Rob Thurman - Deathwish

“I am so”— bang —“ not ”— bang —“in the mood,” Cal snarled.

The revenant’s companion came out of the same doorway. As with cockroaches, if there’s one revenant, there’s bound to be more. Unfortunately, Raid had yet to come up with a solution to the next best thing to the undead. They might look deceased and mildly decomposing, with moist, clammy gray-green skin and milky white eyes, but revenants were alive and had never been human. They simply had good camouflage. Is that a corpse? Should we investigate? By the time the second question was out, the revenant had already eaten your leg—unfortunately for you.

This second one also had no weapons but what nature had given it and that . . . that was far from being enough. Cal, however, believed in using what nature and the local gun trafficker had gifted him with. He dropped the first creature, whose head had lost its original shape for something even less attractive. He then pulled his gun, a Glock .40, with lightning speed, shooting the other revenant in the face before it had a chance to take another step. I gave an inner nod of approval. Cal practiced. Frequently. I had to force him to run and spar, but he had never needed pushing to keep up his gun skills. Little boys and their toys—the bigger and louder, the better.

The revenant fell with a half-strangled scream. It wasn’t done yet, though. It tried to crawl toward Cal, claws scoring the concrete beneath it. It had perhaps a spoonful of brains left in its shattered skull, but revenants were like cockroaches in that respect as well. “You got balls,” Cal said with a grunt. “I gotta give you that.” And then he shot him again, this time at the base of the skull. That time it did the trick. Nothing quite takes the fight out of a revenant like a severed spinal column.

Cal turned to see Robin and me leaning against the wall, observing the show. I didn’t wear a watch, but I took Goodfellow’s arm and tapped the face of his Rolex meaningfully. “We are on a schedule,” I said mildly.

“Gee, Nik, I hate to slow you down. By the way, thanks for the help,” he said caustically.

“If you had needed it, then I’ve taught you nothing. You barely broke stride.” I pulled out my cell phone and called Ishiah to tell him he had a pile of garbage half a block from his door and he might want to clean it up. Muggers had once been New York’s bane years ago. The police, and the boggles in Central Park, might have cleaned up that problem, but the revenants had taken their place. It wasn’t quite a trade for the better. At least the muggers wouldn’t have eaten you. As for witnesses, the bar and this block belonged to the supernatural. The majority of humans avoided it. They might not know why, but a prehistoric instinct that had kept their ancestors alive knew that here there be monsters.

We reached Promise’s limo minutes later. She’d brought the larger car this time to accommodate the extra passengers. I opened the door. Robin promptly climbed in out of the cold. I waited and Cal gave a mock-aggrieved sigh. “Cut the cord already, Cyrano. I just kicked ass.”

“Revenants,” I said with disdain. “That hardly counts. The day you spar a full three hours with me is the day I let you watch your own back,” I retorted, looking down a nose that I had no problem admitting was Romanesque, if not Cyranoesque.

He gave a grin. It was a faint one, but considering the day he’d had, I’d take it. “Never gonna happen.” He followed Goodfellow, and I followed him, closing the door behind us. Robin was sitting opposite us, beside two wolves. He brushed at his shirt as if ridding it of fur, but that was just Robin being the ass he was so often very good at being. These wolves were high breeds or fine-breds. They were of completely human shape and features when they wanted to be, not like the wolves in the bar. That didn’t stop them from baring their suddenly elongating teeth at Cal, who sat on one side of Promise, as I sat on the other.

“These are your bodyguards?” I asked with eyebrows raised.

She gave an elegant nod. “Courtesy of Delilah. They are Kin, but loyal to her.” Which was good. The Kin, the equivalent of a werewolf Mafia, had strong suspicions we’d been involved in the death of one of their Alphas. They were right.

Delilah was the sister of the wolf who had helped us. She, unlike her brother, was still in good standing with the Kin . . . for now. She was playing a dangerous game to advance her rank, making allies on any side she could. She was also sleeping with Cal. Whether that was a good thing was debatable, but it wasn’t my business. Having sex simply to have it was what being twenty was all about—as long as I didn’t have to hear any of the more furry details.

There was a soft kiss to my jaw. I turned to Promise and smiled. “I see you dressed for the occasion.”

She’d hidden her glorious and definitely noticeable hair under a black cap that matched her sweater, snug pants, and boots. She would blend into the typical art crowd, which is where we would be. Seamus was attending an art show opening and we would be there to spot anyone who might be following him. Although, like Cal, I had my doubts.

With her warm weight against my shoulder, we arrived soon enough at yet one more converted loft in the Lower East Side. We left the wolves in the car and paired up to move into the crowd. As Cal moved off and Robin started to follow, I took his arm. “Watch him,” I said quietly. “Watch him every moment. Are we clear?”

“It’s too crowded here for the Auphe, but I will. I swear it,” he returned as quietly, before heading off in Cal’s wake.

Slim fingers looped around my wrist. “He’s right. The Auphe won’t come here.”

“Never take anything for granted.” I reached over with my other hand to tuck a willful strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Georgina?”

“Delilah was kind enough to send two wolves to her as well.” She ran the soft pad of her thumb, like silk, along the inner part of my wrist, then let her hand fall. “There’s Seamus, the center of attention as always.” There was part exasperation and part affection in her voice.

“Nostalgic?” I asked. She’d made it clear to Seamus where her loyalties lay, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fond memories.

She thought about it for a moment, eyes distant. “He was a friend when I needed one,” she said finally, “but never more than that, although I thought differently. It simply took me several years to realize that. And the jealousy was the last straw.”

“He’s still jealous,” I pointed out as I focused on him, surrounded by enough women to give Goodfellow a run for his money.

“Oh no. He hasn’t attempted to behead a single person.” She smiled, eyes now bright, bold, and entertained. “He changed for the better over a century ago, I’m glad to say. I wouldn’t have let him near you otherwise.” And of the group, I was thought to be the protective one. “Now”—she bent to check the dagger in her boot—“I’ll go ask if one of his mysterious followers is here.”

I looked over the crowd as she vanished into it. It wasn’t an extraordinarily large amount of people, but it was crammed into a small space with art that even several university classes in the subject couldn’t help me appreciate. There didn’t seem to be anyone especially interested in Seamus besides the women. . . .

Wait.

On the edge of the crowd, studying a hunk of metal vomiting forth several jagged pieces of glass, there was a man. Completely inconspicuous, he was of average height, average weight, with short brown hair and a brown jacket. In the midst of this crowd wearing either the ridiculously bright or all in black, he didn’t quite fit. He was too average. His body language said “Don’t look at me” so strongly that I was surprised he didn’t blend into the wall like a chameleon. I didn’t need to wait for Promise to return to know this was the one.