Rob Thurman - Nightlife

Niko and I had been down there looking for work when we'd noticed the quiet little drama of man loves dog; man loses dog. Nudging Niko's ribs with an elbow, I'd given him a grim snort as I watched the little girl work the old guy. I'd seen this a thousand times with Sophia. "I've lost my wife, my fortune, my mom, my dad, my child. Help me. Guide me. Save me." The goddamn heartbroken, they were everywhere. I had to say I'd never seen Sophia "search the spirit world" for a mutt, though. Not that she wouldn't have given her spiel if there'd been money involved. She'd have channeled a guinea pig for the right price.

This chick had her own moves down pat. Hands stroked the collar; dark eyes had looked inward. A small face all but glowed with a light so pure that it had to be faked. She'd give the old man a few lines, a practiced patter, take the money he'd slide into her greedy hand, and then she'd be gone. And the old man would still be alone. Nothing but an empty collar to keep him company.

Those were the breaks.

And least that's what I thought until I saw Venus come dashing out from behind some pallets, all dirty white fur, flying feet, and yapping bark. Niko touched his shoulder to mine and murmured, "Well, who would've thought?"

Not me, that's for damn sure. While the geezer and Venus exchanged wet, sloppy kisses, the little girl had come over to Nik and me. Tiny, so tiny, she looked to be all of twelve. Later we discovered that she was actually fifteen, and about fifteen lifetimes wiser than I was. She had stood in front of us with her red hair pulled into braids and said solemnly, "There aren't any jobs here right now. You should check back next week. They'll need a night watchman then." And then she'd smiled, innocent and curious. "Caliban. That's a funny name."

And that had been George.

Jars don't shatter too well when the glass is glued together with peanut butter. It's not so much a satisfying explosion as a disappointingly muddy crunch. I was on my knees cleaning up the mess when the thought hit me. Maybe George had done what she'd thought to be the kindest thing. She could've seen our future set in stone. Could've seen that no matter what we did, Niko and I didn't survive. It could be that whether we stayed or left, our ass was grass either way. And while she delivered hard truths, maybe that was one even George couldn't see a silver lining in.

God knew I wasn't one for self-deception. I'd gotten out of that practice early on, but right at this moment in time I was about to change my tune. I was going to deliver the bad news to Niko, we'd pack our bags to get the hell out of Dodge, and the entire time I was going to firmly hold to the belief that George had her reasons, good ones. And yeah, it was probably utter bullshit, but since we'd be long gone from her and the city, hopefully it'd be harmless bullshit. I would put away the fairy tales and impossible hopes the second we passed out of the city limits and go back to full-time cynicism. And next time I saw a little-girl psychic tracking down a yappy ankle biter, I'd run the other way, fast. It wasn't a great plan; in fact, it was right up there with "Let's wait for one more song from the Titanic's house band before we hit the lifeboats." But crappy or not, it was the only plan I had. Like they say, you either play the hand you're dealt or walk away from the game.

Permanently.

Niko had been my protector all my life. He'd been at my back when I'd needed encouragement. He'd stood in front of me when I'd needed a buffer between Sophia and me. Hell, between the world and me. He was always on my side, always my unfailing support.

Right now he seemed to want to support my ass right over the moon with his foot.

"I said I was sorry," I grumbled, sliding down on the couch and throwing him a half-repentant, half-petulant glance.

"When?" Niko demanded bluntly. Standing in front of me, he folded his arms and fixed me with a look of laser-sharp annoyance. "Because I don't remember any apology. Was I in the bathroom? Or perhaps this was something you only imagined in what passes for the thought processes of your tiny mind?"

"Or maybe it was buried in smart-ass sarcasm and died an ugly death." I scratched my calf with a sock-covered toe. "You think?"

"No, Cal, I do not think. What I do think is that you did something stupid and don't want to admit it, much less apologize for it."

This little conversation didn't seem to be in danger of winding down anytime soon. "Not that this isn't fun," I exhaled with a grimace, and tapped my watch. "But I gotta be at work in twenty." Bending over, I scrounged with a hand under the couch for my sneakers.

A fast hand efficiently snatched the retrieved shoes from my hands and slammed them down on the coffee table. "My best guess is that you'll be late."

My best guess was that being late was the least of my problems. "Jesus, Nik, what would you have done if I had told you then, huh? She'd already lied to us once. She probably would've just lied again. It's not like you can Hong Kong Phooey the truth out of a seventeen-year-old girl."

"Obviously," Niko said impassively. "But I'm not as quick as you to believe that talking with her would've been futile. Georgina is our friend, Cal, and she's special, gifted. We should have at least tried to find out what was going through her mind. We may have found out her crying had nothing to do with us at all."

It could be that we should've talked to her; maybe I'd made a mistake there. But on one thing I'd made no mistake. Her tears had been about us, maybe even for us. But in some ways my brother was as stubborn as I was. It was something he'd have to see for himself to believe.

"Maybe you're right," I said, noncommittal. "Why don't you try talking to her while I'm at work? See what you can find out." I reached for a shoe and this time Niko made no move to stop me. Slipping it on my foot, I tied the laces in a sloppy double knot. Picking up the other one, I continued softly. "I am sorry, Nik. I should've told you. I just…" I shrugged as I let the words trail off and silently finished up with the other sneaker.

"You just didn't want to believe it," he filled in for me.

"Yeah." I put my hands on my knees and looked up at him ruefully. "Denial, not just a river in Greece." I managed a halfway sincere grin as Niko's eyes all but crossed on that one. "Take it easy, Cyrano. I'm just kidding. Damn, you'd have made a great junior high teacher. Prim, proper, and anal as hell."

Gray eyes narrowed. "Considering you seem permanently stuck at thirteen, a junior high teacher is just what you need." He held out a hand and heaved me up off the couch. "Be careful at work, Cal. Especially careful," he amended. "I'll meet you before closing, just to be on the safe side."

"You are your brother's keeper." I felt the smile slip from my face.

I was sorry about that too.

Work was work. Wall-to-wall soul-sucking boredom, at least until Meredith showed up sporting a new shirt. That is, if five sequins and a spiderweb of shiny threads could honestly be labeled as an article of clothing. Hey, I didn't know fashion, but I knew what I liked. And lots of silky bare skin was right up there on the list. Cherry red nails skimmed along my jaw and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Is the big guy already in, Cal? I think I'm a little late."

"A little late" in Meredithspeak translated to an hour and a half in the real world. I continued wiping down the sticky countertop from behind the bar and raised my eyebrows. "What do you think, Merry, Merry?"

She groaned and blew long red bangs out of her eyes. "He's pissed, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, she pulled at her top, managing to reveal even more cleavage, and then fluffed her hair. "Time to kiss some withered old ass. Wish me luck."