Rob Thurman: Roadkill

The gums showed again, this time specifically in my direction. “Still a real man. It’s difficult to believe the Vayash Clan ever produced one.” The Vayash Clan also hadn’t seen the need to spread around that they gave birth to a half-breed Auphe. The rest of the clans would’ve had serious words to say about that. She still didn’t know about me then. “If I were ten years younger, my boy, I’d give you the ride of your life.” She patted the white bun at the back of her head with a coy hand. It didn’t do anything to cover up the pink-brown skin that peeked through the strands covering her scalp.

It was hard to stay pissed when you were trying not to spew all over yourself and the bar. I managed. I liked to think of pissed as number one in the repertoire that made up my general crapfest of moods. I was really, really good at it. Pulling in at the last of that emotional list would be forgiveness. “That’d still put you at nine hundred,” I said with distaste. “No thanks. The only thing I want from you is to get the hell out of here. Thanks to your not telling us about the Calabassa, my brother almost died, you evil bitch.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Samyel blink at my laying the b- word on what looked like a sweet old granny. But this sweet old granny would’ve drugged Samyel and sold his feathered butt to a chicken farmer. As a poor egg producer, he would end up an extra-crispy wing and thigh with a side of coleslaw before he even knew what happened.

“A man you may be, but worthless as a Rom,” she scorned. “You buy an RV without looking at the engine and you come crying when it won’t run because it doesn’t have one? Pssssh.”

“You-” I had my finger up and was ready to poke her in her bony chest.

Niko caught my hand and slapped it lightly down on the bar. “Pistol-whipping elderly women isn’t precisely our mission statement, Cal.”

I hadn’t been going to pistol-whip her. Yell at her a little more, then pick her up and toss her out into the street. Some risk of a broken hip there, but that wasn’t pistol-whipping… unless she tried to come back in. “You almost died because of her,” I snapped, eyes still on her.

“Maybe I did not know,” she said, the canny expression on her face replaced with all the innocence of the witch stuffing Hansel in the oven.

“Know what?” Niko asked pointedly.

“Whatever it is you think I knew,” she answered promptly as she started pulling cloth bags out of the depths of her shawl-three of them and good sized. She placed them on the bar. “Now, I wish my wine and to discuss a business opportunity for you. Although, being that you are Vayash and half Vayash half gadje , I should spit at your feet.” Niko was pure Vayash as far as we knew. The clan had passed through Greece generations ago and intermarried with the Northern Greeks before moving on, which is where the occasional blond one popped up. That and the darker complexion gave Niko Vayash cred. My black hair was Rom enough, but the pale skin-that would never pass.

She went on. “But, no, I am here to give you a chance to earn money, although I could’ve found much better to do the task. Remember that. But I am sentimental in my old age.” She looked at me again and winked or had a ministroke; I wasn’t sure which. “But not too old.”

“Okay, Nik, you’ve got to let me pistol-whip her.” I glared at her as I spoke. A vodyanoi stumping past in its oversized trenchcoat caught the edge of my molten expression, moaned, and headed for the back of the room-as far away from me as he could get. Abelia-Roo? Her, it didn’t faze. Then again, I hadn’t once killed quite a few of her kind with a sword and guns and one unfortunate margarita incident. Vodyanoi take to salt pretty much like a garden slug does-not too damn well.

“ Cal.”

“You almost died ,” I repeated, but with his tone I was in a losing argument. With Niko I usually was.

“But I didn’t, and I’m curious.” Niko tilted his gaze down by more than a foot to take her in. “You’d have to know, Abelia-Roo, that we’d have very little desire to deal with you after last time. You must be in quite a situation.”

“A little trouble.” She shrugged. “So tiny, it is too insignificant for one of my people to bother with.” She took one of the bags and emptied it in a semicircle around her stool. It was salt. That would keep the next vodyanoi at a distance.

“Tiny.” Niko didn’t have to lift an eyebrow or use any of the tones he used on me. He only said the word and it may as well have been carved out of doubt.

“Perhaps very small would be a better term, but still quite simply solved.” She clucked her tongue. “Strapping men and afraid of a little work. Your laziness puts all Rom to shame.” Opening the next bag, she pulled out a tranquilizer pistol. I recognized it because I’d once had one used on me. Turning on the stool, she selected a vampire at a table by himself, hefted the pistol capably in her gnarled hand, and fired.

The vampire exploded.

Okay, maybe not literally, but close enough to get the job done. Every orifice, every pore, they all poured out blood so fast and furiously that within seconds he was a blood-covered limp body draped over the table. “Heparin,” she said with wicked cheer. “ Gadje magic.” She gave the incubi an eye and went for the third bag. From that came a large pair of silver scissors that she snapped at the incubi with enthusiasm. They crossed their legs hurriedly and hissed, showing their snakelike, curved fangs. That along with the occasional glitter of pearly scale with their blue and black hair was the only thing that gave them away as not your everyday, average male hooker.

“Heparin?” I asked Nik.

“Blood thinner,” he explained. “I didn’t know it would have that effect on vampires.”

“Is he dead?” I looked to see if he was breathing, because vampires did breathe, just like their hearts beat-although I wasn’t too sure about this guy anymore. “Only staff are allowed to kill the customers. And then the boss likes us to have a good reason.”

“He’ll live,” she said dismissively. “It was a light dose. He’s lost only half his blood volume. He’ll have to break into a blood bank when he wakes up. Those vitamins they take now won’t help him, but that’s not my concern. Keeping the gunoi in their rightful, fearful place is.”

“These ‘feces,’ as you call them, are my patrons,” Ishiah said from behind me. He spoke Rom and we didn’t. Then again, he knew Robin Goodfellow from thousands of years back. You’re going to pick up a few things along the way. Niko would know it himself; he knew a couple of languages, but Rom-he refused, with good reason.

“Do you think I don’t have a bag for you too, little birdy?” she snorted. “Or stories of your kind to tell?”

How she knew he was a peri I didn’t know. Both he and Samyel had their wings out of sight. Peris could do that. The wings came and went in a glitter of light. Where exactly they went, I didn’t have a clue. I did know Ishiah wouldn’t back down from a tiny withered woman. But it didn’t come to that. Suddenly Abelia- Roo was done playing. “Shoo, little birdy. I’m ready to talk business with these two, words not for your ears. Fetch my wine and I’ll be the sweetness and light of an angel itself.” She spread her hands above her head. “See my pure gold halo? See the bright sparkle?”

Ishiah scowled, the long scar on his jaw stretching to a gleaming white, then bit off, “See that you are.” He looked at me. “You owe me.” He was gone before I could say I’d be just as happy if he tossed her out-happier, in fact.

“So… this business,” Niko said, “that is too insignificant for you to be bothered with. What is it?”