Madhouse (10 page)

"Stop? But I'm enjoying it so much," Robin snarled as he whipped another blade from his brown leather duster and slashed the throat of the bird. The blow was forceful enough that the head was almost completely severed. The good news was that it stopped the screaming. The bad news was that it didn't do a damn thing about the other Hameh stooping on us like a falcon on a mouse. I shot, missed, and shot again. This time I nailed it. It veered, hit a wall, and plummeted onto the stairs above us. In the seconds that took, the blood of the first was already twisting in on itself and changing colors.

"This is annoying as hell." This time I took the lead, moving past him as he took the time to extract his sword. "I've seen Hitchcock movies. I don't want to live in one."

"Did you know he wore women's—"

"I don't want to know!" I growled, cutting him off. I kept going until I reached the door to the first floor and threw it open. Only it wasn't the first floor and it wasn't the lobby. It was the basement. We'd overshot by one when racing downward and ended up in precisely the sort of box I avoided in elevators. It wasn't an empty box either.

"Give me drink. "Give me drink. Give me drink. Give me drinkgivemedrinkgivemegivemedrinkgivemedrinkgivemedrinkgivemedrink."

It was utterly black except for the soft reddish blue glow of eyes…ten, no, twenty eyes. I didn't hesitate. I emptied the rest of my clip blindly into the room, slammed the door, and headed back up, meeting Goodfellow on his way down. "You don't want to go this way. There's some seriously thirsty pigeons down there."

"Give me drink,"
from above answered the question to what lay in that direction as well. And in case I missed the point, let's hit it one more time—
"Give me drink."

"Shut up, you flying shit-heads," I spat as I slapped another clip home. "Just shut the hell up."

"Yes, I'm sure that will clear the matter right up. In the diplomacy of predator and prey, you dominate the field. You are without peer. A veritable Kissinger of the circle of life."

"You know what? Take the flying part out and it applies to you too, Loman." I shot the next Hameh that came spiraling through the air. It somersaulted past me and, in a mass of blood, ruined flesh, and feathers, landed on Robin. Mortally wounded, it stabbed repeatedly at Goodfellow's neck with its black beak. I grabbed it from behind before it did anything worse than superficial damage and threw it to our feet, where it was impaled by Robin's bloody sword.

"Okay," I panted. "There has to be a way to kill these things for good. What is it?"

"Bathe them"—he was finally beginning to get a little short of breath himself—"in the blood of a virgin. Care to open a vein?"

I snarled soundlessly, wiped handfuls of gore-covered feathers from my palms onto his shirt, and then bolted for the first floor. The pounding at the basement door was beginning to warp the metal, and I wasn't waiting around to play games with the group of parched blood drinkers that were seconds away from coming through. "I can't believe I hauled my ass over here to warn you, and all you do is give me shit." Still pounding up the stairs, I looked back over my shoulder at him with narrowed, dubious eyes. "You
are
giving me shit, right?"

"Trust me, if it were true, I wouldn't be trying so hard to get you laid. I'd be selling you by the ounce instead," he retorted.

We both hit the door simultaneously and burst out of the stairwell. The building didn't have a lobby; it wasn't that sort of building. What it had was a lounging area for artwork and those who made it—an informal art gallery. There were people sitting on the floor drinking weird teas and paint-thinner-strength coffee. Canvases were piled against the walls, funky twisted bits of metal and chunky pottery were grouped here and there, and there were naked, painted people posing like living statues. I guessed that's what they did before they went upstairs to orgy central, because your paint was bound to get smeared all to hell up there.

I vaulted one guy who was lying flat, stargazing at the cracked and yellowed ceiling. I wove in and out of a few more and then I was outside. Behind me, I heard the mild wonder of: "Cool. That's one motherfucking big parakeet."

It wasn't what I wanted to hear, to say the least. Another thing I didn't want to hear was the thrum of massive wings, but I heard it nonetheless. It was raining as I hit the sidewalk. There were sheets of heavy, gray water and black clouds that brought twilight several hours early. Into that twilight flew Hameh after Hameh. I looked up as they circled. They were the color of the rain almost exactly, lost against the sky. As for hearing them…you could make out their voices over the hiss of the falling water and the blaring horns of cabs, but only if you listened hard. No one in New York listened hard.

Beside me, Robin looked up, the inhuman perfection of his profile washed clean. "Baal of the Winter Rain," he said softly. "The fortune that is finally due us."

"Yeah, it's great for the crops and all, but what the hell is it going to do for us?"

"Watch," he ordered with vengeful anticipation.

The Hameh soared, circled, and one by one they began to explode. It wasn't loud. Muffled by flesh and feathers, the
whump
was barely audible. From the inside out, they ruptured, and pieces of them fell along with the rain.

"Blood is the only thing they can drink, the only liquid they can even touch." Teeth flashed in the pelting water as he stepped back under a dingy awning and out from under a very different kind of rain.

There was the scent of burnt feathers and scorched flesh in the wet air as I followed him. It wasn't a pleasant smell, in the ordinary sense, but at that moment I didn't mind it at all. It was apple pie and fresh coffee to my nose. Sweet and fragrant roses all the way. I continued to watch the fireworks show above.
Boom.
There went another one.

And the rain continued to fall.

"I'm not sure which disturbs me more—that you could have been killed or that you could have been killed at an orgy. What precisely would you have me put on the tombstone? Here lies Caligula Leandros?"

"Oh, Jesus, that reminds me. You should've
seen
the size of Goodfellow's…" From the annoyed twist of Niko's eyebrows, I decided it was a subject for another time. "Anyway…bottom line is Robin's in trouble." I finished loading the Glock and holstered it. "Someone is pissed as hell at him and apparently has a zoo in their backyard to pull from."

"That in itself is curious." Nik had just made his fifth blade disappear under his coat and now had numbers six and seven in his hand. "The Hameh and the sirrush are from the same general geographical area. Sirrush are Babylonian and the Hameh are mentioned in Arabic mythology, but they are more like animals, not intelligent entities. It's as if someone sicced a guard dog on him. We should ask who in that part of the world Goodfellow has managed to so thoroughly annoy."

"That could narrow it down to a few thousand." I leaned against our kitchen table. "If we're lucky."

"When have we ever been especially showered with luck?" Niko asked dryly as he disposed of knives number six and seven and considered number eight before flipping it high in the air. It didn't come down again as far as I saw. His hand flashed and it was gone.

I snorted. "No comment." Actually I had plenty of comments about the rather bitchy Lady Luck, but we had things to do and Scottish assholes to kill.

Robin had declined an invitation to our hunting trip, but Promise had come along. The three of us spent the night combing the parks, the piers, and any condemned and abandoned buildings we could locate. The parks were good hunting grounds and any large empty structure could function as a substitute for a cave. It was a reasonable plan … if this wasn't New York City. A city this size? We were whistling in the wind and we knew it. But we kept it up. It was better than doing nothing and we hadn't heard back from Ham yet.

Yeah, it was the best we could do right now, but that didn't change the fact we came up empty—that night and the two nights following that. We didn't run across a single Redcap or revenant, which was unusual. Revenants were plentiful in the city. A few of them worked for the Kin doing jobs that the wolves considered beneath them. The others worked for themselves, eating what they could catch. They weren't bright, but they were fairly quick. They didn't go hungry too often, and it was unusual to go through the park at night and not spot at least three or four. We didn't see a single one…anywhere.

But at one park we did run into several sylphs cocooning a lowlife for later consumption. They were smaller creatures, the size of a seven-year-old child, with pale gold skin and hair and the amazing wings of giant butterflies. Purples, blues, greens, red, orange, yellow…any color you could think of. Their eyes were huge and the same gold as the skin. Beautiful, like the fairy tales in books…not the fairytale reality that stalked our streets. When you saw a sylph, it was enough to make you believe in Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and a place built solely on magic.

And you'd keep believing it right up until they ate you.

It was at that same point you'd probably notice they had eight multijointed golden legs and were more spider than butterfly. And like the spider, they didn't drink blood or eat flesh, not separately. After cocooning their prey, they injected a chemical that dissolved the internal organs to soup. Eventually there would be nothing but a dried husk hanging in a tree that would disintegrate in the first brisk breeze.

Frankly, I didn't care if the homicidal butterflies ate a hundred muggers or drug dealers. New York could use a little cheap crime control. But, as Niko logically explained while smacking the back of my head, it might not always be a petty criminal they snared.

There were many things I'd done and many things I'd killed, but there was something about killing a giant butterfly, even one with spider legs, that wasn't going to leave any fond memories. I'd never been one for pulling the wings off something smaller than I was. But when they opened their mouths and I saw poison-dripping pincers and a circular gullet lined with tiny triangular teeth, I changed my mind. Tinkerbell took one in the gut, and, as it snarled with sizzling poison gushing from its mouth, the only thing I felt was gratitude I was out of spitting range.

Other than leaving scattered wings like ludicrously colored autumn leaves, we accomplished nothing. Not a damn thing. The only positive was there weren't any further attempts on Goodfellow's life. And I kept thinking it was positive up to the point he showed up at my door with a plan of his own.

Goodfellow tapped his watch when I opened the door. "Tick-tock. We have places to go and cherries to pop." He looked me up and down. "Could you change into something a little less…homeless-friendly?"

It was five in the afternoon and the last two hours had been spent working out with Niko. That wasn't anything I couldn't do in sweats and a T-shirt. Getting my ass kicked by my brother wasn't a black-tie event. I ducked as a lamp came hurtling from behind to bounce off my shoulder and shatter against the door frame.

"That could've been a dagger," Niko said reprovingly. It wasn't an idle observation, because the next one was. I caught a glimpse of it from the corner of my eye and dived to the ground. Robin caught it point-first and examined the blade. "It's dull. Now, what type of teaching tool is that?"

"He's delicate," my brother offered gravely.

I growled and rose to my knees, and then tackled Goodfellow to the floor while snatching the thrown dagger from him as I did. I rolled to keep him between Niko and me and held the training blade to his throat.

"You have a hostage. Nicely done." Niko approached and held out his hand. I slapped the dagger into it. "Assuming someone cares for the hostage." His lips twitched as he extended his other hand to assist Robin to his feet. "Considering the past several days, that's not an assumption we would hold true for all. Goodfellow, are you sure you won't stay here with us until we find out who is behind this?"

"I couldn't afford the massive cramp in my style." But there was a fleeting glint of surprised appreciation behind his eyes as Robin straightened his coat and smoothed his hair. "Speaking of style or lack thereof…" He focused his gaze on me. "Would you change already? Even I can't get you laid looking like that."

The practice session was nearly over and I looked over at Niko. He exhaled, folded his arms, and gave the most minute of shrugs. He thought I was making a mistake—that Georgina was for me, and that I was too stubborn by far for my own good. But while he thought I was wrong, he understood why I'd made the decision I had. He'd also seen it had actually given me some small measure of peace to have made
any
decision. I'd spent most of my life on the run. You don't get to make a lot of decisions doing that. You react and brace yourself in case it isn't good enough. But giving up running meant standing your ground … on all things. I'd made my choice—I was sticking with it, because I knew, even if no one else did, it was the right one.

The only one.

Niko had suggested I wait. That there might be a nonhuman who could come to mean something to me. Someone safe to care about. The thing was, I didn't want to care about my first. If it couldn't be with George, then I didn't want it to mean anything. If I couldn't care for her in this case, then I didn't want to care at all. I wanted it to be just what it was, sex and nothing else.

"Yeah, okay," I said slowly. "I'll change."

Niko lightly bumped my shoulder with his as I passed. I'd say that was the good thing about family: they supported you whether they agreed with you or not. But that was a lie. None of my other family had been remotely capable of that, and I was referring to the human half. I guess it would be more accurate then to say that wasn't the good thing about family; that was the good thing about Niko.

I dressed in jeans and a black pullover sweater. I imagined Robin would be massively unimpressed. I was right, but he was distracted enough by Niko that when I walked back into the room he let the clothes pass with a minimal amount of ranting and raving.

"Beau Brummell would choke himself with his own cravat," Goodfellow said scornfully as he looked me up and down, then brightened. "The whole polishing his boots with champagne, he stole that from me, you know." He extended an expensively shod foot and rested it on the coffee table as he relaxed on the couch. "See the shine? Subtle but impeccable."

"While I'm immensely fascinated by your shoe-care regimen," Niko commented as he leaned against the wall, "let's return to the discussion of who might be trying to kill you."

Robin admired the sheen on his shoe for another moment before exhaling, "You have no idea what you're asking."

"Piss off that many people? I believe it." I dropped into the chair and hooked a leg over the padded arm.

"Smart-ass pup, fetal flash-in-the-pan," he grumbled, but it was all surface. Beneath that was a dark melancholy he was usually more cautious about concealing. "I'm a puck. Pissing off lesser creatures is what I do. How can I be blamed for those who have absolutely no humor and a marked inability to hold on to their wallet? But that, while significant, is not the problem."

"Then what is?" Niko asked with the patience of a man who has all the time in the world. What we'd forgotten was that Robin was the one with that trait.

"I can't remember." He dropped his foot back to the floor. "I can't begin to recall all those I've practiced my trickery on over the years, because it is the years that are too many, not my victims. Although, to give credit where credit is due…" He flashed a happily predatory grin. When it faded, he added contemplatively, "I remember the highs and lows, naturally, but if I, for example, stole a boggle's treasure trove some ten thousand years ago, that I won't remember."

"But he would remember you," Niko stated.

"Yes, I would definitely be a low for him and I'm sure it would stick quite clearly in his muddy speck of a brain cell, but for me?"

"Not so much?" I said.

"Yes, not so much," he responded impassively. "I have no idea where I was born or when. I've forgotten more of my life than I remember. There simply isn't a way to make a list of the usual suspects."

"Perhaps if we concentrate on the attempts themselves." Niko straightened, pale eyes razor sharp in their persistence. "The Hameh birds and the sirrush are all from the same general area. Did you do something memorable down Babylon way? Were you someone's rough beast?"

Robin met that gaze with an unwavering one of his own. He was either remembering something or doing his damnedest not to. "Poetic." He stood. "But nothing that could pertain to this, I'm sure."

I could see Niko wasn't buying it, and neither was I. But what we believed didn't matter, because the conversation was over. Goodfellow made some noise about how he'd think on it, mull it over, keep his head down, and thanks so very much for our input, care, and concern, and he was out the door. And there I sat, leg still dangling.

"Your ride on the debauchery express is leaving without you," Niko informed me blandly.

"It looks that way." I heaved myself up and grabbed my jacket.

"You're positive about this?" he asked as I shrugged into it. "You should let Georgina make her own decision when it comes to this. She's stronger than you give her credit for."

"I know she is." I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets and curved my lips without humor. "Hell, she's stronger than me. She can live with the uncertainty. I can't."

He dipped his chin and said only, "You're strong enough, just in all the mulishly obstinate wrong ways." Tilting his head toward the door, he continued. "Tell Goodfellow if he gets you in trouble, he can look forward to a few more attempts on his life."

"Come on, Cyrano," I said lightly, "people get laid all the time. What could go wrong?"

More to the point…what could go right?

Not a goddamn thing.

The first stop was a penthouse apartment on the Upper West Side. Other than the door being painted black, it was an impressive place. Doorman. Soft, deep carpeting in the halls with subdued lighting. Very pricey. I looked around, feeling a little out of place. "You're sure she won't know I'm half Auphe?"

"If she does, she won't mind," Robin assured me. "She's quite open-minded, a wonderful species, totally without judgment. And they absolutely cannot breed with Auphe, or humans for that matter. In fact, they lay eggs, which requires fertilization at a much later date. She looks very human, though, so don't pull a groin muscle worrying over that one. I know you're new to the nonhuman dating scene." He checked his watch. "Good. We're right on time." He knocked lightly on the door, then mentioned casually, "Oh, I nearly forgot. She may…
may…
try to eat you afterward, but it's rare. Only if she finds you very, very charming, and with your personality I think we know what the odds are on that."

On that note, I turned and headed back down the hall away from the door … at a slightly faster clip than when I'd approached it.

The next stop was Central Park and the lake. Goodfellow stood on the shore, careful of his champagne-scrubbed shoes. "Lyrlissa. She's a limnade, a lake nymph. Once again, eggs, requiring the sperm of not one but
two…
well, that's neither here nor there. You're good to go."

The moon had turned the water into ripples of silver against black, a spill of platinum chains against velvet. It looked beautiful. It also looked cold as hell. I crouched down and slid a finger into the water. "Huh. Is she coming out?"

"She's a lake nymph, you uneducated child. They don't do that."

"Well, here's something I don't do," I countered, irritated, "get it up in fifty-degree temperature water."

"No?" Robin frowned.

"Jesus Christ, no! At least not and keep it there. I might be only half human, but the dick? That's all human, okay? It has its limits."