Nightlife

  "Lady of the pearls." The smile that cut my face was blacker than her windows and as curdled as rancid blood. "I thought you'd be waiting for me upstairs to give me the ride you gave my brother."

  Her face remained calm and untroubled. There were no pearls this time, only a hand held out to me. The darkest violet silk glove protecting it, her hand moved into the sun toward me. "Come with me, Cal. I'll take you home."

  Why did they keep trying? Why the hell couldn't they see it?

  "You've got it wrong, vampire," I spit. "I'm bringing home to you. To this whole goddamn world." With her hand hanging in the air behind me, I turned my back on Promise and kept running, this time flat out to regain the distance I'd lost in the fall.

  The park was not that far and looking over my shoulder, I caught glimpses of Niko in the distance—Niko and that piece-of-shit Goodfellow. I was truly going to enjoy teaching the randy goat that he should've stuck with screwing as his avocation, because the noble-hero crap was getting on my nerves. The worthless son of a bitch wasn't anything more than a horny tomcat who inexplicably thought he was a tiger. He knew who I was, knew the things I was capable of. If he thought he was a match for me, he'd better lay off the juice. It was giving him delusions.

  There were people in the park, although not as many as usual. No one gawked as I ran through. Could be I was a jogger. Could be I was a mugger chasing a victim. Hell, a mugger could be chasing me. Didn't matter. That was Central Park. They went on with their business and I went on with mine. Before long I was in the trees and moving toward a wilder area. Not like the old days wild, but as wild as it got in this time and place. Once I settled into position in a thick clump of underbrush, I took several huge breaths to hyperoxygenate my lungs.

  It was a trick Niko himself had taught me. When he and Robin came into view I stopped breathing. Unless you could hear my heart beat, I was a silent presence. Niko's ears were good, but no human's were that good. And while Goodfellow had his talents, listening had never been one of them.

  I watched as they paused. Niko knelt and ran a hand lightly through the yellowing grass. Standing, he exchanged a wordless glance with Robin. They knew I'd been through there. It was obvious enough if you knew how to read the signs… the bend of a blade of grass, the crumpling of a leaf. Obvious, and I hadn't made any effort to conceal it. But what lay beneath that grass, below that leaf, wasn't quite so apparent. Buried in dirt not nearly liquid enough to suit him, Boggle waited with all the patience of a trapdoor spider. And he came up out of the ground with the same arachnid speed. It was a thing of beauty.

  They'd taken a step, intent on pursuing me. Niko was dressed in his traditional black coat long enough to conceal at least twenty lethal blades. Goodfellow was in a dark green sweater, artfully faded jeans, and a brown leather duster similar in length to my brother's. Jesus. Nik was dressed to fight. Peter Pan, on the other hand, was dressed for a photo shoot—fall wear for the monster killer on the go. Did I enjoy it when Boggle ripped that expensive ensemble to shreds?

  You bet your ass I did.

  On their second step, Boggle got them. He catapulted through the covering earth like a heat-seeking missile. One swat of his massive hand had Goodfellow flying through the air as weightless as a child. Green yarn hung snagged on the long black claws as they swiped at Nik in turn. The blow missed. I wasn't surprised. Bog had never been a match for my brother, not alone. Fortunately, he wasn't alone now. As Niko twisted with liquid grace out of Boggle's reach, I stepped out of the brush, aimed, and fired all in one motion. It would've been a great time to say something sharp, something witty, some catchphrase that made box office gold. Damn satisfying, but it could've slowed me down. I was a kick-ass monster, but my brother could kick some serious ass in his own right. One on one, I could take him. Since the days of apple-peddling snakes there hadn't been anyone or anything I couldn't put down. Cyrano wouldn't be any exception, but… he could hurt me. He was almost as deadly as I was and he could do some damage. The Auphe wouldn't be too appreciative of any delay because I happened to get my ride banged up. They wouldn't be appreciative of any of this if they found out.

  So… no warning. No smart-ass comments. No wisecracks. Nothing but silence and a bullet to the chest. The impact knocked Niko backward several feet before he hit the ground hard. He lay sprawled motionless on his back with legs and arms spread. His face was blank and his eyes even blanker. They stared up at the sky, not surprised or shocked, not swimming with pain or fear, not full of the glory of heaven or the horror of hell. No, there was none of that. There was only emptiness.

  It was disappointing, I didn't mind admitting. A complete lack of drama. With the sharp smell of cordite perfuming the air, I gave Boggle a pat on his crusty shoulder in passing. "Good job, Bog. Now go rip a leg off the other one, would you? I want to pay him some personal attention in a minute, and I don't want him scampering off." Goodfellow had his chance to run and he'd wasted it. Now I had a chance to take his ass to school, and that I was not wasting. Shoving the gun, another of Boggle's souvenirs, into my waistband, I savored the heat of the muzzle against my skin. It warmed me against the chill in more ways than one. Kneeling on the ground beside Niko's still form, I took a handful of the blond braid and gave it an affectionate tug. "Strike one, big brother. I'll bet you never guessed the bigger man would turn out to be a monster." I laid the tight twist of hair on his chest and straightened the collar of his coat. "I always told you I was one, didn't I? But you never listened." It was as the hand suddenly looped around my wrist that I noticed… no blood. On his chest, there was no blood, only charred cloth.

  The eyes blinked, the emptiness transmuting into something far more dangerous. "You are a monster." The voice was hoarse, roughened with pain. "But my brother isn't."

  Bulletproof vest… the bastard was wearing a bulletproof vest. Abruptly, I realized that as well as I knew Niko, he knew half of me equally as well. He knew Cal's heart wasn't in the way of the sword, but rather in the way of the gun. When push came to shove, Cal could use any weapon, but personal preference was always going to tell. All that familial intimacy had come back to bite me in the ass. The grip squeezing my wristbones until they ground painfully together wasn't too pleasant either. Sticking around didn't seem like the best idea at the moment and I flashed my other hand toward the gun at my waist. My hand was on the rubber grip when I felt a sharp pain over my breastbone. Half an inch of Niko's favorite dagger was sticking into my shirt—not to mention my flesh. A quarter-sized stain of blood blossomed around the metal as I released the gun.

  "Ouch," I said mildly, touching a finger to the edge of the blade. "You play rough, big brother."

  The gray eyes, a memory of what mine had been, narrowed, but Nik remained silent as he let go of my wrist, retrieved my gun, and tossed it far into the bushes. He had sat up confidently without the gingerly motion I would expect from a cracked rib or two. Stoic, hiding his pain, both the physical and the mental. The knife didn't shift in position as he moved, not even a millimeter.

  "What would Mom say about all this?" I clucked my tongue in rebuke. "Oh, I know. That she should've drowned me at birth. And you know what? She'd have been right." Leaning forward purposely, I felt the blade press harder against my chest. Slowly, I took off my sunglasses and dropped them to the grass. Pewter eyes met silver. "You know something else, Nik?" Placing a hand over his, I playfully pulled at the dagger until it buried itself just a shade deeper in me. "You don't have the balls."

  "Maybe he doesn't, you misbegotten nightmare, but I do." Goodfellow's voice came behind me, sharply furious. A hand buried itself in my hair and yanked me backward. On the ground in a position that echoed the one Niko had just occupied, I looked up to see Robin, the worse for wear. His coat was shredded as well as his sweater. Bloody gashes crossed his chest and his eyes were dilated black with rage. It was the same rage that had his sword swinging toward my throat so fast I could all but hear the air hiss in its wake. It occurred to me that I might have made a
slight miscalculation. Niko would hesitate to kill me outright, for Cal's sake. Goodfellow didn't have any such problem. He might have liked Cal, sure, but I was pretty certain he liked himself a whole lot more. With him, sympathy was going to take a backseat to self-preservation every time. It was the son of a bitch's one good quality. It was too bad the one thing I admired about him was the one that could get me killed.

  Could, but not necessarily would.

  Niko came through, protecting me just as he'd always done. Deflecting Robin's blade at the last second with his own, he said quietly, "No."

  Panting with exertion and frustration, Robin turned and looked over at Niko, who now stood with an arm held unconsciously close to his side in a protective gesture. He could try to hide it all he wanted, but I had hurt him, even if only a little. Hopefully, I'd be able to hurt him a lot more… hurt him unto death.

  Goodfellow kept the point of his sword hovering above my neck. "Nik, you have to see. You have to realize." Calming slightly, his breath slowing, he continued almost unwillingly. "Your brother, he wouldn't want to live like this. Everything I've seen of him, everything you've told me… he would hate it. He would despise it with all his soul."

  I relaxed against the grass, putting my hands behind my head and raising my eyebrows." 'Nik'? 'Everything you've told me'?" I repeated with cynical incredulity. "You two have gotten awfully cozy since I've been gone. You haven't dumped Promise already, have you, big brother? Please, God, at least tell me it wasn't some sort of clichéd affirmation-of-life thing. I'll save you the trouble of shish-kebabing me and just die of embarrassment instead."

  "I'd advise you to leave Promise out of this, much in the way you did not leave Georgina out of it." Niko regarded me impassively. "What we did to your friends we could easily do to you. I don't believe Cal would hold a thorough beating against us, considering the situation."

  "My furry flunkies." I mimed wiping away a tear. "My walking throw rugs are no more. Ah, well, I couldn't afford their dental anyway. At least tell me they managed to gnaw on Georgie some. Give me that. Did they chomp on a nose? An ear? Hell, a pinkie? I'll take that."

  That didn't settle well with either of them. The only giveaway as to what Niko felt was his face becoming more and more set, until it resembled a carved stone statue. Goodfellow was somewhat more demonstrative, his hand tightening on his sword and his jaw white with tension. "She's but a girl, Darkling," the puck said with acid disgust. "A child."

  "A human child," I replied with a curl of my lip. "And the best part about them is they're so much easier to kill." Turning my head, I scanned the area for Boggle. There was no sign of him. If that cowardly shit had run off, he was going to be one sorry son of a bitch. Looking back at Robin, I held up my hands thumb to thumb and framed him. The blood, the torn flesh, the destroyed clothing, all courtesy of my MIA mud pie. "Who's your tailor, Goodfellow? I'm loving your new look. Damned spiffy."

  That was nearly the straw that broke the camel's back. Niko had to use more force this time to keep Robin from sheathing his sword in my neck. "I said no," he rapped firmly. "I'm not abandoning my brother so quickly. He's in there and he's fighting. He's fought to survive all his life; he wouldn't give up now. It's not in him."

  "No?" Robin commented softly. "Well, I do know one thing that's in him, and I don't think it has any intention of coming out. The sooner you come to grips with that, Niko, the better off you'll be." He went on, unrelenting. "And the better off Cal will be."

  It was fascinating watching him push Niko to the edge, and a very dangerous edge at that. He was the ultimate pragmatist, my brother, but there was one thing he could not look at directly. Not now. Cal was a blind spot, the only chink in Niko's armor. Goodfellow could talk until he was blue in the face, and it wouldn't do him a damn bit of good. There was only one person who could convince Nik at this point that I wasn't salvageable. That person was Cal; that person was me. One in the same, even if no one realized it yet. One in the same, now and always.

  "Any decisions about my brother will be made by me, Goodfellow." The warning wrapped Niko's words in razor wire and broken glass. "No one else."

  Robin bowed his head slightly, brow creased. Exhaling harshly, he twisted his lips in resignation. "No matter how good the intentions, I take it."

  "No matter." The message was unbending, but the ice behind it had thawed somewhat. Niko knew that Robin was trying to help, could see that he was on his side. It was a big step for someone who'd been nursed on suspicion all his life. Quite the bonding moment for the two of them. How sweet. I was all puppies and kittens from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, the same feet I jackknifed into Goodfellow's knees.

  Strike two.

  The blow knocked him on his ass and that, I thought with righteous condescension, was what happened to those who got soft. The puck had obviously forgotten, but there were humans and then there was us. You forget what side you're on, you try to cross that line, and there was a price to pay. And it wasn't going to be paid in Monopoly money either.

  I'd hoped that Robin careening into him would stagger Niko, at least for a second. No such luck. As he fell, Goodfellow had the presence of mind to twist away, taking down no one but himself. That left my brother still open for business and that was less than a desirable outcome, to say the least. Consequently, when Boggle breached the ground like a killer whale through the waves, I promptly decided he was my new best friend. Apparently, I'd overestimated his cowardice and underestimated his hatred of Niko. Shedding dirt like water, he snatched up my brother by his coat, lifted him high in the air, and shook him violently. The blond head snapped back with visibly painful force as Boggle gave a gutturally triumphant bellow. It was a beautiful sight to see, right up until the moment when Niko sliced off Boggle's right hand.

  His reaction was as spectacular as you'd expect it to be. Black blood, viscous and foul, poured lava-thick from the stump. For a short moment, barely a second, Boggle stared stupefied at the pumping blood. It was only a second, but it was much longer than Niko needed to embed his sword in one round pumpkin orange eye. Boggle's scream shattered the air as Niko fell from his remaining hand. It was looking bleak for the home team, but once again I didn't give Bog enough credit. Still howling, he swung an arm, slamming it into Niko and throwing him nearly fifteen feet. Trusting that the two of them would keep busy, I turned my attention to Goodfellow.

  The proverbial thorn in my side was pushing his way back up to a sitting position, his face grim and etched with pain. I might not have dislocated his kneecaps, but I'd definitely given him something to think about… for the short time he had left to him. He'd barely gotten halfway up when I hit him hard, my knee hitting him viciously in the gut. The sword that had fallen from his hand I scooped up and applied with surgical precision to his throat. Blood welled sluggishly over the bright metal as I gave him an even brighter smile. "Having second thoughts about your new friends, Goodfellow?"

  The green eyes of a treed fox blinked as dark eyebrows quirked upward with studied boredom. "Having second thoughts about being such a homicidal dick, Darkling?"

  "Goodfellow." I shook my head and used my free hand to comb taming fingers through his wild brown curls before patting his cheek with a stinging blow. "Robin. How did you come to this? Look at you. Bloody, dirty. Your expensive clothes are ruined, and all for the sake of humans. It's a sad state of affairs and I feel for you, I do. It almost makes me want to kill you painlessly." I put more pressure on the blade. "Almost." I wished I had time to make it slow as well as painful, but Boggle wouldn't be able to hold Niko forever. I'd have to limit myself to one quick slash and let Goodfellow drown in his own blood. Then I would take care of my brother.

  Unfortunately for me, my brother took care of me first. My arm was tensing for the coup de grace when a sharp pain hit me in the back of my upper thigh. Snatching a look over my shoulder, I saw a tufted dart protruding from my jeans. Niko stood ten feet away by the motionless and muddy form of Boggle. He held a blu
nt-nosed pistol in his hand. A gun, the son of a bitch was aiming a gun at me. In his entire life the man had never used a gun, had never even held a gun. And now he had used one on me. In its way I think that made me nearly as disconnected as the drug I could feel racing through my system. He had surprised me and out-thought me, not once, but twice since we'd entered the park. Outmaneuvered me.

  That, boys and girls, is when I lost my sense of humor.

  I was also losing consciousness and losing it fast. I was going and there was nothing I could do to stop it. That didn't mean, however, that I had to go alone. My grip was already numb and clumsy. My vision had shrunk to a pinpoint of light in a field of smothering black. It didn't matter. What did was bleeding Goodfellow like a slaughterhouse pig. The blade was already at his throat. All that was needed was a little weight, a little pressure, and the puck would fall into that darkness with me. I was guessing my descent wouldn't be permanent, but if I had my way, his would be. The drug was too strong, though, too quick. My fingers went nerveless and Robin ripped the sword away, disarming me, or so he thought. He was wrong. Skinning back lips from my teeth, I hissed deep in my throat and then lunged at his. I'd been around long before the Bronze Age and man-made weapons. Teeth and claws had worked then. They'd work just as well now.

  The warmth of his skin radiated against my lips and I could taste the salt of his sweat on my tongue. It was a pale shadow of the blood I'd soon be swimming in. Any second now. I felt a hand at the collar of my jacket and then I was flying through the air dreamily as time slowed to a lazy crawl. My back hit the ground, but the sensation was nothing more than a distant echo. My brother's face was a bare outline across my faded and foggy sight. "We have you, Cal. We have you, little brother." His voice was unwavering in its determination and absolute in its certainty. "And we'll get you back. I promise."