Rob Thurman - Nightlife

Was I smug? Maybe. I could blame it on the new body, but, hell, I'd always been full of myself. Conceit—that, I'd admit to—but stupid I was not. There were ways to take care of one potential problem without any personal involvement at all. It was all about subcontracting. Lesser problems called for lesser solutions. The big guns like myself I'd save for the thorniest challenge, and damn, if it wasn't going to be a bitch.

But that was half the fun.

I'd stayed in some run-down places through the ages. Believe it or not, Tumulus wasn't the worst of them either. There had been damp, pitch-black caves with only blind grubs and creeping fungi for company. There had been a chest containing the opal-encrusted bones of a queen that had lain at the bottom of a swamp for so many years I'd lost count. I'd even once lived in the petrified body of a basilisk. Long dead and turned to stone, but it still stank. Don't ask me how. And don't ask me why the client wanted that piece of yard sale crap protected, because I didn't have a clue.

But this… this made the bowels of a basilisk look like Graceland.

I sat with curled lip on the edge of the bed and tried to decide if the stain in the center of the spread looked more like William Shatner or the outline of a ravenous, bloated yeti. The carpet was shag (or had been at some point), and was the exact yellow green shade of bile. It should've clashed with the brand-spanking-new purple polyester curtains, but oddly enough it didn't. They were too far apart on the color spectrum to even meet that much. Apples and oranges. I leaned forward and touched a finger to the cloth. I'd had a sweatshirt that shade of purple years ago. Frowning, I fisted the cloth. Years and years ago. I'd packed it the night the Grendels had come to take me away.

I felt my frown deepen. What the hell was I thinking? That wasn't my past. It wasn't even our past, not anymore. We weren't two bickering halves, fighting for control. We were one. Whole. Not two separate creatures coexisting, but an entirely new one. Greater than the sum of our parts and superior in every way, just as the Auphe had said we would be.

Of course, being superior didn't mean I wasn't currently residing in the most god-awful room that existed this side of Jersey. The communal bathroom alone was scarier than the Auphe and me combined. What went on there wasn't going to up the already teeming human population any, and that was the best thing to be said about it. As for the room, I wasn't the only thing scuttling around in its confines. Five stars for the religious and brotherly attitude of the place, one for the roaches and bathroom orgies.

Regardless, it was all I could afford at the moment; the cash in my wallet hadn't gone far. I'd given serious thought to paying Promise a visit and staking her right there in her marble-floored foyer. Now, there would be some digs worth holing up in. Only one thing had given me pause, and it wasn't the fact that my brother was warm for her undead form. It was the security in her building. It was top-of-the-line. I could get in; that wasn't a problem. She'd have the front desk send me up, if Niko hadn't warned her. She might even if he had. It would make a good trap. But I doubted Promise could disappear for more than a day before some of the staff came inquiring, whether it be security or her cleaning lady. It was just too much a pain in the ass for what would probably amount to only one night of extravagance.

Pity.

I pulled off my jacket and tossed it on the wobbly table in the corner before stripping the comforter off the bed. The sheets beneath were clean and smelled strongly of industrial-strength bleach. I doubted it would keep me up; I was dead on my feet. Wadding up the mottled bedspread, I shoved it under the bed and dropped onto the mattress, resting my head on a pancake-flat pillow. I could've hit Boggle up for some dough before I left the park. He had to go through his weight in muggers every month. He was bound to have a pile of wallets and jewelry he had no use for. I really should've spared the time. If I had, I would be sleeping on Egyptian cotton now instead of what felt like woven cardboard.

Shoulda coulda woulda. The bottom line was, I'd simply been too tired. There were advantages to this body, but there were disadvantages too. No getting around that. It still needed rest, needed sleep, and denying those needs wouldn't accomplish anything except to put my ass in a sling. Niko was out there and he would take immediate and ruthless advantage of any weakness, no matter how slight. It was what I would do. It was what he had taught me. I grinned with sleepy pleasure at the blood-soaked fantasies featuring my brother that danced in my head. They sure as hell weren't sugarplums, but enjoyable all the same. Rolling over, I fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.

When life was so good, who needed dreams?

The next morning, I decided to drop in on Promise after all. I'd mulled it over and decided that while I couldn't kill her and shack up at her place, I could kill her and steal whatever wasn't nailed down. As plans went it was both practical and entertaining, and those who knew me would be the first to say I was nothing if not fun-loving.

In no particular hurry, I made my meandering way to the Upper East Side. There were sights to see, so damn many. They were all familiar in Cal's memories, but I saw them with new eyes. Colors were brighter and the smells of food, perfume, and unwashed bodies were a sharp-edged, musky rose to inhale. The streets were bright with sun and oblivious cheer, but the alleys were dark with rage, terror, and endless waves of pain. Goddamn , who couldn't love this city?

When I finally reached Promise's building I'd decided the best course of action was the tried-and-true "I've been here a thousand times so let me up already." Every New Yorker knows it and sometimes it even works. Caliban had been here several times with Nik to act as Promise's bodyguards. Never in the daytime of course, but here was hoping they rotated shifts enough at the security desk that I'd see someone I'd recognize. And better yet, someone who would recognize me.

I wasn't precisely dressed for duty, still wearing the sweatshirt and jeans Cal had been in when I'd taken him. Consequently, I left a businessman in one of those dark alleys that felt like home. He was minus his shirt, jacket, tie, and wallet, but he had his life—more or less. So no bitching allowed. The wallet was sadly depleted, but the suit jacket fit well. It was somewhat loose in the shoulders, but nothing too noticeable. The pants had been obviously too big and I hadn't bothered to strip them off his limp form. The tie turned out to be more of a problem. It seemed neither of us, despite my wholehearted appreciation of nooses, had much experience tying one of those. In the end, I tossed it with disgust on the sidewalk and settled for buttoning the jacket. The jeans were still jeans, but it would pass. Cal hadn't exactly been a fashion plate before. I, on the other hand, rubbed fingers along the expensive material of the stolen clothes and purred low in my throat. Nice.

I still had a ponytail holder and pulled freshly dried hair back with a ruthless yank. With sunglasses firmly in place, I made my move. The doorman waved me through without question and I stopped at the security desk and patted the breast of my jacket. "I have tickets for Mrs. Nottinger." Naturally, this guy wouldn't know Promise was of the supernaturally parasitic persuasion, but he was bound to be aware she wasn't a day person. I didn't want to arouse suspicion by insinuating I was here to escort her somewhere this early. A delivery of some sorts seemed the perfect solution.

Luckily for me, I'd seen this guy on night duty before, and he had seen me. He was heavyset with snow-white hair cut bristle short and black horn-rimmed glasses that all said his cop days were long gone. He still had an air of authority, but he topped it off with a pear-shaped butt that doesn't come from slavish devotion to duty. Waving a hand, he dumped his paper-bag lunch out of sight and down behind the sweep of marble counter. Apparently I'd hit him at some kind of shift change. Goody for me, all the better for distraction. "You're that guy Niko's partner, aren't you?" he yawned. "Go on up."