“Oh," cried Lizzie, “Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men.”
Tango opened the door of the bar called Hopeful. It was noon, and the place was just opening. The interior was surprisingly bright at this time of day: there were big windows at the front, facing out onto the street, and a slanting skylight in the back. The skylight was shaded with heavy cotton blinds to keep out the strong noon sun, but enough light came through to cast hazy illumination across the bar. Hopeful was well-kept. So many bars depended on the shadows to make them look good.
True to Riley’s words, one wall was covered with posters from nightclubs around the world. Risque ads for Pan’s were featured prominently.
Her plane had gotten into Toronto so late that there hadn’t been any point in trying to get things done right away. She had caught the first shuttle bus she saw to a hotel near the airport and checked in there. In the morning, she had rented a car and driven into the city. Even late in the morning, traffic was heavy, and trying to find a place to park downtown had been hell. Literally. She had eventually found one on the second-to-lowest level of an underground garage, though she had practically had to sell her soul to pay for it. At least the parking attendant had been as polite as any other person she had talked to in Toronto. Once she found Riley’s place, she would turn the car back in and walk. Or take the subway. Anything but drive again. Until she found Riley, however, she did not feel like dragging her luggage around with her.
It would have been convenient if Riley had been listed in the phone book, but of course he wasn’t. Tango had tried every alias she had ever heard him use and had come up with a blank on every one. With no address and no phone number, the pooka’s mention of Hopeful was the only lead she had to go on. Though there was an alternative. An unpleasant alternative.
She could find the Toronto court of the Kithain. If Riley was indeed the court Jester, then someone there would know where he lived. Tango had heard enough gossip about the Toronto court to know where they were generally to be found. A district called Yorkville, up north of the downtown core. But Tango didn’t want to seek the help of the court just yet. Her initial anticipatory enthusiasm for the renewed company of other Kithain had long since waned. She wasn't sure that she really even wanted to stay in Toronto at all now. She would find Riley or wait for him to come back, take her revenge, and go home to San Francisco. She didn’t feel in the mood to put up with the games of the Kithain court. And if she went to the court for help, she would have to admit that Riley had tricked her into coming to Toronto. No doubt that would amuse the Kithain to no end.
If she could get the answers she needed here, from humans instead of Kithain, things would be immensely simpler.
Hopeful was still mostly empty at this hour. There was a small cluster of men, looking tired and talking quietly, around one end of the bar. Tango walked up to the other end. She raised her hand to signal the bartender, then thought better of it. He looked as tired and quiet as his patrons. Instead, she waited patiently. It was only a moment before he noticed her and came over. “Sorry about that. What can I get you?”
“Club soda.” The bartender nodded and started to pour her a glass. “And I’m looking for someone. He may be a regular here.”
Club soda splashed across the counter as the bartender’s hand shook. Some of the other men looked up. The bartender grabbed a cloth and hastily mopped up the spilled liquid. “Jack Elliott?” he murmured without looking up at Tango.
“No.” Tango glanced briefly at the men at the far end of the bar. Most of them were already turning away. One continued to glare at her, until another put his hand on the angry man’s shoulder and whispered something to him. The man’s hostility collapsed and he looked away with tears in his eyes. Tango heard an uncomfortable cough, as if someone were trying to suppress a sob.
“Oh. Sorry.” The bartender put her club soda down in front of her. He looked at it for a moment, then grabbed a wedge of lemon and stuck it on the side of the glass. “Sorry,” he said again.
“It’s okay.” Tango picked up the lemon and squeezed its juice into the soda. “His name’s Riley — at least that’s probably the name he’d give.”
The bartender nodded understandingly. “Lots of guys don’t feel comfortable using their full names around here. What does he look like?”
“Scrawny. Short red hair, thinning on top. Glasses. Kind of geeky. Probably wears ballcaps a lot.”
“Yeah.” The bartender swiped his cloth across the counter again. “I know him. He comes in from time to time. Drinks whiskey sours, but he’s not exactly what I’d call a regular.”
Tango smiled. “Do you know where I can find him?” “Sorry.”
“How about one of the other guys? Do you think they would? Was there anybody he came in with regularly?”
“A good-looking blond guy. Very quiet, didn’t drink.” The bartender glanced over his shoulder. “One of the guys might know your friend, but this isn’t a good time to ask.” He dropped a pen and a napkin on the bartop and shoved them toward her. “Leave your number. I’ll ask them. If they know or he comes in, I’ll give you a call.”
“I don’t have a number right now. I’m just visiting town. How about if I just come back in later? My name’s Tango. I saw a noteboard by the door — can I leave a message there asking people who know him to talk to you?”
“Sure. I’m Todd. If you’re going to put something up, I think I can get you some better paper.” He rummaged around and came up with an old, electric-blue flyer. “Use the back of this.” As he watched her write out a description of Riley, he asked hesitantly, “Do you mind if I ask why you’re looking for him?”
“I was supposed to meet him, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.” It was mostly the truth.
Todd sucked on his lower lip. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“A couple of days ago,” Tango lied. She looked up.
“Why?”
“Just concerned.” Todd paused and added, “I don’t want to get you worried, but one of our regulars — Jack
— was found murdered in a park this morning. If your friend is missing...”
Riley might have been murdered as well. Todd’s concern for a stranger was touching. “I don’t think so.” She put down the pen and looked over her message. “I’m sorry about Jack.”
“Thanks. I hope you find your friend, Tango. I’ll keep an eye open for him.”
There were tacks on the noteboard. Tango put up her message and sighed. No luck at Hopeful. She left the bar and went back out to the street. The air was hot and muggy, the white light of full sunshine blinding. She pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket and slid them on. “Excuse me,” she said to a woman walking past. The woman paused briefly, looking at her with a distant, polite gaze as though the exchange was distasteful. “How do I get to Yorkville?”
At the end of the 1960s, Yorkville had been the center of Toronto’s drug culture. Hippies, students, radicals, and drug dealers had gathered there. They’d philosophized. They’d protested. They’d hung out. Under cover of darkness, in the smoky havens of coffeehouses and behind the walls of once-elegant homes turned into flophouses, they’d left reality behind. Drugs had circulated freely — or almost freely. Somebody had to be making a profit somewhere. That somebody had been the Unseelie Kithain of Toronto. At least so went the rumors that Tango had heard. The court had ridden the drugs of the psychedelic counterculture to power in Toronto; a brief power that had lasted only until the good citizens of the city had had enough. The police had moved in and cleared the hippies out of Yorkville.
That brief power had been enough, though. The Unseelie were still in Yorkville. Tango walked along the street that had given the district its name, and felt the presence of other Kithain brush against her nerves. She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there, congregating somewhere just out of sight. After fifteen years, the feeling was an unfamiliar thrill.
Yorkville, like the hippies, students and radicals of the sixties, had aged. It had acquired money and influence. Now it was one of the trendiest parts of Toronto. The once-filthy flophouses had been restored, if not to their original elegance, then at least to a kind of acceptable modishness. No one lived there, of course. Instead, the buildings housed fashionable restaurants, stylish clubs and expensive shops. The only signs of protest were the second- and third-floor offices of special interest lobby groups, their names posted on engraved brass plaques. Where hippies had hung out, there were sidewalk patios. More patios clustered on rooftops and balconies. Alleys between the buildings had been renamed “lanes” and “mews” and boasted tasteful street signs. In their shadowed depths lurked more shops. Everyone wanted a place in Yorkville.
Tango turned down one of the mews and crossed over to another street, letting her instincts guide her toward the other Kithain. Kennings, like so much other magic, didn’t come easily to her. In her youth, she had known Kithain whose talents in kenning were so strong that they could sense the tiniest drop of old faerie blood in humans, or feel the lost remnants of dancing circles buried under the asphalt of parking lots. Of course, those had also been the first Kithain to sink into depression, sick and dying, poisoned by the mundane Banality that sought to erase the last remnants of enchantment from the world.
Sometimes it was good not to be too sensitive.
She turned again, walked another half-block, and stopped. She cursed. The other Kithain felt farther away now than they had before. Tango resisted the urge to think that such a thing was impossible. Nothing, or almost nothing, was impossible around Kithain, and especially around the concentrated Glamour of a Kithain freehold. It was entirely possible that the feelings she had been chasing were like echoes, ricocheting around Yorkville before fading away.
She sat down on a bench, letting the flood of humans that crowded Yorkville wash past her. Teenagers in fashionable clothes bought with their parents’ money. Students from the university a few blocks away. Thirty- and forty-somethings in business suits and dresses, in spite of the heat. Hip tourists in summer clothes, laughing and chatting brightly, bumping into people. Locals walking in little pockets of polite isolation, never touching anybody, apologizing to the tourists who bumped into them. Tango watched them as the tingling feelings of Kithain presence waxed and waned. She took a deep breath. She was thinking like a human... or an old grump. The court was hidden with Kithain magic. She wasn’t going to be able to find it or even another Kithain simply by looking.
Tango stood up, closed her eyes, and spun around three times. Then, trying to ignore the stares of the tourists, she apologized to the businessman she’d bumped, and went into a gourmet ice-cream store. When she came out again, a cup of ginger ice cream in hand, a Kithain was parking his car outside the store. Tango stared, then closed her eyes with a quiet groan.
The Kithain was tall, lean and young —- maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. He wore a white T-shirt that set off his deep tan to perfection and clung to the flat muscles of his torso as his sun-faded jeans clung to his legs. His face, sharp and sculpted, was without flaw. A diamond stud flashed in his ear. His hair was like Rumplestiltskin’s straw under the sun. He was driving a vintage white Mustang convertible. Even without kenning him, Tango knew that his fae seeming would be as handsome and perfect as his human seeming. He was a sidhe, one of the aristocracy of the Kithain, very likely one of the nobles of Duke Michael’s court. As arrogant as a unicorn with a poker up its butt, and twice as proud.
A sidhe was the last kind of Kithain Tango would have wanted to meet. It had been inevitable that she would encounter one at court — Duke Michael was a sidhe himself — but she had been hoping to meet some other lowborn Kithain first. A gossipy eshu. A hedonistic satyr. Even a crude, vicious redcap. Anyone but a sidhe. In this case, unfortunately, she didn’t have any choice. Taking a last bite of the ice cream, she dropped the cup into a trash can and approached the sidhe just as he was turning around. He saw her before she could speak, and flashed her a smile that would have sent a human woman’s heart into pounding delirium. “Hello....”
She cut his sidhe charm off curtly. “I’m looking for a pooka named Riley, Jester to Duke Michael’s court. Where can I find him?”
The bright smile didn’t falter. “Riley or Duke Michael?”
“Riley.”
“You’re not from Toronto, are you?”
What was your first clue? sprang immediately to Tango’s tongue, but she bit the words back. If she was going to get the sidhe’s help, it would be better not to antagonize him. “No. I’m not. Riley’s an old friend of mine. He invited me here for Highsummer....”
This time the sidhe cut her off. “Do you know where he is?”
The demand grated against her nerves. “If I did, would I be asking you?” Tango snapped back.
The sidhe’s smile vanished into a hard line, like high clouds scudding across the sun. “Come with me.” He walked off without even a backward glance, taking her obedience for granted. Tango watched him go, wishing that she had any choice but to follow him. Except she didn’t. She couldn’t risk trying to find another Kithain and then failing. Cursing, she ran after him.
The sidhe led her down the very mews she had passed through before, but this time walking the other way, south to north. Halfway along, he turned sharply to the left, disappearing into the recessed entrance of a trendy sushi shop with carefully crafted plastic imitations of its creations in the window. When she reached the entrance, Tango turned as well and went in. There was no sign of the sidhe in the sushi shop. Flustered, apologizing to the maitre d’ and silently cursing the sidhe, she stepped outside again.
“Down here, sister.”
The voice was old and rough. She glanced down. A deep shadow resolved itself into a narrow doorway at a right angle to the door to the sushi shop. Two steps led down, and then the passage turned sharply and more steep stairs led into darkness. Standing in the corner of the turn was an old woman so gnarled, and dressed in clothes so dark and wrinkled, that she blended in with the stones and mortar of the wall. Another nocker, as ancient a Kithain as Tango had ever seen. The old nocker spoke again. “You following Dex, sister?”
“The sidhe?” Tango stepped down into the shadowy passage. There was a dim light at the bottom of the steep stairs, and she could hear music. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with the damp odor of the stone.
“Like a piece of the sun, isn’t he? If I were younger...” The other nocker pumped her hips. “Whumpfh! He wouldn’t know what hit him.”
“I presume this is Duke Michael’s court?”
“Such as it is, yes.”- A twisted hand emerged from the dark clothes. Tango shook it. “I’m Ruby, the duke’s gatekeeper. You better get down there. Dex doesn’t like having to wait.”
“Thanks.” Tango started down the steps, then glanced back up. The duke’s gatekeeper had already faded back into the wall. “Ruby, I’m looking for Riley. Is he here?”
“You’re a friend of Riley’s?” Ruby’s voice was startled. “Sweet almighty, sister! Hurry and get down there before the duke gets angry!”
Abruptly, Tango was at the base of the stairs, as if the step she had been standing on had suddenly become the bottom one. A black-painted door with one small window of grimy glass opened and the sidhe, Dex, glared at her. “Where were you?”
Tango glared back. “You took the corner too fast and lost me.” She pushed past him into Duke Michael’s court.
Nothing, as she had observed back in San Francisco, was quite the way it used to be in Kithain society. Once the Unseelie tradition had been not merely a rejection of the values of the Seelie, but a dark reflection of it as well. Where the Seelie Kithain had been all golden pomp and pageantry in brightly lit fairytale halls, the Unseelie had been disorder and abandon... in shadowy fairytale halls. No more. Duke Michael’s court was disorder and abandon in a shadowy pool hall.
The only light came from lamps over the three pool tables that filled the big room, and from a pass-through window into a snackbar. There were maybe a dozen Kithain present, playing pool, watching the others play pool, or just talking in the dark corners. The ceiling was low enough that Dex could have easily placed his palm against it — at one end of the hall, a massive troll brushed the ceiling with his head. The floor was cheap black-and-white tile, and the grubby walls were decorated with old travel posters for such exotic destinations as Chicago and Atlanta. A portable stereo blasted out some British rock group that Tango only recognized because the DJ at Pan’s refused to play them. There was a haze of smoke in the air.
And yet the place was filled with Glamour that sent ripples of excitement singing through every part of Tango’s body. So much Glamour that a kenning settled over her spontaneously, the magic of the court calling to her Kithain soul.
The hall was still dark, but now it was the great hall of a dusky palace, with an arched ceiling that soared up into shadows. Tapestries hung on the walls in place of posters. The floor was marble. The smoke was heavy, sweet incense. The pass-through to the snackbar was a passage into a shining banqueting hall. The Kithain were fabulous courtiers in rich costumes bearing the duke’s crest. A few things were essentially the same, though enhanced by the Glamour. The music, for example, was still British rock, but it seemed to emanate from a phantom chamber quartet. The pool tables were still pool tables, except that one, down at the end of the room where the troll stood, was raised up on a dais. Two sidhe played there. One was dressed in rich black velvet embroidered in silver thread, with a black halfcape caught around his neck with a silver chain. His face and build were identical to Dex’s, although his skin was pale instead of tanned, he wore a pearl-drop earring instead of a diamond stud, and his hair was the blond of white gold. The other sidhe wore unrelieved black. He was as handsome as his opponent, but his hair was as black as his clothing, and he wore no ornamentation at all. He was also somewhat older, perhaps Tango’s age. There was something odd about his face; his eyes were strangely shadowed, it seemed. He bent over the table and lined up a shot.
Tango couldn’t see what the shot was, but she heard the clack of pool balls striking each other, followed by soft thuds as they dropped into pockets. Dex’s twin winced. “Shit.”
That one very mundane syllable broke the spell that the Glamour wove over the court. The pool hall snapped back to everyday reality. Tapestries were posters, marble was cheap tile. The Kithain at the head table were dressed in normal clothes. The black-haired sidhe wore dark pants and a black silk shirt. Dex’s twin wore patched black jeans, motorcycle boots and a black T-shirt — with a pearl in his ear. He took a deep, frustrated drag on a cigarette as his opponent rapidly cleared the table. “Good game, Your Grace.”
Duke Michael shook his head. “Don’t flatter me, Sinister,” he said flatly, “I missed pockets I should have made easily.”
A Kithain with the wiry hair and swarthy face of a satyr stepped up and whispered in the duke’s ear. The duke looked toward the door and nodded. “Dexter,” he called. “Come forward.”
Riley’s description had been right, Tango decided. Duke Michael might have been Unseelie, but his rigid demeanor carried ail of the traditions of the Kithain. Including the arrogance of the sidhe. Dex brought her up to stand across the pool table from the duke. “Your Grace, she is looking for Riley. She says she is a friend of his and that he invited her to the Highsummer Party.”
“Dexter.” The duke’s voice was quiet, pitched just so that only those gathered around the table could hear it. “Does she have a name?”
Dex flushed. The sidhe that the duke had called Sinister snickered. Tango took a swift, confident step away from Dex. “I’m Tango.” The duke raised one eyebrow. Tango realized suddenly what it was that seemed odd about his face. His left eye was dark and shadowed, but his right was absolutely black. Not bruised. The eyeball itself was truly black, and cold. An artificial sphere of enameled metal. It was a rare thing to see a sidhe disfigured. “Your Grace,” she added, as smoothly as possible. The words almost caught in her throat, partly out of her dislike for the sidhe and their overbearing titles, partly out of shameful, disgusting pleasure at the duke’s disfigurement.
Duke Michael gave her a calm nod. “Do you know where Riley is, Tango?”
Briefly, Tango considered lying to him. He didn’t meet me at the airport here, Your Grace. He told me to meet him at his apartment, Your Grace, but didn’t give me the address. In San Francisco, Your Grace. Anything to avoid embarrassing herself with the true story in front of the court — and the sidhe. Then she looked at that scar again, and at the way Duke Michael w7as holding his pool cue. A normal person would hold it casually. Lightly. Duke Michael held his like a king would hold a scepter. No less than Dex, Duke Michael expected obedience. And a sidhe didn’t get to be a Kithain duke on expectations and polite questions alone. Tango wondered where he had gotten that scar. It was hard to swallow her pride, but she forced herself to do it. “Not really, Your Grace. I was expecting to find him here in Toronto, but he might still be in San Francisco.” Sinister and Dexter, as well as the satyr at the duke’s elbow, stirred uneasily. Duke Michael frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“He wasn’t on the flight that he told me he was going to take....” Tango grimaced. That wasn’t going to make much sense. She started the whole story from the beginning. As she talked, the duke’s face grew sharper and sharper with anger. At one point, when she mentioned Riley’s errand to the Cult of Ecstasy mages in Berkeley for “party favors,” she saw his hands clench convulsively. When she finished, she glanced up at him. His lips were pressed together in a thin white line. The court was quiet. She licked her lips and asked cautiously, “I take it that you don’t know where he is either, then?”
“No.” The duke’s voice was furious. He drew a tight breath and bellowed, “Epp!”
“Coming!” A heavy, gray-haired woman hustled out of the snack bar. She was a boggan, a Kithain descended from the old faeries who had lived as servants and guardians in human houses. She had a pencil tucked behind one ear and a notebook shaggy with loose papers in one hand. By the time she reached the head pool table, she was winded. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“What flight was Riley due to return on, and what was his seat number?”
Epp opened her notebook and rifled through the pages. “Air Canada flight 2800, seat 6A. Departing San Francisco 9:30 RM. Pacific time, arriving Toronto...” “Are you sure?” demanded the duke. “Did he have the ticket?”
“Oh, yes.” Epp flipped through her book again. “He picked it up from the travel agency on...”
“Thank you.” The duke put his hands down on the edge of the pool table and rested his weight on them, looking down at the green baize of the tabletop.
Tango frowned, suddenly worried. This didn’t feel like a prank. The duke had been expecting Riley back last night, too. Todd’s warning returned like an echo. That made her even more nervous. Riley hadn’t been in Toronto last night, of course, but that didn’t mean something couldn’t have happened to him in San Francisco. And there was the matter of his ticket. Riley had bought a ticket. Something had wiped that purchase from the airline’s records. She took a step toward Duke Michael. “Your Grace...”
The duke’s head came up. There was hot anger smoldering in his eyes. “That pooka bastard. I’m not sure whether I should look for him or not!” Tango stopped. He glanced at her, then waved his hand sharply. “You may leave, Tango. Take her out, Dexter.” “No.” Tango shrugged off the blond sidhe’s hand. “What’s happened to Riley? Why won’t you look for him?”
“You want to know?” Duke Michael clenched his teeth. “All right. Riley was correct when he told you that he is organizing the Highsummer Night party for my court.” He gestured to Epp. “I assigned Epp to be his aide. She has helped my Jesters organize Highsummer parties for the last twenty years. This year, Riley decided that he wanted to do something a little different. He asked my permission to go to Montreal and buy enchanted drugs from a'group of Cult of Ecstasy mages there. I refused.” The duke looked around the court, his angry glare sweeping over his pool-hall courtiers. “Am I a tyrant?” he demanded.
The Kithain were silent. “No, Your Grace,” Dexter answered for them.
“Do I rule fairly?”
“Very fairly, Your Grace,” said Sinister.
“Do I fulfill all of the obligations that your oaths of loyalty place upon me as your liege?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the satyr beside him replied. “In the best manner of the fae and your House.”
“And if I choose to issue certain decrees, Lucas?” The satyr coughed. “That is your place as our liege,
by the oaths we have sworn.” Tango held her tongue. Sidhe oaths of loyalty left a bad taste in her mouth, though many other Kithain swore them happily.
The duke slapped his pool cue dowrn onto the tabletop like a schoolmistress slapping a ruler against a desk. “And what was the first decree I made after I became your liege?”
“No Kithain of your court and no Kithain entering your domain,” the court droned in unison, “shall have dealings with mages.”
“Yes.” The duke turned back to Tango again. He was pale with anger, making his black metal eye seem even blacker. Shiny scar tissue cutting through one eyebrow and onto his cheekbone caught the light. She could make a good guess at how the duke had lost his eye. “Riley,” he continued, clear enunciation making his voice harsh, “thought he could talk me into releasing him from that restriction this one time. He was wrong, but he went away quietly. Several days later, he came back with another proposal. He had found a source in San Francisco for tailor-made, completely mundane drugs that would do what he wanted. I’m not against drugs, Tango; my court’s influence was built on them. 1 believed him and let him go to San Francisco.”
Where he went to another group of Cultists. Tango grimaced. It was exactly like Riley. He might have gotten away with it, too. “So he broke your decree. Why won’t you try to find out what happened to him?”
“He disobeyed me!” Duke Michael rapped the butt of his pool cue on the tiled floor. The sound snapped through the still air of the dark hall. “He disobeyed a direct, very simple command. Stay away from mages.” He glared at his courtiers and servants. “Dexter?
Sinister? Epp? Lucas?” He glanced at the troll. “Slocombe? Is that unreasonable?”
Not even the troll answered him this time, but he didn’t wait for a response. “I’m more than tempted to let Riley be. Whatever has happened to him, he probably deserves. Except...” He broke off his words and angrily began to dig balls out of the pockets of the pool table, racking up for a new' game. None of the Kithain of his court moved.
Tango took the balls out of the pocket closest to her and handed them to him. “Except,” she said, completing his thoughts, “that you have given him the honor of organizing Highsummer Night, and an honor like that can’t be taken away lightly.”
“Oh, it can be taken away!” The duke’s eyes flashed in the light of the lamp above the table. His voice dropped down to a cutting whisper. “But Highsummer Night is only a week away. There is a great deal still to be done. Riley wasted a lot of time. That’s why Dexter brought you to me when you asked about Riley. When Riley didn’t return on schedule...” He bared his teeth. “Let’s just say he had stern words coming his way even before you told me about the mages in San Francisco. I think you see my dilemma, Tango. The most fitting punishment for Riley is to leave him in the middle of whatever trouble he is in -— at the risk of losing everything that has already been planned for Highsummer Night. But if I find Riley in order to salvage Highsummer Night, I compromise my own authority.”
The duke lifted the rack away from the balls on the pool table and passed it to the satyr. Walking around to the end of the table and settling his cue across his
hand, he lined up for the break.
Tango turned away with disgust. She could catch the next flight back to San Francisco. She couldn’t have cared less if Duke Michael’s Highsummer Party came crashing down around him. All she wanted now was to find Riley — and to get away from the sidhe. “Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”
Epp flung out an arm to stop her. “I have a suggestion, Your Grace.”
The duke’s break was clean and smooth, but that didn’t seem to improve his mood. “What?”
“Tango has told us that she is the manager of a nightclub. Presumably she knows something about organizing parties. Also, as Riley’s invited guest, she could be made to stand in for him. Make her your Jester and let her organize Highsummer.”
Duke Michael straightened up again without shooting and regarded her from across the table. “That’s an excellent idea, Epp.”
Tango blinked. “Hold on a minute!” she protested. “I can’t stay here. Riley could be in real trouble! I have to look for him. Can’t Epp organize your party? Didn’t you say she’s been doing it for twenty years? She must be good at it by now.”
“Only my Jester can organize my party. Epp’s a boggan — the spark of a good party just isn’t in her nature.” Tango caught a fleeting look of frustration as it crossed Epp’s face. Boggans were generally very dull, stolid homebodies. She could see the duke’s point, but to throw it into Epp’s face was... was exactly like something a sidhe would do.
“Then hire a human,” Tango suggested angrily. “There are places that specialize in planning parties.”
Dex snorted. So did the satyr. The duke’s smile was deprecating. “Humans? What could they understand about Kithain? How could they create a suitable party for Highsummer Night?” He came around to stand in front of the pool table. “Besides, some of the plans are already in place. You should be able to work from what Riley left.”
“1 told you that I can’t stay! Somebody has to find out if Riley’s in trouble!”
“Somebody else.” Duke Michael’s smile vanished. “That will be half of his punishment — to suffer the consequences of his disobedience. The other half will be the shame that a friend was forced to work in his place.”
He spun the pool cue in his hands, a flashy move that made the cue shimmer with Glamour. If he had held it like a scepter before, now he held a real scepter, a narrow rod of gold and onyx. The duke himself became taller and even more handsome as Glamour suffused him as well, drawing the mortal seeming away from his true Sidhe form. Tango’s breath hissed between her teeth. “You can’t do this!”
“I can. I am lord here.” Duke Michael held the rod over her head. Glamour seethed in the air. Sidhe knew powerful cantrips of command. Duke Michael could indeed compel her to stay! “Before this court, I take...” With Dexter on one side of her, Epp on the other, Tango could only throw herself backward, away from the duke. One heel lashed out, catching Dex on the back of the calf as he turned to grab at her. The blond sidhe howled in pain, leg suddenly numbed. Tango sprinted toward the door, dodging the other startled Kithain.
A pool cue thrust between her legs stopped her and sent her tumbling across the floor. “I don’t think,” suggested Sinister, as he grabbed her arms from behind, “that you should refuse the duke.” He pulled her to her feet.
The sidhe was tall, with muscles on his arms that probably took a daily workout to maintain. But if sidhe magic dealt with command, nocker magic dealt with the things of the earth. Tango’s own skills with cantrips were about as developed as her skill in kenning. Still, what she could do with her limited magic, she could do very well. She spat twice on the floor, an invocation, and drew7 on the Glamour that pooled in Duke Michael’s court. It rushed up through her legs and all through her body like electric adrenaline, like the spirit of the earth coursing along her limbs. Tango’s small size belied what her magic could do.
She shook off Sinister’s grasp as though it were the grasp of a child. She could have broken his bones if she had wanted to. A squeeze of her hand around his wrist would have rendered his hand useless. Instead, she shoved him away from her, one push sending him sprawling.
Sinister rolled with the push and came up with a narrow grin on his face. Eyes sharp, he reached to his side and pulled a key on a bright, silvery chain from where it had been tucked between his belt and his waistband. The Kithain around him stepped quickly away.
With a flare of Glamour, Sinister’s key grew into a shining sword.
Tango reacted without really thinking. Swords such as Sinister’s were like dreams woven out of the Glamour. They couldn’t kill, but they could harm, and Tango was in no mood to be stopped by a sidhe. On one finger of her gnarled, nocker hand, she wore a silver ring with a simple cruciform design engraved into it. She folded her hand around it and, abruptly, was holding a deadly knife.
There was no Glamour involved in the transformation. Sinister’s eyes became as narrow as his grin. Several courtiers hissed in alarm. The knife was no Kithain weapon. It could kill.
But that wasn’t what Tango intended. She didn’t even want to hurt Sinister if she could help it. She just wanted out. She backed toward the door — or tried to. Sinister began to circle her, forcing her away from the door. Her chances of escape, Tango decided, were definitely shrinking. Sinister’s sword flicked out. She caught it awkwardly with her knife. Sinister was lefthanded and that gave him an advantage as well. She feinted, then tried to slip under his guard. She was willing to cause the sidhe an injury if she had to.
She didn’t get the chance. Two huge, callused hands grabbed her from behind. “Enough,” said a rumbling voice. Tango struggled, but couldn’t break free. Her nocker magic might have made her strong, but she had forgotten about Slocombe, the troll who had stood near the duke, and trolls were naturally stronger than her magic could ever make her. Sinister plucked the knife from her grasp. In his hand, it became a ring again. He strode back to the front of the court and showed it to the duke.
The black-haired sidhe snarled in anger. “Mage work! You’ve had dealings with mages!”
Tango struggled as the troll carried her before the angry Kithain lord. “So what if I have? I’m not one of your subjects!”
“But you’re in my domain!” Duke Michael dropped the ring. It fell to the tile with the chiming clatter of a much larger object on marble, then rolled away. The duke touched his rod directly to her head this time. “You are my Jester,” he said sharply, his courtly words gone. Tango felt a tingle as Glamour moved in the rod, an enchantment that bound her as a servant of the court. She ground her teeth. “You have the responsibility of planning the Highsummer Night party for this court until Riley returns to resume his duties. Obey me in all things.” He held the rod to her head a moment longer as he leaned forward to whisper, “And don’t make me angry again.”
The sidhe enchantment prompted her to respond. “I am your servant, Your Grace,” she spat unwillingly. Had Riley had to go through this, or was the magical treatment reserved only for the duke’s reluctant recruits to the court? She forced her anger back. It was too late for rage now. The loathing she felt for the duke, for the other sidhe of the court, for other Kithain in general, subsided to a churning like dull knives in her heart and soul.
Mercifully, it seemed that there was nothing else she was required to say. The duke lifted the rod away. “Epp,” he ordered, “give Tango your key to Riley’s apartment. Sinister, take her there. If I wish to see her again before Highsummer Night, I will summon her.”
Tango choked back a sour laugh. She had come to the court hoping to find Riley’s apartment. At least she was finally going there.
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us.
Sinister rode a motorcycle, a sleek, shining black beast of a machine. The sun was just beginning to set by the time they left the Unseelie court’s pool hall and returned up the narrow stairs; Ruby gave Tango a sympathetic look as they passed by her. The motorcycle waited for them like a shadow behind the hall. Sinister had a helmet for himself, but when Tango asked him for a second, he just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Maybe I want to. What’s the fine for riding without a helmet in Toronto?”
“No one will bother us. If they do...” He shrugged. “They’re only humans. What are they going to do to us?”
Tango wrinkled her nose in angry frustration. “I’m more concerned with ending up smeared across the pavement.”
“I haven’t wiped out yet.”
“That’s good to know.” Tango watched Sinister slide across the seat of the motorcycle with a whisper of denim on leather, then settled herself behind him. “Where is Riley’s apartment? I have a rental car and
luggage in a parking garage downtown.”
“You won’t have too far to go to get it. Riley’s apartment is on Jarvis.” He took out his key on its silvery keychain and started the motorcycle. The machine came to life with a velvet growl. Tango tapped his shoulder before he could put on his helmet.
“What do you do if you need your sword while the bike is running?”
Sinister grinned as he dropped his helmet into place. Reaching forward, he tugged on the keychain. It became the hilt of a sword in his hand. He drew several inches of shining steel out of the motorcycle’s ignition as a knight might have drawn a sword from a scabbard on a horse’s saddle. The bike kept running. He shoved the steel back again. The hilt became a keychain. “Oh,” he added, “here.” He held out his hand. A plain band of silver rested on his palm. Tango’s ring.
“Thanks,” she said grudgingly. She took the ring and slipped it onto her finger. For a moment, she considered Sinister’s back.
“I wouldn’t,” the dark sidhe advised her. “Remember who’s driving.” He flipped up the motorcycle’s kickstand with his heel and pulled out onto the street.
The character of Yorkville had changed as the sun went down. After dark, the area regained some of its youth. Most of the older tourists had gone, along with the men and women in business clothes. The crowds were now composed mainly of younger people in expensive, tasteful outfits. The air was still hot, but a cooler night breeze was beginning to blow. Small lights had come on above the sidewalk and rooftop patios. For the first time, Tango noticed the little clubs and trendy bars that nestled among the shops and restaurants.
Buskers had appeared on the sidewalks and in the shadows: a man playing blues trumpet, two girls with flutes, and, almost out of place, a smattering of women sitting behind folding tables with candles, crystal balls and decks of colorful cards. Fortune-tellers? Why not? Tango realized. Young people were as obsessed with the future as their elders.
Sinister turned onto Yonge, Toronto’s main street, with its mix of vibrant energy, colorful lights, and depressing, sleazy desperation. High-tech electronics and expensive club-fashion stores existed cheek-to-cheek with sex shops and discount stores. There were no buskers here. Tango watched streetpeople panhandling for spare change from pedestrians who walked past as if they saw and heard nothing at all. One man stood on the busy corner of Yonge and Bloor, drifting back and forth to catch the people crossing either street. They just walked around him. At a theater a little farther down Yonge, moviegoers lined up obediently behind a sign reading “Ticketholders,” coldly staring down anyone who tried to butt into the line. A theater attendant had nothing to do but keep begging streetpeople from bothering the waiting patrons.
People didn’t linger on Yonge Street as they did in Yorkville. The only people laughing and talking here were small knots of people on their way to somewhere else. Sinister turned onto a cross-street at a corner where, even after dark, a hot-dog cart competed with a vendor of knock-off souvenir T-shirts to attract the attention of passersby. There was another hot-dog cart on the next corner when they stopped for a red light. Tango could see Hopeful a couple of blocks down past the cart’s greasy umbrella. The light changed, and
Sinister revved the motorcycle, cutting across the intersection almost before the last pedestrians had cleared the crosswalk. An angry couple yelled after him.
As it turned out, Riley’s apartment was only a couple of blocks away from Hopeful. Sinister pulled up in front of an old, yellow-brick apartment building on a wide street. The building looked as if it might have been built in the twenties. It was only five stories tall, with wrought-iron balconies facing out onto the street from the front apartments. Gray stone made a decorative pattern on the corners of the building and on the sills of windows that were small by contemporary standards. White-painted pillars stood beside the doors — a touch of ostentation. The building was one of a pair, identical except for thick ivy that climbed the bricks beside Riley’s door. An alley led between them. There was an arch over the mouth of the alley, joining the two buildings with a thin bridge of white stone as ostentatious as the pillars. The carved face of a cherub grinned out of a wreath of laurels at the center of the arch. Once it might have been a landlord’s pride, but decades of harsh weather and encrusted dirt had blurred its features. Instead of being comforting, the angel’s smile looked vaguely disreputable.
“Tango.” Sinister pulled off his helmet. “I want you to know I don’t have any hard feelings about you trying to fight me tonight. I know you’d rather be looking for Riley than stuck here. But the duke is the duke, and I’m a knight of his court. I have a duty to him.” He grinned, the smile stretching across his handsome sidhe face. “We should duel sometime. I bet it would have been a good fight.”
Good until you got hurt, Tango thought. The sidhe would probably treat any fight as if it were a game. A fight for the fun of fighting. Tango didn’t fight for fun, and she didn’t enjoy the fighting that she was forced into. She had left that behind a long time ago. “Thanks, Sinister.”
“Call me Sin.” Tango raised her eyebrows and he shook his head. “That’s not a come-on. It’s just my name, like Dexter is Dex. Duke Michael is the only one who uses our full names.”
“Hung up on the full formalities, is he?” asked Tango a little bitterly. The anger and violation she had felt in the court were mostly gone, vanished into old pain.
Sin sighed and shifted forward so that Tango could get off the motorcycle. “You’ve heard that a Kithain lord’s domain comes to reflect his personality? It works the other way around, too. A lord reflects his domain. Any Kithain who took over the rulership of Toronto would eventually start to act like Duke Michael does. That’s one of the reasons he’s been duke as long as he has — who would want that kind of personality?”
“So what was Michael like before he became duke? Did he take on Toronto’s personality, or did Toronto take on his?”
“Both. Like attracts like.” Sin put on his helmet again. “Riley’s apartment is 3D. Good luck, Tango.”
He revved the motorcycle and drove off, merging with the traffic that streamed down the street.
“Thanks a lot,” Tango muttered to herself. She turned to the door of the building and fumbled with the keys that Epp had given her. The boggan had slid them off a ring so full of keys that she probably could have unlocked half the doors in the city. One key was for the front door, she had told Tango, two others were for locks on Riley’s apartment. A fourth was for the cabinet where he was supposed to be keeping the papers and files related to Highsummer Night. From the way Epp had rolled her eyes, Tango guessed that there must have been more than a little antagonism between the pooka and the boggan.
The cabinet key was clearly smaller than the lock on the front door, but she had to try all three of the other keys before getting the right one. Inside, the apartment building looked just as old as it had from outside. Cooking odors — curry, garlic, cabbage, beans
— drifted out of apartments. As she climbed the stairs up to the third floor, she also caught the sounds of a saxophone and a violin, each playing radically different melodies. The scent of oil paints from apartment 3C teased her nostrils. Tango remembered what Riley had said about the artists and musicians in his building; if she had worked a kenning, she probably could have felt the faint Glamour that their dreams and acts of creation generated. She unlocked Riley’s door and opened it.
Light spilled from the hallway into an apartment that had been ransacked.
“Oh, shit,” breathed Tango. Without taking her eyes from the narrow path of illumination that spread out from the door, she felt along the wall for a light switch. She found one and flicked it on. The disaster in the apartment made her wish she hadn’t. Books and papers were everywhere. Everything was out of order. Through a door, she could see Riley’s bedroom. The sheets had been pulled off the bed and clothing was exploding out of half-opened drawers. Odds and ends of clothing were strewn throughout the living room as well. “Oh shit, Riley. What have you gotten yourself...”
“Don’t worry.” Epp swept into the apartment and closed the door behind her. “It always looks like this.” Almost compulsively, she began to tidy up, sorting through papers and stacking books.
Tango took another look at the apartment. Epp was right. This wasn’t the mess of a ransacking. The bed was simply unmade. Books had been dropped in piles, papers in disheveled heaps. There were dirty dishes scattered around, one with a dried-up piece of pizza on it. Souvenirs and knickknacks were placed in the oddest places, but they were upright. The clothing strewn around the living room lay not so much as if it had been thrown about, but simply as if someone had walked around the room, undressing as they went, leaving clothing where it fell. Epp uncovered a glossy magazine with its centerfold flopping out, and flushed. A newspaper settled back over the offending photograph. Epp moved on.
“I told him a hundred times that if I had the chance, I was going to clean this place from top to bottom.” The boggan looked around and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “I may need a backhoe.” Tango glared at her.
“Why did you suggest to the duke that I could organize the Highsummer party?” she demanded. “I have to get back to San Francisco and look for Riley!” Epp paused. “That’s what I came here to talk to you about. You don’t have to worry about the party — I’ll take care of it. In fact, I insist.”
Tango stared at the fat Kithain in disbelief. “You want to organize the party? Why did you have to bring my name up in front of the duke, then?”
“You heard him yourself.” Epp picked up a desk calendar and returned it to a clear space on top of a table, flipping it open to the correct date. “He wouldn’t accept me organizing the party directly. So I have to do it through a Jester. Except even the duke’s Jesters have ideas about what should happen at the party, so I have to obey them.” She drew a deep, satisfied breath. “But after twenty years, I finally get the chance to do Highsummer my way!” She glanced around the room. “At least I won’t have to try and sort out Riley’s halfbaked plans.”
A horrible thought struck Tango and her hand clenched around her ring. “Did you have something to do with Riley disappearing?”
Epp looked shocked. “Oh, no. But when opportunity presents itself, you have to seize it.”
“Am I glad to hear you say that.” Tango shoved aside some paperback novels and sat down wearily on the couch. “You go ahead and run the party. I couldn’t care less about it. First thing tomorrow, I’m catching a flight back to San Francisco.”
“No! You can’t!” Tango looked up at her sharply. The boggan was still standing where she had been a moment ago. Her fingers were worrying at a bit of frayed, knotted ribbon as if it were a security blanket. There was desperation on her face. “You have to stay here. If you leave...” Epp swallowed hard. Tango hoped that she wasn’t going to start crying. Boggans did that too easily sometimes. “The Jester has to be the one to organize the party, at least in name. If the Jester is in San Francisco, how can she be organizing the party?” Tango was shocked at the other woman’s cruel ambition. “Epp, I have to find Riley! Screw the duke and what he wants. He gets his party, isn’t that
enough?”
“He’d find out,” Epp replied agitatedly. “You have to stay, Tango.”
“Like hell I do.”
The boggan’s dour mouth crooked savagely. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but if you won’t stay on your own accord....” She loosened the knot in her worry ribbon. “I put a geasa on you, Tango. You shall not leave the bounds of Toronto until the sun rises after Highsummer Night!”
Glamour crackled through the air like lightning just about to strike. Tango started upright, then lunged for the boggan. “No!” This was no idle threat! A geasa was the strongest of Kithain curses. Tango snatched at the ribbon, but it was too late. The magic had been released. Tango was left holding an old silk ribbon that fell to shreds in her hands. She stared at Epp. “You...” The gray-haired Kithain faced her calmly. “That ribbon was in my family for a hundred years. Once there were four geasa tied up in it. Riley stole the second-to-last for some ridiculous reason.” She straightened up fiercely. “I was willing to sacrifice the ribbon to keep my chance at Highsummer. I think even you should be able to recognize how serious that means I am.”
Tango snarled and wrenched at the remains of the ribbon. The ancient fabric parted with barely a whisper. “Damn you.” She flung the broken ribbon to the floor and stalked after Epp. Epp backed up a step, but maintained her calm voice. As if she were talking to a child. “What are you going to do, Tango? Harm me, and the duke will be very angry with you. The geasa will still keep you in Toronto, and the duke will hunt you down.”
“Then I’ll take you to the duke right now!” Tango growled. “You can’t do this to me.”
“If you go to the duke, you’ll have to tell him that you were planning to leave Toronto and look for Riley. That won’t make him happy. You’ll be confessing to disobeying him.” Epp smiled. “I might even be rewarded for reminding you of your duty to the court.”
Tango’s anger hissed between her teeth. “That duty was forced on me.”
“That wouldn’t matter to the duke, Don’t think anyone else will help you either. They won’t risk offending him. Duke Michael takes the punishments he hands down very seriously.”
“Get out.” Tango grabbed Epp, spinning her around and twisting her arms up behind her back until the other woman squealed. “I don’t want to see you again. You’ve got your damned party. Now get the hell out and leave me alone!” Epp’s notebook was sitting on the table. Tango snatched it up as she marched Epp to the door, pulled the door open and literally threw Epp out of the apartment. The old Kithain stumbled into the wall of the corridor outside with an audible thud. Tango hurled the boggan’s notebook after her. Loose papers settled around Epp like falling snow. Red with outrage, she turned on Tango. ■
The nocker slammed the door in Epp’s face and locked it. The action gave her some satisfaction, but not enough. Part of her screamed for revenge. For a moment Tango was tempted to open the door again, just long enough to give Epp the beating she deserved. She stopped herself, though, and took a deep breath. Slapping Epp around wasn’t going to help. It wouldn’t make her feel any better, and it wasn’t going to change anything. Wearily, Tango put her back to the door and slid slowly down to the floor. She could hear the soft rustle and mutter from the corridor as Epp picked up her notebook and papers and left. Tango crossed her arms on her knees, put her head down, and sighed.
Trapped in Toronto. Riley was missing, and there was nothing — nothing — she could do to look for him! She wished that this were just one of Riley’s pranks, that he would pop from somewhere, laughing like a fox. She wished that she hadn’t listened to a word he had said in Pan’s. Now she remembered why she had avoided Kithain society for the last fifteen years!
For just a moment, her anger surged as it hadn’t in a decade and a half. Murderously mad with fury, Tango grabbed the nearest solid object, a book of erotic short stories, and hurled it angrily across the room.
The book struck a cushion sitting on an endtable beside the couch, sending it toppling to the floor. With it went a glass, a T-shirt, a pair of underwear and, almost, a streamlined black box with a flashing red light. The box skittered to the edge of the table, dragged along by the underwear tangled in its cord, then stopped just before it would have gone over.
Riley’s answering machine, buried in the clutter.
Tango stared at the flashing light as she reined in her temper. Two blinks. Two messages. Then, idly, she got up, righted the machine, and hit the playback button. Obediently, the machine rewound its miniature tape, clicked, clicked again, and began to play.
“Mr. Stanton, this is the Lost and Found at Pearson International Airport, Terminal Two. We’re holding your bags from Air Canada flight 2800 from San Francisco. Thank you for tagging your luggage. You can pick your bags up during our normal daily office hours, six o’clock A.M, to midnight. If you require any help, our phone number is...”
Tango missed the number, but she could always replay the message. The airline had Riley’s bags? But that meant that he had checked them. And he couid only have done that if he’d had a ticket — which Epp had confirmed, but the airline itself had denied on the night of the flight. Had Riley disappeared in the middle of the airport itself?
Beep, went the answering machine.
“Epp.”
The voice caught her attention because of its softness. Whoever had left the message had been whispering into the telephone. The voice was vaguely familiar. It was a feminine voice, juvenile, and very, very frightened. “Epp, I know you’re going to get this eventually. I just hope it’s not too late. This is the only number I can think of right now.” The voice paused again. Tango could hear other voices in the background, muffled and indistinct. “There’s a secret compartment under the bottom shelf of the party cabinet. Inside is a yellow file. Take it to the duke. Make sure he reads the papers inside it.”
The voice was very familiar. Tango concentrated. She didn’t know any woman with a voice that sounded like that. It was a strange voice, the speech patterns too old for the very young-sounding tone. What was it that was familiar?
The tone came to her first. Cheryl. The little girl on the plane.
And then the speech patterns, slow to come because they were so unexpected. “Riley1" she gasped.
The voice on the machine continued without stopping. “Don’t worry about me. No time to tell you what happened. I’m in Toronto. But there was supposed to be a friend on the plane with me. Her name is Tango. I don’t know what happ—”
There was an enormous splintering of wood in the background. “The yellow file!” Riley hissed into the receiver desperately. People were shouting. The phone clicked, the sound of someone trying desperately to hang up, and then beeped rapidly as new numbers were pressed before the previous connection had cleared. She knew what Riley was trying to do: dial a new telephone number before someone else could press redial and find out where he had called. Someone screamed. Tango didn’t think that it was Riley, but she couldn’t be sure. Finally Riley managed to hang up. The message ended in a second, forlorn beep. The machine clicked and began to rewind the tape with a quiet hum.
Tango’s finger hovered anxiously over the playback button, waiting for the rewinding to finish. It seemed to take forever. The party cabinet, the one Epp had complained about when she’d handed over the keys. Her eyes darted around the room. But there was no cabinet! No. Wait.
She had been expecting a filing cabinet. There wasn’t one. But there was a squat, battered sideboard against one wall. A cabinet, of sorts. And it would have shelves where a filing cabinet wouldn’t. The answering machine clicked and she stabbed the button a second time, then dashed to the cabinet as the Lost and Found office delivered its message. Hands shaking, she dug out the little cabinet key and put it into the lock. She dropped it once, losing a second scrambling for it. The answering machine beeped and Riley’s oddly transformed voice whispered, “Epp.”
The key spun loose in the lock. The cabinet door swung open easily. Something was wrong. The lock was broken.
“... under the bottom shelf...”
The cabinet had papers and books stuffed into it. Tango pulled out the ones covering the bottom shelf and pushed them away from her. She ran her fingers over the dark wood. In the shadows at the back of the shelf, she found a thin gap, barely big enough for her to work her finger into. A panel of wood shifted slightly. She yanked up just as wood splintered on the answering machine. “The yellow file!” hissed Riley. Tango threw the panel aside and felt in the darkness of the hidden compartment. Her heart froze.
Empty.
People shouted and screamed. The telephone clicked and beeped. The message ended.
In the kitchen, Tango found a flashlight. She examined the compartment in the cabinet closely. There was nothing there. Either Riley had been lying about the mysterious yellow file — and she couldn’t believe that — or her first instincts had been right. The apartment had been ransacked.
Maybe not ransacked, but at least searched thoroughly. And so professionally that, amid the clutter of Riley’s life, only he might have noticed if a paper were out of place. Except that the searcher or searchers had broken the lock on the cabinet door. Tango went back over to the couch and sat down heavily. Riley had been kidnapped. Sometime after he had checked his bags in San Francisco, and by someone with the skills to erase him completely from the airline’s records. And she might have been sitting next to him for the entire flight to Toronto — if the strange juxtaposition of Riley’s voice and Cheryl’s meant what she thought it did.
The ransacking had to have happened some time before today, before Riley had returned to Toronto, or else the answering machine would surely have been erased. Probably the ransacking had happened while Riley was in San Francisco. The searchers must have taken their time, and that meant they would have known that Riley wasn’t about to return any time soon.
What was Riley involved with?
At least being trapped in Toronto by Epp’s geasa didn’t seem like such a liability anymore. Tango leaned her head back against the cushions of the couch and listened to the message one more time. If the searchers had found the yellow file, there didn’t seem to be any point in her searching the rest of the apartment for clues as to what was going on. The searchers would likely have already found anything that there was to find.
Except maybe for Riley’s bags at the airport, checked before he vanished and still unclaimed. No one would have searched the bags, then returned them to the baggage claim. Six to midnight hours, the Lost and Found office’s message had said. Tango glanced at her watch. She would have to retrieve her car and drive out to the airport, but Lost and Found would still be open. It wouldn’t be hard to convince them to hand over the bags. Tango ran for the door.
Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man.
“That one,” urged Tolly. “What about him?”
Matt turned his head ever so slightly to look around at the men in the bar. His gaze settled on two at a pinball machine. “The one playing?”
“The one to his right. Redhead.” Tolly’s tongue ran around his mouth like a moray eel lunging out of a coral reef. The mad vampire’s face was sharp and eager tonight. Last night's activities had agreed with him — in more ways than one. His body had been pierced in virtually every imaginable place, bright metal loops, balls, bars and spindles. His entire share of Solomon’s money had gone to pay for the extensive, expensive piercings. Blue had rolled his eyes when he had seen the effect. Matt had laughed out loud. Miranda had walked around Tolly, considering his decorated body from every angle. There was a beautiful, painful intensity to the piercings, a kind of art. Sooner or later, he would tire of the piercings and pull them out, letting the wounds heal over, but for now the effect was a work of inspired genius. She felt sorry for the piercing artist. After Tolly’s visit, he or she would probably never be quite the same again. The vampire’s madness had an eerie way of infecting the mortals he came in contact with. Tolly gestured, metal flashing in the skin between his thumb and forefinger. “There.”
Matt slapped the other vampire’s hand down, but nodded. “I like him. Good-looking. Big. Strong. Should put up a hell of a fight.” He glanced at Miranda. “How about it?”
Miranda shook her head. “He’s with a friend.” “Who?”
“The guy playing pinball.”
Matt snorted. “The guy playing pinball is not his friend. Redhead is trying to pick him up.”
“Same principle. He’d remember if Redhead went home w'ith someone else.” Miranda studied the redhaired man a moment longer, then added, “And Redhead’s too big. Things might get out of hand.” “Not much.” Blue leaned forward, his chair creaking under him. “Picky-picky. You’ve been finding excuses all night. There must be someone in here who’s good enough for you.”
“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “Just choose one, Miri.” Miranda fixed him with a slow, steady glare. “Don’t be hasty. You’ve already annoyed Solomon once.”
Matt flushed. Miranda turned away.
Last night, after he had released the other vampires from the magickal paralysis, Solomon had treated Matt like something he had scraped off the bottom of his shoe. Of course, no mention was made of Miranda’s role in toppling Matt so painfully. Solomon had pretended that it was Matt’s own fault, his body overbalancing as the magick captured him. Whenever possible, the mage had stared pointedly at Matt’s broken nose, crooked until the vampire could find a mirror and fix it. All of his conversation and negotiation had been conducted with Miranda. She had also pointedly ignored Matt, bargaining with Solomon as though there really was something to bargain about. There wasn’t, of course. She would do anything for the Bandog — and Solomon. Even so, Solomon’s payment to the vampires had been substantial, more than enough to offset the short-term inconvenience of being unable to feed on their victims.
And yet Matt had still tried to taunt Solomon, desperate to reassert his wounded pride. “If you knew as much as you claimed about the Sabbat,” he had sneered arrogantly, “you’d know that you can’t negotiate with just one of us. A Sabbat pack has no leader.”
Solomon had responded in tones so frosty that Miranda waited for ice to form. “If you knew as much about yourself as you believe you do, you’d realize how wrong you are.”
That had left Matt with his mouth shut tight. The pack had taken Solomon’s money and gone to Hopeful to select their first victim: a gay man, alone, maybe a little bit drunk. It had been simple enough. A combination of Tolly and Blue’s abilities to hide and her own power to manipulate shadows had ensured that the pack would be unnoticed, or at least unremarked-upon. Matt had approached the victim, using his talents of persuasion and hypnotic control to lure him away from the bar.
They had left the man’s body in a park, laid out under a tree as though in resting state — Tolly’s idea. The mad vampire had also placed pennies over the dead man’s swollen eyelids. The hardest part of the process had been resisting the call of the man’s blood. But they had. Beaten and battered, there was no sign that he had been killed by vampires. Ordinary humans could have killed him.
Tonight they would take their second victim. Solomon would contact them tomorrow night and tell them where to hunt for a third. Hunting in Hopeful was more difficult this time, though. The gays of Toronto were in mourning over the loss of one of their own. They knew that Hopeful was the last place he had been seen alive, and many had come here for an impromptu wake. For a few, like Redhead, it seemed as though nothing was wrong. Life went on. They were untouched by death. But even the ones like Redhead would be more wary now. A gay man had been murdered. Would it happen again?
“What about one of the bartenders?” suggested Blue. “They’re getting hit on all the time. Nobody would notice one more.”
“They may be getting hit on, but: they’re not accepting,” Matt pointed out. “Now that old guy in the corner...”
“Wait.” Miranda’s eyes narrowed as she thought. “We don’t have to pretend to pick someone up. We could just grab a bartender when he leaves.”
“But that won’t be for at least a couple more hours!” “We have time.”
Tolly looked around for the old man Matt had mentioned, his neck twisting inhumanly far. “I like him, too. Besides, the bartenders wouldn’t be leaving alone.” Miranda grimaced. “Tolly, you’ve liked everyone you’ve seen in here. If you were doing the choosing, we would have to slaughter the entire bar.” The mad vampire’s eyes lit up with a hungry delight. “No,” said Miranda firmly. She stood. “We take a bartender.”
There were two bartenders working tonight, one blond with a rainbow of pride rings on a choker around his neck, one brunette in a leather vest. Miranda chose the blonde. He gave her a friendly, quirky smile as she walked up to the bar. “What can I get you?”
She smiled back. Solomon had told her once that her entire face changed when she smiled, that it almost came back to life. “What have you got on tap?”
The bartender named four or five beers, some she remembered from her university days, some she had never gotten around to trying. She never would now. One of the beers had the ironic name of “Old Nick’s Red.” Miranda ordered four pints of it. “It’s busy in here tonight.”
“Nobody wants to mourn John alone.” He gestured with his head as he poured the beer. A sort of makeshift shrine had been set up at one end of the bar, a photograph of the man the pack had killed, with flowers, a basket for donations, and a petition urging the government to crack down on hate crimes. Impulsively, Miranda dropped a ten-dollar bill in the basket and signed the petition. That earned her another smile from the bartender.
“Thanks.” He set down the first two pints. “Do you want me to bring these to your table?”
“No, it’s okay. What time do you get off tonight?” The bartender laughed. “If you mean what time does the bar close, we stop serving booze at one o’clock, but I have to stay around until two or three. If you mean what time could you talk me into going out with you,” he looked away from the beer tap just long enough to flash her a glance, “I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“I don’t think so.” She caught his gaze and held it. “You look really tired. You should leave early tonight. Go home. Get some rest.”
“That... might be a good idea.” The bartender’s eyes became unfocused as her will laid itself over his. “It’s been a long day.”
Miranda nodded, maintaining eye contact. She had him. “It has. I bet by one-thirty this place will be so quiet, one bartender could look after it all.”
“Yeah,” the bartender replied distantly. Then he twitched and yelped, his attention going back to the tap as beer spilled over the edge of the full pint glass and foam went dripping down his hand. “Shit.” He grabbed a towel and wiped the sides and bottom of the glass.
“Sorry,” Miranda murmured, “I was distracting you.” “No,” the bartender said, as if they had been doing nothing more than flirting, “it was my fault.” He put the glass down and started filling a fourth. “That’s eighteen dollars.”
Miranda dug out a twenty and a couple of crumpled twos. “Keep the change.” A nice tip. He might as well feel good while he had some time left.
“Thanks.” He looked up at her again, then his glance flickered to the side, to a second woman who had just come up to the bar. A short woman with long, brown hair. “Hey, Tango.”
“Hi, Todd. Have you heard anything about Riley or his friend?”
“Sorry.” .
“Damn.” The woman sounded frustrated and depressed. “Do you have Toby on tap?”
“Sure do.” ’
“Give me a pint.”
The bartender nodded. He finished pouring Miranda’s last pint and passed it to her. “There you go. Do you need a tray?”
“No, thanks.” Miranda gathered the four glasses carefully between her hands. With a last sideways look at the short woman, she started back to the pack’s table.
Tango. A strange name, but one she had seen somewhere before. She tried to remember where. It came back to her. A notice on the message board by Hopeful’s door. She turned her head to look for it, but the bright blue paper was gone. Someone had torn it down. There hadn’t been much on it anyway: Tango looking for a man named Riley, Riley’s description, leave a message with Todd at the bar. Not that Tango was likely to have much luck finding her friend. Missing-persons rates were always high in cities held by the Sabbat. Police success rates in solving missing-persons cases were usually very low.
There was something odd about the woman herself as well. There was an intensity about her, the odor of her body and her blood transcending smell and becoming an almost tangible energy in spite of her obvious exhaustion. An energy that made Miranda think a hand run through Tango’s hair would create the snap and crackle of static electricity. An energy that made her own undead veins hum and vibrate. She set the beers down on the pack’s table. “The bartender is going to leave at one-thirty. We’ll go out a bit earlier, wait, and follow him home.”
Blue looked at the beer with faint amusement. “What are we supposed to do with these?”
“Pretend you’re having a good time. It’s called Old
Nick’s Red.”
“Cool!” Tolly picked up his beer and chugged it back in one very long swallow, then smacked his lips. “Disappointing.” He belched thunderously.
Matt shivered with disgust. “Try to make it to the bathroom before that comes back up.” He raised an eyebrow as Miranda took her glass and turned back to the bar. “And where are you going?”
“I haven’t fed yet tonight.”
“That little number that just came in?” Matt nodded. “Not my cup of tea, but probably the only person in this place that you’d stand a good chance with.”
“Thank you, Matt.” She took his beer and shoved it over to Tolly. “Here,” she said sweetly, “I don’t think Matt’s going to want this. Why don’t you have another?”
She walked away from the table before she could witness the effects of Tolly’s drinking. It wouldn’t be pretty.
Tango had moved away from the bar and stood at a counter, caught between a bunch of rowdy pretty boys and a pair of big, muscular men who were necking as if they were vampires themselves. The other woman was staring blankly at a television monitor mounted up near the ceiling. There was some kind of soft porn video playing, but Tango didn’t seem to be seeing it at all. Miranda caught the eye of one of the muscle men and dismissed him with a quick flick of her head. He pulled his partner away to another part of the bar. Miranda stepped in and took their spot next to Tango. For a few minutes she just stood there, pretending to sip her beer and watching the monitor silently.
“You know,” she said finally, “I just don’t understand what they see in this stuff.”
Tango blinked. “Sorry?”
“I don’t understand what they see in this stuff.” Miranda gestured toward the monitor. “It’s just mindless and repetitive. It’s the same thing, over and over again.” “So’s baseball.” Tango took a swallow of her beer, a black, tarry liquid with a thick head. “And you could see that,” she added, as the scene on the monitor changed to show a well-built man rubbing his crotch, “at a baseball game, too.”
Miranda laughed, half a put-on, half real appreciation of Tango’s joke. She held out her hand. “I’m Miranda.”
“Tango.”
“I know. I heard...” she fumbled for the bartender’s name, “Todd talking to you. And I saw your message when I came in tonight.”
Tango looked at her sharply for the first time. “Do you come here often? I’m looking for a friend: red hair, glasses, geeky....”
“Named Riley. No, sorry. I saw the notice, but that’s it. I hope you find him.”
“Too bad somebody pulled the notice down.” Tango frowned as she took another drink.
The short woman almost sounded paranoid. “Maybe they know him,” suggested Miranda.
“But they didn’t go to Todd.” Tango sighed. Miranda took the opportunity to move a little closer to Tango, enjoying the thrill of the hunt. “You’re not from Toronto, are you?”
“No.” Tango put her glass down. Miranda waited for her to say something else, then prompted her gently.
“Where are you from?”
“Alberta originally. Red Deer. Most recently, though, San Francisco.”
“Nice city.” Miranda tried to dredge up long-ago memories of a trip there with her old high school band. “I love the trolley cars.”
“Cable cars,” Tango corrected. “It is a nice place. Very different from Toronto.”
Miranda put her glass to her mouth, letting a little beer wash past her lips then back out. The taste was nauseating. “So what brings you here?”
“Oh, holidays. And looking for Riley, now.” She laughed quietly and bitterly.. “I just can’t seem to get away from this city.”
“Toronto has that effect on some people.”
That made Tango snort with sour amusement. She picked up her glass again and raised it in a toast. “Then here’s to Toronto the Good!” She tossed back the last few mouthfuls of beer.
Miranda smiled. Tango was going to be easy prey. The smell of the small woman tickled Miranda’s nostrils. Tango’s skin was quite pale, and she could imagine the rich blood that flowed just beneath it. She forced herself to stop thinking about that before the lust for blood overcame her in the middle of the bar. “Let me buy you another,” she offered.
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on. You look like you need it.”
Tango sighed. “Give it up.” She looked straight ahead, staring at the monitor again. “Believe me, I wouldn’t agree with you.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda fought to keep suspicion off her face.
Still staring ahead, Tango brought two fingers up to her mouth, crooked them, and wiggled them in front of her canines. Fangs. Miranda’s own mouth closed sharply. Tango nodded. “You wouldn’t like me. My blood does all kinds of nasty things to vampires. Hallucinations, especially.”
Miranda hissed. The other woman was no more human than she was! The odd energy that clung to her should have told the vampire that. She took a step back, wondering how long it would take for the rest of the pack to reach her if she needed them. “What are you?”
“Stop that.” Tango didn’t even turn. “I’m not going to put a stake through your heart, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m a Kithain.” Miranda tried to place the term, but couldn’t. Tango snorted, a little bit contemptuously. “A changeling. Are you Camarilla or Sabbat?”
Miranda bit back a snarl. “Sabbat. How did you know?”
“I’ve been around. Vampires aren’t that hard to spot close up if you know what to look for. For starters, you’re not actually breathing, and you’re not really drinking your beer. And the two guys who were here disappeared awfully conveniently for you to move in.” She paused, then said, “If you promise not to try and hypnotize me, or whatever it is you do, I’ll turn around.”
“Why should I?” Miranda growled.
“Mostly because I’d like to talk to you. And it’s not easy to do that when I can’t look at you.”
Miranda glanced toward the back of the bar where Tolly, Matt and Blue sat. They were out of sight, hidden by an outthrust wall and an intervening pillar. “All
right, 1 promise.”
“Thank you.” Tango turned around and looked up at her. The changeling was several inches shorter than she was. Miranda looked her over appraisingly. Aside from the strange smell of energy that she had, there was nothing to distinguish her from a normal human. Miranda wondered what Matt would sense around the small woman. She had heard fragmentary stories about changelings and what happened to vampires who drank their blood. Most went mad. Some died in lunatic raving. A few... a few ended up doing things that were simply impossible. One vampire had supposedly ended up wandering around in broad daylight, drunk on changeling blood and firmly believing that it was nighttime. The strange thing was that he had survived. He had walked a full day in sunlight and come back to his wits at dusk with no worse damage than a suntan.
Tango withstood her scrutiny for several minutes before asking sarcastically, “Haven’t you ever seen a Kithain before?”
“No,” Miranda admitted. “You’re the first.” “Really?” She seemed mildly surprised. “There’s a whole court of Kithain in Toronto.”
Miranda blinked. “Where?” She could hardly believe it when Tango said Yorkville. “Our pack goes through there all the time.”
“We’re sort of like vampires. You have to know what you’re looking for. So...” Tango considered Miranda with equal scrutiny. “Did you have anything to do with this murder last night?”
“No,” Miranda lied coolly, suddenly mistrusting the changeling. “You’ve heard the reports, haven’t you? He was beaten to death. Would a vampire do that?”
Tango was silent for a moment. “I suppose not. It just seems like an odd coincidence for you to be here....” “One of my pack is gay. He likes to hang out in Hopeful.” Part truth, part lie. Matt preferred to hang out around the frat boys that he fed on.
“Does he?” Desperation showed in Tango’s face. “Did he see my notice when you came in? Does he know Riley or a blond guy he might have been with here?”
“I don’t think so.” Another lie, of course, since Matt didn’t really know Hopeful. In fact, he had laughed at the notice. Tango’s mouth twisted in disappointment. Miranda almost felt sorry for her. “Who is Riley?”
“A friend. Another Kithain. A pooka, if that means anything to you. He’s got himself mixed up in something and vanished.” She looked into the bottom of her empty glass. “He’s been kidnapped.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” A smaller lie, but still a lie. Kidnapping and vanished people were commonplace among the Sabbat. Miranda supposed that she had become used to the idea. She had been kidnapped the night she was made into a vampire; she was probably still on a missing-persons list buried somewhere in a police file. “I hope you find him. Any clues?”
“Maybe.” Tango rapped her glass against the top of the counter. The overwhelming frustration that had been on her face when she first entered Hopeful returned. “I just can’t get to them.”
“Police records? Computer files?”
“The airport.” Tango bared her teeth angrily. “Did you know that the fucking Toronto airport is not in Toronto?” She lifted her glass and hurled it against the nearest wall. “It’s not in Toronto!” she screamed.
Hopeful was suddenly silent. Everyone turned to stare at Tango as she stood white-faced and rigid, glaring at the broken glass. Miranda stared at it for a moment as well, fighting down the instinct to respond to violence with violence. She put her hand on Tango’s arm. “Let’s go outside.”
“No,” Tango hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m staying here. I’m fine.”
Miranda smiled at the bar staff who were coming to investigate. “It’s okay,” she told them. “We’re leaving. Right, Tango?” The Kithain didn’t respond. “Right?” asked Miranda again.
The changeling took a deep breath. “No,” she said with icy control. “I’m fine.” She pulled away.
Miranda grabbed for her. “I really think it’s time to
go-”
“No.” Abruptly, Tango spit twice onto the stained floor of the bar. The energy around her changed, as though suddenly condensing into her body. Her arm under Miranda’s hand seemed to shift. It felt tougher, harder, tight bands of muscle moving under leathery skin. Tango pushed Miranda away with a strength that surprised the taller woman for a moment. Tango wasn’t the only one who was stronger than she looked, however. Miranda fought back with vampire strength, trying to force the changeling to turn around. If she could, all she would have to do would be to look into her eyes and the fight would be over. They would be out of the bar in moments. But Tango was fast as well as strong. Miranda tried to grab for her twice and missed. She wondered what it all looked like to the humans in Hopeful. Just two women struggling?
Then Tango made a mistake, driving her elbow back into Miranda’s abdomen, a move that would have knocked the air out of a human and left her on the floor, gasping for breath. It didn’t bother Miranda in the slightest, but she feigned weakness, letting her grip on the changeling go slack. Tango started to pull away... and Miranda slid around her, got one hand under her chin, and forced her face up. Tango had beautiful, sharp brown eyes. “Outside!” Miranda ordered her. “Go outside!”
Tango’s will was fiercely strong. Miranda’s was stronger. The changeling’s eyes didn’t go distant the way that the bartender’s had, but her body obeyed Miranda’s commands. Tango turned and walked out of Hopeful. The bar staff stood aside to let her pass. Miranda went after her. “Sorry,” she apologized to the staff.
“Glasses are cheap,” said Todd. “Make sure she gets home all right.”
Tango was waiting for Miranda on the steps of the bar. She was outside, but that was as far as Miranda’s orders had taken her. “You promised not to do that!” she growled roughly.
“I’m sorry, but you didn’t leave me much choice. Did you want to make a scene — or more of a scene?”
“I’ve never known Sabbat vampires to turn away from making a scene before.”
Miranda paused. Why had she stopped Tango from causing a disturbance? It would have been nothing to the pack. The others would probably have enjoyed it, in fact. Except, she decided, that a fight would have compromised the secrecy that Solomon wanted. A brawl would probably have meant a call to the police and the pack’s faces linked to Hopeful. Yes, that was it. Solomon would be pleased with her foresight. She faced down Tango’s angry glare. “The Sabbat knows when not to fight.” Miranda walked down the steps to the sidewalk, motioning Tango after her. “Come on.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Miranda looked back up at the changeling stubbornly rooted by the door. “You can’t go back inside. Unless you want to stay where you are now, you have to come down sooner or later.” She sat down on the steps of the restaurant, now closed, next door. “What’s the big deal about the airport? It’s only in Mississauga. You can get a taxi there.”
“You don’t understand.” Tango was tense for a moment longer, then her head fell forward and her shoulders slumped. She came down the steps of the bar and seated herself beside Miranda. “I can’t leave Toronto. I’ve been cursed.”
“Mississauga and the airport are just on the other side of a highway from Toronto. It’s practically part of Toronto. The boundaries aren’t even marked.” Miranda frowned. Some vampires of the Sabbat dabbled in ritual, and, of course, she had seen Solomon’s human magick at work, but she had never heard of a curse that could be so finely tuned.
“This is Kithain magic. It doesn’t have to make sense
— it’s part of our nature.” Tango pushed her hands through her hair. “Every time I try to get to the airport, I start to choke. I can’t breathe.” She rubbed her neck. “It’s like somebody is strangling me. I can drive past the airport, I can see the signs telling me which terminal to go to, but if I turn off the highway and onto the airport grounds, I feel like I’m going to die. Same if I try to get a taxi — and I have. From the other side of the highway. Driver looked at me like I was crazy when I told him to turn around.”
“Can’t you just get the curse removed? Aren’t there ways to do that?”
Tango shook her head. “The short story? No. I can’t. If I try to, I’m in trouble with the duke of Toronto.” “The duke of Toronto?”
“The Kithain duke. You vampires really are insular, aren’t you? Do you ever pay attention to anything that goes on outside your own dark afterlife?”
“If it’s important.” Miranda looked out along the street. It was quiet and still a little muggy. Occasionally a car would drive past, its headlights blinding, or a knot of people would come out of a bar, breaking up like an amoeba to go their separate ways. “I bet I know more about Toronto than you do.”
“I bet I know more about the world and the way it works. Which is more important?”
“Since you’re stuck here?” Miranda turned her head to regard Tango again. “I’d say Toronto. Like knowing that if you’re cursed to stay in Toronto, you’re lucky to make it as far as the edge of Mississauga. That’s the border of Metro Toronto. The city of Toronto ends about halfway there.”
Tango was silent. After a moment, she said, “I’m sorry, Miranda. I shouldn’t have said that.” She sighed. “Kithain aren’t much better. I think I managed to piss off every one of them here before I found out what kind of trouble Riley was in. And humans.... Well, it’s just not the same. Most of them haven’t got a clue about what the world’s like. It’s nice to have someone who I can talk to and know they’ll at least understand.” She stuck out her hand. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I’m a little too edgy for my own good right now.”
“No problem.” Miranda shook the proffered hand.
The changeling’s gratitude felt as warm as her touch. Miranda found herself smiling. “So what exactly is it that you need at the airport?”
“Riley’s luggage. It’s at the Lost and Found. He... well, let’s just say that basically he disappeared after checking his bags at the airport in San Francisco. He may have been on the airplane with me, transformed into a little girl.” *
Miranda’s eyebrows rose. “That’s...” Impossible? The word came to her tongue easily, but since her own change into a vampire, she knew that very little was truly impossible. Tolly distorted his body totally unconsciously. Blue knew vampires who could take on the shapes of bats and wolves, and even clouds of mist. Solomon sometimes spoke of learning to shapechange. And there were the Garou, werewolves, for whom shapeshifting was a part of their very identity. “That’s strange. 1 didn’t think it was... easy to transform one person into another.”
“It’s not. I’ve heard of it being done. But not so quickly — it took weeks of sculpting the person’s body and rearranging their entire mind. It must have happened to Riley in the space of about an hour or less.” Tango fiddled with a ring on her finger. “I still don’t know who did this to him. They searched his apartment already and stole the information that might have identified them. There might be something in his luggage. If I could get to it.”
“I could...” Miranda bit off her words. What was she doing? Tango had started out as prey — she should stay that way, or maybe become a distant contact, someone to be exploited when the need arose. She should not become a friend! Miranda was a vampire of the Sabbat.
She chose her allies by what they could do for her, not what she could do for them! “I could get it for you,” she said gruffly, “for a price.”
Tango looked at her. “Could you? I don’t have any money on me.”
“For a favor. You’ll owe me.” A favor owed by a changeling would be good. “I have my own car. Where is the Lost and Found?”
“Terminal two. They’re open until midnight.” Tango’s eyes were alive with hope. “It’s too late now, but first thing tomorrow night? Would you?”
“If nothing comes up that I have to do with the pack.”
Tango’s smile was dazzling and ecstatic. “Thank you, Miranda!” She grabbed the vampire and pulled her into a hug. “Oh god, thank you!” She let her go and stood up. “The luggage is for Riley Stanton, flight 2800 from San Francisco. The person who called about the bags didn’t say what you’d need to pick them up. If you need a letter or something, I can...”
Miranda smirked back. “Getting them to give me the luggage won’t be a problem. Trust me.”
“I don’t suppose it would be a problem, would it?” She dug a card out of her pocket. “This is the address of Riley’s apartment and his phone number. I’m staying there. Bring the bags by as soon as you can. Miranda, you don’t know how much this means.”
“Oh, I do. And don’t think that I won’t collect.” Miranda allowed her smirk to soften a bit, relaxing into a smile. “Go home, Tango. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Tango shook her hand then, pulled her up into another hug. “Thank you, Miranda.” The changeling let her go and walked away down the street. Miranda watched her walk into the shadows, then turned to go back into Hopeful.
Tolly stood at the top of the steps to the bar, watching her.
Miranda stared at him for a moment, surprised and angry. “Where did you come from?” she spat.
‘“E bafroom,” Tolly mumbled in response. “I forrowe’ you ou’.”
There was something odd about his face, about the way he was holding his mouth — odder than usual, anyway. Miranda looked at him with narrowed eyes. “What have you done to your mouth, Tolly?”
The mad vampire grinned broadly and let his tongue loll out. He had driven a thin spike of metal through it, one of the few pieces of his anatomy that had not been pierced before. Miranda thought she recognized the spike. It had been pushed through the skin just under his chin before. Miranda curled her lips in disgust. “How much did you hear?”
“You’re going ‘o ‘e airpor’ ‘o ge’ bags for ‘e ‘an...” Tolly stumbled over the word. Miranda saw a little trickle of blood as the spike poked against the roof of his mouth, “...for ‘e ‘an-gring....”
She cut him off, barely able to understand what he was saying. “All right. Enough.” She climbed up the stairs and gave him a hard glance. “You didn’t hear anything.”
tcj »
“Don’t talk. It’s disgusting.” She caught his face between her thumb and forefinger, pinching it. “You didn’t hear anything. You saw me feed on the woman from the bar, then send her away. That’s it. Understand?” He nodded. “Good.”
Miranda went hack into the bar. Fortunately, even if Tolly did say something about Tango, neither of the others would be able to understand what he was saying anyway. She didn’t want Matt and Blue to know about the changeling. Tango was her secret, her ally. Her... friend? Miranda clenched her teeth. Whatever Tango was, she was a welcome change from other vampires!
Matt and Blue were still sitting at their table. Wet rings on the table showed that they had at least moved their glasses of beer around, even if they hadn’t actually drunk any. “Well?” asked Matt. “Did you feed well?” “Well enough.”
“What was the commotion?”
“I was playing with my food.”
Blue snorted, then glanced at Tolly. “And you took your time. Did you make it to the bathroom?”
Tolly rocked his hand back and forth. “Yeah an’ no. Ra’ies room.” He patted his face with an effeminate, fluttering motion. “Pow’ere’ my ‘ose.”
“What?” Blue looked at the mad vampire sharply. “What the hell have you...?”
“He pierced his tongue.” Miranda almost smiled as Tolly stuck his tongue out and made Matt flinch in disgust. “What have you two been doing?”
“Waiting for you.” Blue tapped his wrist and the big, heavy watch he wore. “It’s almost one-thirty. Are we going to leave before your bartender or what?”
Todd. Tango knew him. Miranda hesitated. If the pack killed Todd, Tango would be suspicious. But the pack had to kill tonight and satisfy Solomon’s commands. For the first time in several years, Miranda found herself reluctant to kill a human. She made her decision and stood. “He’s off. We’ll go to another bar
and find someone else.”
“What?” Matt’s jaw dropped. “After all the time you took deciding here? What’s the matter with him, all of a sudden? Has he recently acquired a friend? Is he suddenly too big for us to handle?”
Miranda glared back at him. “No. I just changed my mind. Fair enough?”
“No, it isn’t.” Matt rose to his feet as well. “We had him picked out, we had this planned, and you just decide to change your mind? The Sabbat isn’t an autocracy, Miri.”
“Are you challenging me, Matt?” hissed Miranda. “Do you want to lead the pack? You’re welcome to try and take it from me.”
Matt bared his fangs in a snarl. “Maybe I am. Maybe...”
Blue reached over and grabbed Matt’s coat, yanking him back into his seat. “Not here!” He looked around. “I don’t think anybody saw that.” The big vampire glanced up at Miranda. “We’re not challenging you, Miri—”
“Speak for yourself,” Matt muttered. Blue gave him a deadly stare, then turned back to Miranda.
“We’re not challenging you, but Matt’s right. We had this planned. It’s a good plan. We should stick with it. Unless you can give us a good reason for dropping it.”
She couldn’t, Miranda knew. She had no good reason except for wanting to hide their involvement in the murders from Tango. She closed her eyes, releasing her anger. She had no choice. “All right.” Miranda opened her eyes again. “The pack has spoken. We take the bartender.”
“Good.” Matt bounced up from his seat again, eager for the kill. Miranda found herself wanting to kill him. “Time check, Blue?”
“One-twenty'five.”
“Lots of time.” Matt led them out of Hopeful. Miranda walked last.
She spared Todd a glance as they passed the bar. He caught her eye and smiled at her. She looked away and hoped that Tango never found out. She had tried.