Yarrow (25 page)

He shot a glance at the phone. He could try to call someone— Mick, the cops— but by the time they arrived, he realized, it'd be all over. He could try to sneak out the back way, but that would leave him exposed and alone in the middle of the park, dressed in his skivvies, with nowhere to hide.

"Jesus," he whispered into the cloying darkness. "What am I going to do?"

There was an umbrella that someone had left in his cab, leaning in the corner by his dresser. Taking a deep breath, he eased out of bed and fetched it. With the umbrella clutched in his sweaty hand, he started down the hallway— better to face his fears becoming real than to just lie there, waiting for it to come to him. The scratching sound grew louder with each step he took. His bladder threatened to release the liquid it had stored while he slept. As he neared the darkened doorway that opened into the living room, it was all he could do to keep moving.

I'm going to die, he thought.

Holding the umbrella so tightly that his knuckles went white, he edged forward. He raised his makeshift weapon in front of him and entered, gaze snapping to the window. For a long moment he stared at the silhouetted figure outlined by the streetlights. Then slowly his fear ran from him.

"A cat," he said, "A frigging tomcat!"

He crossed the room and tapped the handle of his umbrella against the window beside the screen.

"Shoo!" he cried. The umbrella went clack, clack. "Bugger off, you!"

His attempts at chasing it off only increased the cat's scratching. It rose on its hind legs, caught its claws high in the screen and hung like it was being crucified. Ben shook his head and went up the stairs to the door. There was no accounting for some animals. Especially cats. Did it think it was going to earn a saucer of cream for this performance?

He opened the door and waved the umbrella at the animal. "Go on! Get out of here!"

The cat pulled free from the screen with the calm assurance of never having been actually caught in the first place, and faced Ben. The reflective layer behind its retinas glowed red as they caught the glare of the streetlights.

"I mean it!" Ben cried. "Go on!"

It leapt off the low windowsill, straight up at him. For a moment Ben flashed on his dream, on last night, on cats attacking—

He jumped back, startled by the animal's unexpected move, and it dodged between his legs, darting down the stairs and into his apartment. Ben swung the umbrella at it— a half second too late.

"Shit! Look," he told it as he followed it down into his living room. "You can't stay in here, okay?" Christ, what if it was rabid or something? "Why don't you just go back to whatever alleyway you crawled out of and…"

His voice trailed off.

The big tom was up on its hind legs again, but this time there was no screen for it to claw. Instead its body shimmered. A ripple ran through it the way an image reflected on water undulates when it's disturbed. Then the cat was gone, replaced by a small skinny man with large watchful eyes and a wild mat of hair.

The change left Ben staring slack-jawed. The umbrella fell from a suddenly limp grip and clattered to the floor. He. wanted to bend down to pick it up, but didn't dare take his gaze from the strange manifestation in front of him, wasn't sure he'd even be able to get back up because his legs were feeling so shaky….

"Please," the little man said. "I mean no harm. I am Cat's friend."

Cat's friend. Jesus. A minute ago it
was
a cat! But then what it had said sunk in. Not
a
cat's friend, but Cat Midhir's friend. Jesus H.! This was her little gnome from the Other-world that Peter had told him about.

Ben felt as though his world was tumbling down around his ears. This was too much. Never mind his telling Peter to keep an open mind. This… He realized suddenly that the creature standing there in front of him was as scared as he was. While it didn't make him feel any braver, it did make him feel marginally better.

"You're…" Ben searched for the name. "You're Tiddy Mun?"

A small hopeful smile touched the little man's lips. He nodded eagerly. Slowly Ben sank to the floor and leaned back against the stairs. Another moment and he would have toppled over.

"What're you doing here?" he asked. He was probably still dreaming. He'd only
thought
he'd woken up. "What do you want from me?"

"I've come to warn you," Tiddy Mun replied. "Your friend…" He spread his thumb and index finger and moved his hand along the top of his head, going from the point of his hairline to the nape of his neck, aping Mick's Mohawk. "With the banded hair. He is in danger."

They were going to play charades now? Ben thought. "Who?" he asked loudly. "Mick?"

The little man shrugged. The name meant nothing to him. He repeated the motion of his hand.

"He was with you last night— he had the knife of cold iron. Tonight the evil stalks him. I… I would have warned him, but I'm too scared." He pointed to Ben. "You're strong. Big. You can help him."

Rick cruised the streets after leaving Stella's apartment, trying to come to grips with what he'd experienced. It was like being high all the time, but a better high than any he'd ever had before. It was like a coke rush, but it was a constant thing, without the numbness. And Christ, did it feel good. With this kind of power…

Look out world, Kirkby's on prowl. Lock up your babes, 'cause as sure as Santa Claus likes his milk and cookies, this dude likes his tits and nookie.

It was well past midnight when he got down to some serious business. First stop was a bistro in Hull, where he used his new moves on some sweet young thing. She was outside, in the back of his car with her dress up around her neck, almost before he could snap his fingers.

That's the way I like it, he thought, driving back into Ottawa after dumping the girl in the parking lot— dazed, but relatively unhurt. No point in making waves. Not when a man's got work to do. But later… He pulled the rearview mirror down so that he could check himself out. Looking good. Time to really boogie now.

It was going on two when he pulled up at the curb about a half block down from his first stop. This was where the punk lived— the one that had knifed Lucius. With rudimentary skill he reached out with his mind as Lucius had shown him, reassuring himself that the punk was there. Humming to himself, he stepped onto the pavement and headed for the house.

With a pair of wire cutters he snipped the phone lines where they entered the building. Glancing back to the street, he saw that he remained unobserved, and headed for the back of the house. The wire cutters went back into his pocket. He'd get the knife he was going to use in the asshole's kitchen.

He was still humming under his breath— Paul Anka's "My Way"— as he moved down the laneway that separated the punk's house from its neighbor.

Help Mick? Ben thought. If Tiddy Mun had been the Dude, Ben wouldn't even have been able to help himself.

"We have to hurry!" Tiddy Mun urged him.

"Yeah. Sure."

Think, he told himself. What do I do? Call Mick. He headed for the bedroom, getting dressed while he dialed. All he got was a busy signal.

"Shit."

Now what? Call the cops? And tell them what? You see, there's this vampire loose and he's going to kill my friend. Well, not a real vampire, this guy sucks out your soul instead of lapping your blood, but you're dead all the same when he's done with you. Right. That'd go over just great. Okay. How about there's this prowler? He shook his head. They'd only ask how
he
knew. Mick's apartment was on Third Avenue, south and across Bank Street from where Ben lived. About a block from Bronson. That was a good mile at least. So how did he know there was a prowler loose way the hell over there? Well, you see, this little gnome told me….

He dialed again, but still got a busy signal. What if the phone was off the hook? Or the line had been cut? Did vampires think about things like cutting phone lines? He rubbed his temples, trying to relieve the tension headache that had started up. He glanced at his uninvited guest. He had trouble believing any of this was real.

He rang Mick's number a third time, but knew as he was dialing that he was just putting off the inevitable. When it came right down to it, he had to go himself. No intermediaries. When the busy signal came on the line again, driving the point home, he slammed the phone down and hurried down the hall. Jerking open the door to the hall closet, he scrabbled around through a mess of winter boots, stacks of magazines, and old coats until he found his baseball bat. Hefting it, he started for the door, not even wanting to think about what he might have to do with it.

"Are you coming?" he called over his shoulder.

But Tiddy Mun was already following at his heels.

Rick came to a window and peered in. A bedroom. Illuminated by a light on the floor somewhere. Lying on the bed was the punk he'd come for. And lying beside him…

Well, now, Rick thought. We might have us some real fun here. Got to kill 'em both, no question about that. But a babe like her deserves a bit of a send-off before we stick the old blade in. She deserves to be stuck with something else first, and Rick had just the thing to do the job. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

He continued on to the back door. Just knowing he could do anything now— any fucking
thing—
made him want to try it all. He'd thought about killing someone before, wanted to a time or two, but it just wasn't something you did. They locked you up and threw away the key for that kind of shit. But now….

Oh, man. I can do anything. And I'll be doing it forever.

Mick was high, plain and simple. He held Becki loosely in his arms and drifted in a pleasant limbo that owed nothing to the reality that scratched away at the four walls that sheltered them. He had to have a leak, but couldn't summon the energy to get up from the bed. His headache was gone now. Everything was gone but the buzz.

Dy-no-mite weed, he thought. Just what he'd needed.

Turning his head slowly, he saw that all Becki was wearing was a T-shirt— one of his. He looked down at his own body. He wasn't even wearing that much. He remembered their lovemaking and smiled. He touched one of her nipples and felt it harden through the material of the shirt.

"Mmm," she murmured, snuggling closer.

"Love ya, babe," he said softly, brushing her forehead with his lips.

The back door was a pain, but Rick managed to jimmy its lock without too much noise. Easing it open, he slipped through, making sure it locked again behind him. Got to lay it on them with the eyes, he reminded himself as he moved carefully through the darkened kitchen.

He found the knife sitting on a breadboard and hefted it, enjoying the weight of it in his hand. He could feel the excitement build up inside him. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He was so hard now he thought he'd drop his load right there in the kitchen.

Ben slammed the door to his apartment and ran for his cab. Tossing the baseball bat onto the front seat, he started the car with a roar. Tiddy Mun, who'd been approaching the vehicle nervously, lunged for the bushes beside Ben's apartment at the sound.

"It's all right," Ben called to him. "It's just… just a wagon without a horse."

Tiddy Mun sidled out of the bushes, saucer eyes wider than ever. A wagon? It was an iron dragon. He'd seen these monsters on the streets, swallowing and disgorging tallfolk, and feared their metal hides almost as much as he did the evil that stalked the Otherworld.

When he'd crept to within a few feet of Ben's door, Ben reached down, and grabbing him under the arms, hauled him in. Tiddy Mun shuddered at the proximity of so much of the cold metal. His teeth chattered against each other. He perched on the seat, trying hard not to touch anything but its vinyl covers, eyes blinking furiously.

Shoving the gearshift into first, Ben peeled away from the curb. Tiddy Mun moaned beside him.

The door to the bedroom slammed open, shredding Mick's contentment as though a bear's paw had just raked across his chest. For a long moment of drug-induced stupor, he just stared at the intruder. The suit and short hair registered, the clean-shaven cheeks and the knife, the eyes…. The eyes were like the Dude's had been last night, icy and glittering. They pulled him down into their depths, turning everything inside him into jelly.

He was dimly aware of Becki rising from the bed, of the intruder striking her. She staggered across the room and brought the stereo down when she landed against it. As she rose again, the intruder hit her with the hilt of the knife closed in his fist. Her head struck the side of the bed as she tumbled to the floor.

Mick tried to get up, but the eyes held him immobile. He fought their influence, but now they were inches from his face, impossible to avoid, fish cold and penetrating. Mocking him. There was a weight on his chest. He remembered the knife, tried to call up the rage, the anger he needed to fight the spell of the intruder's eyes, but all that replied was a vast darkness without relief.

The tall and stately giants of Mynfel's wood reared all around Cat, hallowed in their green silence. She knew instinctively that this was where she'd left Toby yesterday afternoon. Before she had a chance to look for him, she heard something stir behind her.

"Mistress Cat!" a now-familiar voice hailed her.

"Hello, Toby." She turned and smiled to see his cocky grin. "Have you been waiting all this time?"

"Indeed, indeed. I could only hope you'd return from wherever it was that you'd gone. How was your day?"

"Fine. No, it was great. The first really good day I've had in a long time."

"I'm happy for you," he said. "But happier to see you back. This is a strange wood, no mistaking it, and I've not felt quite… well,
right
the whole time I've been waiting."

"This from a man who wants to find real magic?"

"Ah, yes. Well, there is that. Shall we walk while we talk?"

Cat stood quietly for a moment to get her bearings. She always knew the way to Redcap Hill; it tugged at her, as though an invisible thread bound them.