The Night Beat, From the Necropolis Enforcement Files (13 page)

I woke up alone in bed, brain fuzzy and nose going crazy. Someone was cooking and the smell made my stomach growl and my mouth water. It was still daylight, but I could tell it was late afternoon.

I crawled out of bed, tossed a long t-shirt on, and trotted to the kitchen. Jack was there in his underwear, cooking up a storm. He grinned as I came in. “I woke up starving. You were out, but I figured the sooner we ate, the better.”

I sat at the little table I had in the kitchen. The Prosaic City side of my home had a dining room area, but I only used it if I had to. I ate the majority of my meals here. I noted he’d already set the table.

“So, you’re like the perfect man?”

He laughed. “Don’t know about that. But I’m a bachelor and I don’t like to eat out every meal. Glad you have a well-stocked fridge. Impressive deep freeze, too.”

“Werewolves have to have food available for whenever the hunger hits.” At least those of us who didn’t want to go create more werewolves via unwilling participants or perpetrate the bad stereotypes had well-stocked freezers and pantries. It was just good sense.

“I guess so. You said sausages were good, right?”

I had to wipe the drool. “Yeah. Are they ready yet?”

Jack chuckled. “Almost.”

There was coffee percolated and he already had the orange juice on the table. I wondered if it would mark me as ridiculously eager if I proposed marriage right now. Probably.

He dished up and presented my plate with a flourish. “The kitchen hopes this is to the lady’s liking.” There were three kinds of sausages, breakfast potatoes, scrambled eggs, toast with butter and jam, and sliced fruit. It was like I’d gone out to one of the nicer breakfast eateries -- I’d certainly never seen food this lovely in my own home before.

I managed to wait until he seated himself, forced myself to say grace, which caused a raised eyebrow but no questions from Jack, and then waited until he picked up his stainless steel flatware. Silver, even silver-plate, isn’t good for werewolves.

As soon as he started, I dove in. I’d spent years being sure I was still able to eat like a human, but I hadn’t had food for going on twenty-four hours, and hunger is a dangerous thing with my kind. I wolfed my food, literally. I tried not to, but I was starving,

I finished well before Jack did. He smiled, got up, took my plate, went to the stove, and returned with a new plateful of food. “I like a girl with a healthy appetite.”

“Thank the Gods and Monsters.” This serving I could eat a little more slowly. The third plateful I could eat like a human. I finished plate three when he finished plate one. I managed not to burp, but only just. “You’re a great cook.”

He grinned. “Glad to hear it. You always pack away that much food?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Not in front of him before now, though. He’d only seen me eat like a human girl before. I wondered if I’d blown it.

“I’m amazed you stay so tiny. Is it because you burn it off?”

“I guess. And I’m not that small, I’m just a lot smaller than you.” This was true. I wasn’t going to be mistaken for either a skeleton or a slime monster -- I was an average-sized female, at least as far as I’d ever seen. “It takes a lot to get a fat werewolf. Our metabolisms run high, and we have to eat well and frequently, or we start to go…a little on the bad side.”

“I can imagine. You need more?” He sounded ready to cook again.

“Nope, that was great. I’m full and ready for a nap. Not that we have the time.”

Jack reached across the table and took my hand. “Wish we did, but I know you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Last night, well, I guess, this morning….”

I tried not to tense up. Tired or not, being with Jack had been fabulous. I’d felt relaxed and happy as well as aroused beyond belief. I wanted to pray on this one, but held it. If it hadn’t been that way for him, there wasn’t anything Yahweh or any other god could or should do about it.

He stroked my hand with his thumb. “It was…really special for me. I…I know it’s kind of fast, and it’s going to sound kind of high school-ish, but…you want to go steady?”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I never went to high school.” Whoops. Not exactly the smooth response I’d been shooting for. Found myself wishing I was in werewolf form as I felt my cheeks get hot.

Jack just smiled. “Not sure if I can take that as a yes or if that was a nice way of saying a human just can’t stack up to the undead guys.”

“You more than stacked.” Wow, perhaps, somewhere, I could get a coherent, non-stupid sentence out about this. Not right now, perhaps, but was someday too much to hope for?

He grinned. Either he thought this was cute or he liked idiots. Maybe both. I hoped for cute. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’d really like to be in a monogamous relationship with you.” Hmmm, not better, really. Now I sounded like I was trying for the Stuffiest Girlfriend award.

Jack started to laugh. “Is there a way that undeads do this that I could learn, just to make it easier?”

“No, not really.”

He stood up, helped me up, and pulled me into his arms. “You’re mine, I’m yours, no one else in between. Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

I was rewarded for brevity and coherence by him kissing me. I was then further rewarded by another round of truly amazing mating. All in all, it was a cheerful way to start the night.

Chapter 21

Fortified with food and sex, we showered and I dressed.

“I should have washed these or something,” Jack said as he stared at his clothes. Still folded neatly? Yes. Ready to wear? Not so much, really. They’d been through a lot the night before. “I’d put them on, but, uh….”

“They reek, yeah. Fortunately for you, we undead have our ways.” I called Maurice. “You up and about?”

“Yes, and don’t you sound all relaxed and satisfied. The human came around? Pun completely intended.”

“Funny you ask. I need a set of men’s clothes, pronto.”

“What, you ripped them to shreds or something? I mean, I know werewolves can get into it but --”

“We were too tired to do laundry,” I interjected quickly. “And we need to get out there on the Beat. I know you either know where Jack’s apartment is or where you can get him another set of clothes without issue. Do the mist thing, or whatever, and help me out.”

“My sister’s your best friend. Why doesn’t she get these kinds of calls?”

“Because you’re far more adept at this kind of thing and you know it.”

He sighed. “Too true, too true. Be there shortly. Please have Mister Yummy greet me at the door. I’ll take that as payment.” He hung up, snickering.

“You sure it’s okay to ask someone to get clothes for me?” Jack looked uncomfortable.

“Yeah. Breaking and entering is old hat for vamps. They do it when they’re learning how to turn into mist. You’ll have clothes in no time.”

I considered what we were likely heading into, and pulled out some serious weaponry. If the Prince was out of Hell, we were in real trouble. If it was just one of his stronger minions, well, we were still in real trouble. I figured it was better to be prepared, and besides, we had that nice, unmarked yet oh so obvious police car. Plenty of room in the trunk for what I wanted along.

Jack gaped. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Multi-round crossbow.”

“And that?”

“Holy water shooter. Works like a Super Soaker. In principle.”

There was a knock at the door. I went to open it while Jack trotted to the bathroom to get a towel. He still managed to shout a question while doing so. “Holy water, isn’t that supposed to be deadly to undeads?”

I opened the door to find Maurice standing there with a set of men’s clothes. He grimaced. “You are not upholding your end of the bargain.”

“I never said yes.”

“Huh.” Maurice shoved in and handed the clothes to Jack, who was clutching the towel around him. “Really, sweet cheeks, I’m sure I’ve seen something equally as magnificent as what you’re hiding.”

I took the clothes. “Don’t count on it.”

Maurice grinned while Jack blushed for the first time I’d ever seen. “Oh, and as for holy water, if your soul isn’t given to the Prince, holy water can’t hurt you. But unholy water can,” Maurice added as he picked up one of the shooters. “You really think we need these, Vicki?”

“Yeah, I do. I think you and Amanda need to go armed for warlock.”

“Warlock?” Jack asked.

“Well, in your case, armed for bear.”

“Okay. But…I thought you said warlocks were good.”

“Some warlocks, and witches, yeah. Like demons.”

“No,” Maurice corrected. “Demons are like humans -- they get a choice.”

“Warlocks and witches get a choice,” I argued.

Maurice rolled his eyes at Jack. “This nuance was never her strong suit. Did she tell you about Changelings?” Jack nodded. “Wonderful. Human children, see into all the planes, taken for their own good. Because of the nature of their existence, they become witches or warlocks under most circumstances. Of course there are some who want to be just like their adoptive families, so they might choose to turn vampire or werewolf or something, but most of them remain on the spell-casting side of the house.”

“I thought you said they were undead,” Jack said to me. “How does that work?”

“Call them differently undead. Rituals and things that turn them into what we are more than what you are.” I sighed. “I’m going to get more weapons while Maurice finishes his lecture. I had no idea you were bucking for a University job,” I tossed over my shoulder.

“You wish,” Maurice replied. “So, that’s how you get a good witch or warlock.”

“Wait,” Jack said. “A lich is a spell-caster, from all I’ve ever heard, which wasn’t a lot. How does that work?”

“Similarly.” Maurice sighed. “It’s nuances, really. A lich is a being who in their pre-undead life was able to become a witch or warlock, but never made the transition for whatever reason. So, they cast spells when they were living, but unknowingly. The bent of their souls determines where they end up. Their interests determine what they do.”

“Monty, for example, is far more interested in running Dirt Corps than casting spells.” Hey, Maurice wasn’t the only one who knew stuff. “It’s one of the reasons we consider witches and warlocks more powerful -- a lich has the skills, but rarely the inclination.”

Jack nodded. “I guess I can see that. But some liches cast?”

“Sure. Most of them, at least for fun, just to keep their hands in. But, overall, nothing like witches and warlocks, who are casting magic every day, at minimum.”

“What about the bad ones?” Jack asked.

Maurice shrugged. “The bad ones, well, they’re always humans who have given themselves to the Prince for occult power. Liches as well as witches and warlocks. Some of them are very strong and always scary.”

“Devil worshippers?” I heard Jack ask as I went back to my weapons room and rummaged around. So everything wasn’t perfectly hung or organized or cataloged, or whatever. Werewolves didn’t need a card catalog to find what we wanted, that’s what our noses were for.

“Yes,” Maurice said with a sigh. “But again, Satan’s Yahweh’s servant. He appears to everyone who calls on him, and then explains how things are.”

“Really?” Jack was back to sounding fascinated.

“Yeah.” I came back laden with weapons. “Some, like Martin, catch on.”

“Martin Luther didn’t call on the Devil!”

Maurice and I exchanged a look. “No,” I said slowly. “He didn’t. He did, however, try to banish Satan, and so, essentially, called on him. It was complicated, but I’m sure Martin will be glad to explain once we’ve handled this latest takeover bid by the Supreme Evil One. And all that.”

“I’m just curious,” Jack muttered.

“Anyway,” Maurice went on hurriedly. “The ones who chat with Satan and still want to commit their souls to evil send said souls right to the Prince.”

“Okay.” Jack sounded doubtful. “I don’t get it with demons.”

“Demons, like humans, come from a different plane of existence. If they’re good demons, they support a god and that’s who their soul belongs to, in addition to themselves. If they’re bad demons, their souls go to the Prince.” Maurice looked at me. “Beautiful but dumb?”