I expect you to keep it to yourself. I don’t need any science types nosing around me, trying to figure out what I am.”

“What are you?” she asked, wondering how she’d never noticed his horns before.

“Satyr,” Arty said, clicking his heels on the floor. She bent over slowly and peeked under the table to see hooves and furry goat legs. How had she not noticed that before?

“How…?”

He shrugged. “Humans don’t see what they don’t expect. I’d say you’ve seen something bizarre you can’t deny and it’s opened your mind to other possibilities. Plus, you might have a bit of fae blood in you that’s helping you to see through my glamour.”

“Fae blood?”

“You able to do anything else unusual?”

“I dream of the dead,” she said before she thought better of it.

He just nodded, his face revealing no expression. She figured he was hiding his surprise to be polite. “Bit of banshee blood, probably. Now tell me, do the horns and hooves do anything for you? I promise you satyrs are better in bed.”

She almost missed his proposition, she was so shocked by his admission. “Nope. Sorry, Arty. But I can serve you dinner. What would you like tonight?”

She could have smacked herself for leaving herself open for that one. “I’d like you, naked on my table, with pancakes and syrup covering all of your naughty bits.”

That image was just too much. She couldn’t help laughing. “You never fail to make me laugh, even though you’re a lecherous old man who should know better.”

“I’d never fail to make you come either, if you’d just give me a chance.”

She shook her head. “You want eggs with those pancakes?”

Arty gave her a nod and a wink and she got back to work, the back of her mind now struggling with the existence of satyrs, which made the existence of mermaids that much more likely.

She got out of the restaurant around midnight. She should have gone home and gone to bed, but she didn’t have to get up early the next morning and she was wired from the night. Seaside Seafood was one of the few restaurants that had chosen to ignore the governor’s suggestion that all businesses and residences re-locate three miles from shore. The restaurant sat on a small hill five hundred yards from high tide and had the best views in Greenville. Liza stepped outside, breathed in the scent of the sea and headed to the beach for a moonlit stroll. The beach at night probably wasn’t the best place to go alone, but she’d had years of self-defense training and mace in her purse. It may have been more than ten years since the topography of the world changed, but there were still a lot of hungry, desperate people in the world. A lot of people who’d lost everything they had and had no qualms about stealing to get it back.