Moonshine

  “Innocent” was putting a broad interpretation on any member of the Kin, but Caleb seemed to get Niko’s drift. And it amused him; at least I thought that’s what caused the curl of lips until he spoke. “Souls,” he echoed the word, and fixed his mild blue gaze on me. “How very optimistic of you.”

  It was a sore point with me; there was no denying it. I wasn’t sure what I believed about life, death, and the postparty. Even hanging around George, I didn’t know if death was the end and neither did she. Or if she did, in tried-and-true annoying seer fashion she wasn’t saying. I suspected this was pretty much it. The whole enchilada. You’re born, you live, you get a cheeseburger lodged in your heart, and then you’re fertilizer. Anything else would be just too damn easy. You got one chance; blow it and it’s over. Don’t blow it and it’s still over. If I was wrong, that only led to other questions, or one very personal question. I doubted seriously that Auphe had souls, and what did that mean for me? Half soul? No soul? Only James Brown knew for sure.

  Niko, a sure bet for being chock-full o’ soul, stood the instant the words passed from Caleb’s lips. He was pissed at Caleb’s disparagement of my spiritual status, and the fact that it showed was an indicator of just how pissed he truly was. “Your business is not our business.” The words couldn’t have been colder. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Instantly, the accountant changed his tune. “I apologize,” he said with immediate obsequiousness. Meek and submissive, fawning and scraping. He might not have been a wolf, but he worked with them. He recognized an Alpha when he saw one. Niko was just as capable as Cerberus of fucking him up but good. And if he failed Cerberus in this little task . . . having the crap beaten out of him by my brother would be the very least of his concerns, I knew. Niko might hurt him for the insult; Cerberus would bury him for the result. “I’ve let internal prejudices get the better of me.”

  That he had, and, hell, he wasn’t the first. I wondered how he’d known about the Auphe in me. First Goodfellow had spotted me, and now this guy. Werewolves and other related monsters smelled me. Robin and this one had simply looked at me and known. How did they do it? Then again, did I even want to know?

  Probably not. I did know I didn’t want to work for this guy or Cerberus. With his slobbering smiles, “internal prejudices,” and rabid lapdog guarding his door, Caleb annoyed me. I’d seen worse. I’d been worse . . . easily. But this was a job. We didn’t have to take it. There were other scum of the earth out there dying to hire us, I was sure. Maybe we hadn’t seen them yet, but they were there. Hopefully they’d show up before the rent was due. Or Nik’s tuition.

  Goddamn it.

  Exhaling, I looked up at Niko and suggested with grim reluctance, “Maybe we should hear him out.” Promise remained silent. The insult was mine and so would be the decision, although from the flare of annoyance behind her eyes, she was offended on my behalf. Empathetic even. Maybe vampires had soul questions of their own.

  “No,” Niko said flatly.

  “Nik . . . ,” I started.

  He didn’t glare, only repeated calmly but adamantly, “No. Not for any reason.”

  Caleb decided to get in on the fun. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Any,” it’s a word you really shouldn’t throw around. Fifty thousand dollars for what would probably be a night’s work. Maybe two. Shit. Still in my chair, I raised my eyebrows at my partners. The “Whatta you think?” might have been unspoken but hung in the air clearly enough. What Promise thought behind her tranquil mask was anyone’s guess. But what Niko thought of it was crystal clear—not much. In some ways he was more sensitive about my Auphe heritage than I was, and I was pretty goddamn touchy. Sometimes there were digs. Sometimes fascination, revulsion, or out-and-out terror. I’d seen them all over the years. Auphe had occupied the top rung of the food chain for a long, long time; even other monsters feared and hated them. I understood that; I had feared and hated them myself . . . before their extinction in a warehouse explosion last year. Hell, who was I kidding? I still feared and hated them, historical footnote though they were.

  But the bottom line was that this sort of reaction was something I was going to see my entire life. Getting worked up over it was only going to take money out of our pockets. This business meant a lot to Nik . . . and me. Promise didn’t need the money or the partnership. She enjoyed it, but she didn’t need it. We did. And both it and Niko deserved a fair shake. I gave him a rueful twist of my lips, then an almost imperceptible shrug and nod of my head toward his chair. He frowned and turned toward Promise. She spread her fingers and left this decision up to Niko.

  He sat back down. He didn’t want to and it was obvious from the stiff line of his back, but he sat. “Fifty thousand is one detail,” Niko said flatly. “Now let’s hear the more pertinent ones.”

  It was the usual. I didn’t have but the one wolf acquaintance, non-Kin, so how did I know? I watched mob movies, same as any other guy. You have the weak and the strong, the loyal and the sneaky, the constant jockeying for power; it was the same for humans and wolves. Cerberus had a “friendly” rival, Boaz, in the East Side territory who he suspected was less friendly than the guy liked to pretend. They were supposed to be working paw in paw under their Alpha, but Cerberus had suspicions that if he was out of the way, Boaz wouldn’t exactly be crying at his funeral and would have a larger section of the territory carved out to boot.

  “So Cerberus is wanting to take this guy on a ride, then?” I asked. “Put the kibosh on him. Have him sleeping with the fishes.”

  Blue eyes blinked; looking bemused, Caleb said, “No. He wants to kill him.”

  Apparently Caleb didn’t watch a lot of TV.

  “And his Alpha wouldn’t care for that? I thought that was the general method of advancement among his pungent kind,” Promise pointed out.

  “Normally. You know the wolves well.” The pen continued to tap and the smile continued to beam. Slimy, ass-kissing toad. I was surprised he had the balls to even think that soul remark, much less to have let it slip. “However, Cerberus is in a unique position among the Kin. What he does is scrutinized far more thoroughly. A misstep on his part will not be tolerated.” And there was the smile again. So polite, so helpful . . . it made the old Tarzan movie flashbacks I was having even more bizarre. A leg falls into the river and is cleaned to bloody bone by teeth precisely like that. Terribly sorry to have eaten you, dear fellow. Mea culpa.

  Niko paid little attention to the bowing and scraping as he demanded, “And if we obtain proof that Boaz intends to make the first move, that will put Cerberus in the right with the Alpha.”

  “He believes so.”

  There were more details, just as Niko had asked for: where would be the best place to catch Boaz off guard and loose of lip. Who he ran with. How best to introduce Cerberus into the conversation. “He likes to gamble, poker specifically,” Caleb said with an accountant’s disdain for a waste of good money. “And when he gambles, he drinks. And when he drinks, he talks. Endlessly.” There was a roll of blue eyes.

  I could see Niko turning it all over in his head, every fact and nuance. There wasn’t much the man would miss in the way of strategy and consequences; I had faith in that. Finally, he folded his arms and slid a glance toward Promise.

  Immediately, she stood and said coolly, “We shall discuss it and get back to you.”

  Caleb was disappointed, very much so, but tried to take it manfully. Or monsterfully, depending on your point of view. Already fair, he paled to a transparent white and his hand shook hard enough that the pen tumbled from his fingers. But he swallowed and said tightly, “I bow to your business protocol, of course. Please, call me when you’ve made your decision. Day or night. I’ll make myself available.”

  From the looks of it, Cerberus would be even more disappointed, which obviously didn’t bode well for our favorite accountant, but color me unsympathetic. When the door was shut behind us and we were making our way out of the building, I said with a grimace,
“I’m thinking Cerberus is one big, bad puppy dog. Caleb is all but pissing his pants.”

  “Disgusting, but accurate,” Promise agreed, her full lips twisting slightly. “Obsequious creature. I apologize, Caliban. He was much more socially acceptable at the first meeting. If I had known he would bring up your . . .” She hesitated and then finished, “I would never have considered him as a client.”

  I shook my head at the words. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s not the first time it happened and it won’t be the last.” It never would be the last, so I’d better suck it up and learn to deal. “So, Nik, what do you think?” I added ruefully, “About the job, not our piranha-toothed pal.”

  His lips thinned in distaste, but he allowed himself to be moved on to the more financially pertinent subject. “I think that the question would be, is Boaz worse than Cerberus?”

  “That’s what it comes down to, huh?” I snorted. “Bad against worse.” I wasn’t surprised. Life usually did end up on that particularly nasty seesaw. It was the way of the world. I gave a mental shrug and kept walking down the hall. I passed the bank of metal elevator doors without slowing. Promise, already familiar with my brother’s ways, followed along with a gentle sigh.

  Niko wasn’t one for elevators. He always said if something was trying to kill you, a metal cage isn’t the place to be. It made sense . . . assuming my brother wasn’t just an ass who enjoyed watching me sweat and swear my way up and down twenty flights. He opened the door to the stairs to wave me ahead with a bow, and then offered Promise his arm. “As our client would be sure to tell you,” he said dryly, “every dog has his day. We simply have to make sure it’s the correct dog.” I had a feeling that would be easier said than done.

  And for once I wasn’t wrong.

  5

  The next night, the stack of Niko’s books was tumbling to the floor as I bumped the kitchen table in passing. I dodged the dusty avalanche and said in exasperation, “Cyrano, you have got to get out more often. Seriously. I mean it.” Stepping over the pile, I promptly stuck my head in the refrigerator. “If financial planning’s not your thing . . . ,” I continued slyly as I sniffed the colorful contents of a casserole dish. It was an attractive color; I just wasn’t sure if that was the original color. “. . . then check out a bar. Go see a movie. Read something noneducational for once, like the Post.”

  “I happen to like financial planning,” he said, more amused by my sniping than anything else. Obviously, the Promise situation had been good for one cheap shot and no more. Pity. I did live to annoy. “Actually I have a session scheduled in a few more hours.” He moved up behind me and peered over my shoulder into the depths of the icebox. “Over candlelight, wine, and dinner.” Uh-oh. I slid a slightly panicked look his way. Don’t say it, I thought. Do not say it. “Why don’t you and Georgina participate in the brainstorming?” he finished, his mocking gray eyes fixed on mine.

  Too late, I thought to myself morosely. It’s out there now. The infamous double date. Determined to do what damage control I could, I carried the casserole to the microwave. “No, thanks,” I declined casually. “All that restrained passion and lust in the air is bad for my sinuses. And George is just a kid. You’d scar her for life.” I popped the glass container in and twisted the dial, relying on good old cancer-causing waves to zap the food fungus free. “Hey, here’s a thought. Call me crazy, but why don’t you tell Promise it’s a date—a real live date for grown-up boys and girls who are so horny they can’t stand it?” The microwave pinged and I finished with a shrug and a wave of my hand. “Like I said, just a thought.” The fungus was still there, only now brown and singed. Joy.

  “Georgina is two years younger than you, Cal. That hardly makes her a little girl in pigtails.” He handed me a fork with a challenging quirk of his lips. “As for passion and lust, what makes you so sure it’s that restrained?”

  He had me there. I dumped the fork and the dish in the sink and then gave him a good once-over. I’d said at the carnival that he’d become unbearable since he’d been getting some, but I hadn’t really believed it. Well, the unbearable part I believed, in spades. But the other? Furrowing my brow, I tilted my head, then shook it. “Nope. I stand by my original assessment. Restrained lust, all the way.” I held my thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. “You’re almost there, which is why you’re so goddamn happy all the time.” I looked at him again, tsked under my breath, and moved my fingers a little bit farther apart. “Almost, but just not quite. Maybe Goodfellow could give you some lessons.”

  Now he was annoyed, which meant my work was done for the day. “Do you really wish to go there, little brother?”

  I had a thousand and one sensitive spots, some reasonable . . . some not so much. Nik, however, had only a few. Robin’s past jones for him being an extremely humorous one. Humorous for me at any rate. “Nah, that’s okay.” I returned to the fridge. “I’m too hungry to get my ass kicked right now. When you see Promise, bring her up to speed.” A thought hitting me, I stood and draped myself over the top of the refrigerator door. “Oh, and tell her I suck at poker. So she better draw up some subcontractor fees, because Goodfellow isn’t going to come cheap.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Although you could maybe bargain him down. You know, with your studly body.”

  Hungry or not, I ended up with an ass kicking to my name anyway. It was all in good fun. Good black-and-blue fun, but more important, Niko had forgotten the entire George issue. At least I was hoping he had.

  As a further diversion, I told him I’d put a call in to Robin and see if he was up for a little undercover work in case we decided to take the assignment. And as there were three or four reasons we shouldn’t as opposed to fifty thousand why we should, I had a feeling how the decision was going to go. Cerberus might not be who I’d want carrying my slippers and bringing me the paper, but was he worse than any of the other Kin? There was only one way to find out. Take his money and check out this Boaz. The worst we would be out was a little time, and that we’d be well compensated for.

  “How do you know that Goodfellow even plays poker?”

  I commented in disbelief, “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “In retrospect, not the most astute question, I admit,” Niko sighed. “Well, he is an excellent fighter . . . when he wants to be. Since you seem to be under the impression Georgina is still in diapers, why don’t you and Robin meet Promise and I for dinner? We can discuss all of this then.”

  “And after?” I grinned.

  “You and Robin go home, before dessert, politely minding your own business.” And from the iron in his voice, I knew that was probably exactly the way it would be.

  “Do I play poker? He really asked if I played poker? Hermes save me.” Robin was on his seventh glass of wine and was still sober as a judge, the non-Southern variety. After thousands of years of good living, his tolerance was legendary, though the waiters at the dim sum place we’d stopped at in Chinatown were clearly taking bets on when he’d pass out. Of course everything about Goodfellow was legendary, as he would tell anyone who cared to listen. Repeatedly. “I invented poker. It was about two thousand B.C., and naturally it wasn’t called poker then. What a crass name. I called it . . .”

  I let the words wash over me, the background noise of the never-ceasing surf, and gave Niko a grin. He seemed less entertained by the situation, which naturally made me enjoy it all the more. What Promise thought I wasn’t sure. She sat to Niko’s right, a serene presence in a sleek sheath of dark violet silk. Black pearls with a peacock sheen looped around her ivory neck and her striped hair was swept up into an intricate coil. She looked like a queen, but the glitter in her eyes was anything but queenly. It was sharply annoyed, down and dirty. She and Goodfellow had crossed paths only rarely, and their interactions were prickly at best, Niko being the juicy bone of contention between them. A front-row seat to the sniping was better than cable any day of the week. Still, if nothing else, Robin and Promise had a mutual respect . . . of sorts, at least eno
ugh of one to keep them from killing each other. For now.

  I crossed my fingers under the table, then reached for my own glass of wine. It was still my first. Dear old Mom had been an alcoholic, along with her other even less pleasant vices. Niko didn’t drink at all and I drank only in moderation. Tempting fate had never been much of a hobby for either of us. Still, a little something for jangled nerves was called for. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting George to show up again. My defenses were getting less and less effective all the time, and, damn it, I thought that she was more than well aware of the fact.

  “So, up for it, Loman?” I asked after one more suspicious glance around the room. “Wanna pull the tail of this mutt?”

  “No tail pulling,” Niko corrected instantly. “This is reconnaissance work, not a stick-poking exercise for your personal entertainment.”

  “Spoilsport,” I grumbled, and shoved my untouched salad to one side. Rabbit food, no, thanks. “Robin?”

  “It sounds diverting.” He finished his glass and waved a peremptory hand at the waiter, who promptly scampered for another bottle, bowing and scraping the entire way. I didn’t know if it was the cut of Goodfellow’s suit or the fact that he seemed to ooze dollar signs, but the waitstaff hung on his every gesture. Promise received the same attention. Niko and me, they tended to study with cautious curiosity. We didn’t quite belong. In many ways a puck and a vampire fit into the mundane world better than we did. Maybe it was the clothes, I thought ruefully as I took a look at the tie I’d borrowed from the maître d’.

  “Gambling, drinking, furry women,” Robin continued with an arched and sly eyebrow. “Furry men. What’s not to like? Count me in. We’ll play your little game and come out a few thousand to the good on top of the fee. And, by the way, my fee is fifty percent.”

  “Fifty?” Promise repeated with an outrage that was all the more evident for the simmering restraint in her smooth voice. “Twenty-five thousand and for what, pray? For you to drink, flirt, and steal money from the unwary?”