Nightlife (19 page)

The next morning, I decided to drop in on Promise after all. I'd mulled it over and decided that while I couldn't kill her and shack up at her place, I could kill her and steal whatever wasn't nailed down. As plans went it was both practical and entertaining, and those who knew me would be the first to say I was nothing if not fun-loving.

In no particular hurry, I made my meandering way to the Upper East Side. There were sights to see, so damn many. They were all familiar in Cal's memories, but I saw them with new eyes. Colors were brighter and the smells of food, perfume, and unwashed bodies were a sharp-edged, musky rose to inhale. The streets were bright with sun and oblivious cheer, but the alleys were dark with rage, terror, and endless waves of pain.
Goddamn
, who couldn't love this city?

When I finally reached Promise's building I'd decided the best course of action was the tried-and-true "I've been here a thousand times so let me up already." Every New Yorker knows it and sometimes it even works. Caliban had been here several times with Nik to act as Promise's bodyguards. Never in the daytime of course, but here was hoping they rotated shifts enough at the security desk that I'd see someone I'd recognize. And better yet, someone who would recognize me.

I wasn't precisely dressed for duty, still wearing the sweatshirt and jeans Cal had been in when I'd taken him. Consequently, I left a businessman in one of those dark alleys that felt like home. He was minus his shirt, jacket, tie, and wallet, but he had his life—more or less. So no bitching allowed. The wallet was sadly depleted, but the suit jacket fit well. It was somewhat loose in the shoulders, but nothing too noticeable. The pants had been obviously too big and I hadn't bothered to strip them off his limp form. The tie turned out to be more of a problem. It seemed neither of us, despite my wholehearted appreciation of nooses, had much experience tying one of those. In the end, I tossed it with disgust on the sidewalk and settled for buttoning the jacket. The jeans were still jeans, but it would pass. Cal hadn't exactly been a fashion plate before. I, on the other hand, rubbed fingers along the expensive material of the stolen clothes and purred low in my throat. Nice.

I still had a ponytail holder and pulled freshly dried hair back with a ruthless yank. With sunglasses firmly in place, I made my move. The doorman waved me through without question and I stopped at the security desk and patted the breast of my jacket. "I have tickets for Mrs. Nottinger." Naturally, this guy wouldn't know Promise was of the supernaturally parasitic persuasion, but he was bound to be aware she wasn't a day person. I didn't want to arouse suspicion by insinuating I was here to escort her somewhere this early. A delivery of some sorts seemed the perfect solution.

Luckily for me, I'd seen this guy on night duty before, and he had seen me. He was heavyset with snow-white hair cut bristle short and black horn-rimmed glasses that all said his cop days were long gone. He still had an air of authority, but he topped it off with a pear-shaped butt that doesn't come from slavish devotion to duty. Waving a hand, he dumped his paper-bag lunch out of sight and down behind the sweep of marble counter. Apparently I'd hit him at some kind of shift change. Goody for me, all the better for distraction. "You're that guy Niko's partner, aren't you?" he yawned. "Go on up."

Just like that. Don't you just love it?

In the elevator I hummed to myself. My humming wasn't quite like the human version and after a few floors passed in silent speed, an old woman with an armful of even more ancient dog said, "You have such a beautiful voice. I've never heard anything like it."

I tilted my head and gave her a smile that bubbled with good cheer. "It runs in the family."

Crumpled and decaying rose petals masquerading as lips smiled back at me. Wrapped in mink with the finest leather shoes and purse money could buy, she was dressed like a predator—in her victims. Yet she failed to spot a real one when she saw it. Fluffy saw it, though. Fluffy saw me. Tiny teeth, blunt and worn, were bared at me in a rictus of fear and outrage, and a squirt of warm yellow urine poured over the mink. It only proved that the Fluffys of the world were far smarter than the ones who led them around on shiny rhinestone leashes.

I exited on Promise's floor to snarls and snaps from the dog and yelps from its oblivious owner. If possible, it put me in an even better mood.

Until I saw the door begin to open at the end of the hall. Twenty-three stories up. Who takes the stairs twenty-three frigging flights? It wasn't Promise's personal trainer, that was for damn sure, and that left only one other person.

Niko.

Not that taking on my brother wouldn't be fun. Many, many bloody escapades to be had there and I looked forward to it. Just not right now. Things might not have gone as swimmingly as they could have before I sailed though a shattered window to freedom, but I was distracted at the time. Putting on a new body isn't exactly like grabbing a shirt off the rack. It takes time and finesse to get it to fit just right—to use it as it was meant to be used. I could take him all right; after all, he was only a human. But there was no harm in waiting for a more opportune time.

There was a supply closet to my left and I dived into it, shutting the door behind me. The inside was three times as big as the bug-infested room I had spent the night in. The cleaning supplies were in oak-faced cabinets, tucked neatly from sight. The door itself was an ornately latticed affair, straight out of a sultan's palace. I left the lights off and, standing to one side, peered through one of the minute openings. I kept the sunglasses on. They didn't impair my newly improved vision any and I didn't want a gleam of silver to give me away.

Niko came through the stairwell door. Unwinded by the climb, smug bastard, he moved down the hall. My, my… big brother wasn't looking too hot. It was subtle, and if you didn't know him, you might miss it completely. But I did know him. I knew him inside and out, and I saw every sign of strain on his face. Cheekbones were sharper, lips tighter, and the shadows of sleepless nights were under his eyes. But the best evidence was found in the eyes themselves. They were bleaker than a graveyard gone to rot.

Good stuff. Damn good stuff.

Curiously, I watched him raise a fist to knock once on Promise's door. A single soft rap, but it still had the door opening after just a few moments. Good ears on vampires. Then again there were lots of good things on Promise, I leered to myself, and ears didn't make the top ten. She stood in the doorway, obviously puzzled to see Niko. She was wrapped in a dressing gown of violet silk, and her unbound hair was a fall of rippling brown water that nearly reached her waist. A necklace wreathed her neck once, then fell between her breasts. Pearls, she slept in pearls. There was something very erotic about that and I felt an interesting twitch below.

"Niko?" She didn't grasp the edges of her robe to pull them closer together. Either she didn't care or didn't notice, or maybe it was a combination of the two. "What are you doing here?" A pale hand reached out to rest on Niko's chest. "What's wrong?"

Huh. I wasn't the only one who could read Niko today. His head inclined, not much… maybe a few millimeters at the most, but for him it was a bow to unrelenting pressure. "I need your help," he said in a voice I didn't recognize. Not as Cal, not as I was now. "I've lost…" He stopped, then cleared this throat and finished with robotic determination. "I've lost Cal."

"Lost," and not as in misplaced your favorite pair of boxers. He said the word as if he really meant it. Lost as a child who disappears on the way to school never to be seen again. Lost as the wife whose hand slips from yours as she's swallowed by raging floodwaters. Lost as a brother whose silver eyes watch you as he plummets downward through the night air until you can see him no more.

Pretty goddamn lost.

Niko couldn't lose control. It was as much a part of him as his blond hair and lethal blades. He couldn't lose it, but it did sag a bit around the edges. As I watched, he rested his forehead on the top of Promise's head. Other than that, he didn't move, simply remained still to repeat with a tone of weary disbelief, "I lost him."

Promise moved then, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him. It was touching as hell, and I almost felt a tear well up. I checked my watch. Things to do, people to kill, and this lovefest was only slowing me down. It was too bad I'd lost my gun before I'd tripped out to Tumulus. I could've shot Niko in the back as well as done some damage to the cheesy latticework of the door.

After a moment Niko straightened, probably regretting the weakness he'd allowed himself. "I have to get him back."

"Then you will." Promise took his arm and urged him into the apartment. As they passed through her door, I heard her voice drift back. "I'll help you, Niko. In any way I can."

Wonderful. Now I had a human, a puck, and a vampire sticking their noses in my business. Everyone was invariably out to ruin my good time. It never failed. Not only was Promise joining forces with Niko and Goodfellow, but I still didn't have any damn money. Still, the day wasn't over and there were other ways to finance my love of luxury. Boggle was looking more and more like my best option. I left the closet behind and went to hit him up.

I'd known Boggle back when he was an ankle-biting pollywog. Years had passed and times had changed, but there was one thing I could depend on to stay the same: Bog's bottomless pit of an appetite. It defined consistency back when consistency was barely a concept, much less a word. So when I came calling, it was with a present in hand. I released my grip on it, letting it slump to the ground, and raised my other hand for a bite of hot dog. Chili cheese with onions.

"Boggy," I said indistinctly around a mouthful of sheer heaven. "Up and at 'em, tiger. I brought you breakfast. You want yours sunny-side up or over easy?"

The mud stirred, giving a sluggish ripple, and then Boggle raised his head above the surface just enough to show his jack-o'-lantern orange eyes like a bizarrely prehistoric frog. "You again." The words bubbled up through the mud with annoyed resignation. The resignation quickly melted as the eyes focused more sharply on me and widened. "
You
." This time the tone was different and certainly less complacent.

"It's me." I flashed a grin as I pulled off the sunglasses I'd lifted earlier from a street vendor and revealed my gorgeous silver peepers. "But are you sure which me it is, Bog? Because I'm more than willing to take the time to talk it over, to really hash it out with you. For old times' sake."

Ignoring the invitation, he rose slowly from his mud-hole, eyes fixed on me as his face peeled back to reveal his teeth. "You merged with it. A human. Disgusting. Perverse." If he'd had lips, he would've pursed them and spit to show his distaste.

"Aren't you the delicate lady?" I snorted. "And he was only half human. Now we're a whole lot less." I put my foot on the motionless body in front of me and gave it a shove. It rolled down the incline into the thick mud with a splat. Beefy frame, fairly young—he'd make a good meal for Boggle. He'd followed me with dogged determination into the depths of the park, never quite as surreptitious as he'd hoped. He'd had a knife, handcuffs, a homemade wire garrote, and a burning look of hunger in his eyes. I didn't know if he wanted money or something much less mundane, but it didn't matter to me and I knew it wouldn't to Boggle either. Robbers or rapists, they all taste the same, he'd say.

Like chicken.

Either way it was a stroke of fortune I'd been all too happy to take advantage of. It saved me the trouble of dragging a kicking and screaming jogger into the woods. "Eat up, big guy, and we'll get down to business," I prompted, taking a seat on the grassy bank to finish up my own breakfast hot dog. I'd never been a big fan of poultry myself.

Giving in, Boggle grumbled, "It's always bidness with you. Been a thousand years easy and first thing you want is a favor. Least this time you brought me takeout."

As my old buddy made his way through the most important meal of the day, I filled him in on my plan and what precisely it was that I needed from him. He wasn't too happy. I didn't take it personally. Boggles are never especially happy; it simply isn't in their makeup. But that was all right. I had enough good cheer for the both of us and then some.

"Quit your bitching," I ordered, wiping the mustard from my hands on the withered grass. "So what if you have to move. You're looking flaky anyway. A change of scenery will do you good."

"It's the pollution," he said glumly, tongue swiping over his bloody teeth. "Plays hell with my scales. I lose a bucketful every morning. Ain't no combing that over, ya know?"

"Yeah, it's a crying shame." Balancing my arms on my knees, I let my hands dangle and gave Boggle a narrow-eyed glance. "It's been a while for you, eh, Bog? Holed up in this all-you-can-eat buffet? Hell, the muggers fall in your playpen and you barely have to lift a claw. I have to wonder, big guy, if you're up for some genuine action." Leaning back, I replaced my sunglasses and repeated flatly, "I really have to wonder."

The orange eyes turned sullen. "You think I've gone soft. That what you're saying?"

"Doesn't matter what I say, Boggle." My tone was as soft as the flash of my teeth was hard. "What matters is what you do. I'm a good guy. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"What a pal," he said sourly. "And what am I getting out of this, huh? You want I should move. You want my souvenirs. You want me to risk my muddy ass. And for what? I'm helping you, but what the hell are you doing for me?"

"Besides the snack? Besides all the nostalgia?" I rose to my feet. "I'm not skinning you alive, Boggy. I'm not turning you into a throw rug for my swinging bachelor pad. How 'bout that? Is that good enough for you?"

Turned out, it was.

I got nearly eight thousand dollars and a pocketful of gold jewelry from Boggle. The jewelry, mainly thick chains and clunky rings, was tacky in a way only Mr. T could truly appreciate, but it should be worth a fair chunk of change. The clothes and empty wallets I let him keep. When I left he was sifting mournfully through his reduced pile of mementos with a jackknife claw and exhaling a bubbling sigh of regret. Boggles liked their toys. It was a fairly dull existence, just eating, cracking bones, and stewing in the slime. A few baubles livened up the ole mudhole. He'd turned the majority of them over to me all the same. Why? Maybe for old times' sake? For our long-enduring friendship? Or could it be he wasn't the first of his kind I'd peeled like a grape?