Suze called me back late the following morning, as I was driving down to Newport and feeling the burn in my shoulders from having to shovel the majority of the parking lot out by myself, Dan only being able to shovel with me for a short time before he had to leave for class.
“Hey there, Mr. Thirty-seven Text Messages,” she said, amusement clear in her voice. “I hear that you got up to some shenanigans last night.”
“Yeah, I did, thanks for asking.” I was feeling distinctly grumpy, and I hadn’t even laid eyes on Prudence and Chivalry yet. “Do I even dare ask why you weren’t answering your phone?”
“Urban chicken-hunting.” She was obviously feeling very pleased with herself and life. “There’s a rooster half a mile away from my grandmother’s house, and we took him out last night.”
I sighed heavily. “Suze, you have access to sharp weaponry and opposable thumbs. I’m not feeling impressed right now.”
“Don’t denigrate the ways of my people, Fort. This was done entirely on four feet. And let me tell you, that rooster’s owner probably lost his shit when he saw that we’d gotten into his coop. That guy had it locked up tighter than Mother Teresa’s panties.”
“I’m not even Catholic, and I found that offensive.”
She ignored me. “Four different layers of wire, Fort! Four! And a layer that ran under the coop itself, so that we couldn’t dig our way in. Plus a surveillance system. This is a person who is serious about his omelets, man friend.”
I paused, picturing this kind of backyard setup in a town like Exeter. “Okay, that’s starting to sound somewhat impressive. But can I at least tell you about my night first, before you tell me about the great rooster heist?”
“Fine,” she grumbled, “though I got the gist of most of it through your test messages. Also, emoticons, Fort? Really, it’s all about emojis now.”
I spent the rest of my drive filling her in, finishing just as I drove through the E-ZPass lane on the Claiborne Pell Bridge and spared a moment to consider exactly what kind of toll bill was currently racking up for me. It was not a comforting thought.
“So?” I asked her. “What’s your thought on all this?”
“That’s some pretty deep shit you’re wading in right now,” she said.
I waited.
She said nothing.
I waited some more.
Finally I said, “That’s all you have to add to this? I’m about to go in and present this crap situation to my siblings and attempt to actually address this and get tangible decisions made, and you’ve got absolutely nothing for me.”
“Oh, crap, you were expecting actual help?”
I rubbed my jaw and regretted not bringing a bag of carrots with me. “If it’s not too much trouble for you, yeah,” I said sarcastically.
“Get them drunk. I’m not sure what vampire age does to alcohol tolerance, so you’re going to want to find a way to get Prudence to drink at least three full bottles of brandy. At that point, she’ll probably agree to whatever you suggest.”
“I’m going to hang the phone up right now.”
“That might be the best way out for both of us at this point. But if you come up with some kind of solution that involves punching, remember that I’m your girl.”
* * *
Sitting around the sofas in the drawing room, with a toasty fire roaring away in the fireplace and a thoughtfully provided selection of hummus and cold vegetables, I told Prudence and Chivalry about my meeting with Lilah and Cole, with a few careful edits. I didn’t mention the threat against Ambrose at all, or my meeting with Valentine. Even if the thought had been in my mind, the complete train wreck of the Neighbor conversation would’ve prevented it.
“After what happened in the autumn, the Ad-hene are lucky that we restricted their punishment to slicing off things that will grow back,” Prudence growled, slamming her teacup down onto the coffee table with enough force to send tea sloshing through cracks in the china, which she ignored as she shoved to her feet and started pacing the room. “And now they actually have the balls to make requests of us? Clearly Chivalry didn’t cut enough off.”
“This isn’t coming from the Ad-hene,” I said, for at least the fifth time. “This is a group of the younger Neighbors who are making separate decisions, and need to be regarded as a different group entirely.”
“Fortitude, I know that you’re fond of Lilah Dwyer, and that she was helpful to both you and Prudence during your investigations, but I really think that you need to take that with a grain of salt,” Chivalry said, looking irritated. “The Ad-hene have always kept a tight control over their scions, and I find it rather hard to imagine that something is occurring that I’ve never seen before in the entire time that the Ad-hene have been within our borders.”
“The situation is different,” I insisted, feeling the distinct urge to tear my hair out. “Lavinia Leamaro’s success in creating more than just half-breed offspring has created a whole group of Neighbors in their twenties who are different than any generation that came before them, and thanks to a real push on their breeding program, this is also a group that has a significant numbers advantage. It’s a change in the basic demographics of this group, Chivalry, and you just can’t keep ignoring that.”
“If the numbers are the problem, then we can take care of that.” Prudence flicked an imaginary piece of dirt off the sleeve of her cream sweater and took a moment to adjust the level of one of the paintings. “They want approved witch assistance to continue this breeding program of theirs? We simply forbid the witches to even go near the elves for a minimum of twenty years. That should teach the Ad-hene a lesson that will finally make an impression, since apparently ball slicing didn’t.”
“We’re not talking about the Ad-hene here, Prudence,” I said, my voice raising. “And this other group isn’t even a problem—it could be a good thing if we would just work with them, rather than refusing to acknowledge that they even exist.”
“Perhaps we could find a compromise here,” Chivalry interjected. “We could put a yearly quota on how many times a witch could assist with a changeling conception, which would put some control on this numbers increase and also reemphasize who is in control here.”
“A quota? On something as basic as reproduction?” I stared at my brother, my jaw dropping. “And that will in some way settle this issue? That’s just going to throw fuel on the fire. Besides, they’re asking us to intercede to reassure the witches, not because they actually even need our permission for something like this. We don’t forbid the races to interact, after all. They can do business with each other without our okay.”
“They should’ve asked us, regardless,” Prudence said icily. “And as for collecting their changelings all at once, I’m not sure we should be letting them engage the services of the kitsune at all.”
“What do you mean?” My head was beginning to pound, and I wasn’t sure I could blame even part of it on my teething issues. “Collecting the changelings earlier is a good idea—it would result in more emotionally stable adults.”
“I strongly doubt that,” Prudence snorted. “There’s madness in that blood, Fort. I would trust in nature over nurture. The only thing that collecting the changelings early will do is stir this group up even more, and provide a financial windfall for the kitsune that they frankly do not need.”
My expression must’ve been a sight to behold, because Chivalry gave a heavy sigh, put his coffee cup down gently, and said, “Sister, in the possibility, however remote, that Fort is right about there being separate groups, we could act in a way that shows our willingness to be generous, despite past indiscretions. What if we drop the allowed collection age from fourteen to thirteen? I think that could be a workable compromise to your two positions.”
I sputtered, and I couldn’t hide the anger in my voice. “Fourteen to thirteen? Chivalry, that’s not a change—that’s just the status quo wrapped up with a pretty bow.” By the end, I was nearly yelling.
Chivalry’s face darkened, and the pupils of his eyes flared, all clear signs that his own temper was now well and thoroughly engaged. “And what’s wrong with the status quo, Fortitude? And you as well, Prudence?” He turned to include her, clearly surprising Prudence, who had been standing back and enjoying our argument. “Mother’s system has worked more than well for many years, yet all either of you wants to do is change things that would be better left alone.” Chivalry shoved himself to his feet and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to rattle all the cups and cutlery, as well as a dozen porcelain figurines.
Prudence and I both stared after Chivalry, mute with wonder. Over the past days we had each stormed out of the room multiple times, but Chivalry had been the one with patience, the one arguing for the middle path, coaxing us back to the table and reminding us of the critical importance of working together. Through the bond we shared, I could feel Chivalry leaving the house, and then quickly fading into the distance.
I looked over at Prudence, who was looking deeply thoughtful at our brother’s action. She slowly slid her blue eyes over to me and raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’d say that we’re adjourning early today.” She checked the clock on the mantelpiece, and looked pleased. “I might actually be able to get some real work done today at the office, thank heavens.” And with that she strolled out the door.
I looked down at the wreckage on the table, Prudence’s teacup continuing to slowly ooze tea onto its saucer, and the overloaded saucer dribbling onto the rest of the tray. I got up slowly to my feet. Despite my brother’s longing for the old ways, those just hadn’t worked either. I walked down to the office, where I caught up with Loren Noka while she was sorting through the mail. Between the tithing money coming in, the general business of being a hugely wealthy family with fingers in lots of pies, and issues that pertained to the supernatural community, mail sorting was actually something entrusted only to the most high-level staff members.
She smiled at me as I came in, and held up a beautifully embossed invitation. “Any interest in a black-tie charity dinner, Fort?” she asked. “Just five thousand dollars a plate.”
I snorted. “Suze will have to content herself with going to the movies and paying for her own ticket.” I glanced over the invite. “But put it at the top of Chivalry’s pile. He loves those things, and it’ll perk him up when he finally comes back.”
Loren’s face was very professionally neutral, but there was no hiding that she knew the extent to which things were backing up. She tacitly said nothing, just putting the embossed invitation to one side.
“Loren, you know where the files on witches who want to change residence are, right?”
She nodded. “That was something that your brother would generally go over every quarter or so with your mother, but of course I know where they are.” She paused. “Did you want to see them?”
“If you have a moment, I’d appreciate it.”
Loren looked a bit surprised, but, with that incredible professional decorum, she restrained herself from asking any questions as she led me to a corner filing cabinet and pulled open a drawer. The files were as carefully organized as everything else in the office (clearly Loren would tolerate nothing less), but there was no hiding it—there were a lot of requests for movement, and judging by the dates listed, not much of an effort to get timely responses back to people.
After taking a minute to walk me through the system they were using, Loren politely excused herself and left to head back to her own personal workstation in the smaller support office that had previously been the mansion’s music room, back in the days before radio, when entertainment had either been hired in or the family had suffered through Prudence’s very tortured piano playing. (In fairness, Chivalry was just as weak on the harp.)
I sorted through the files. Luckily for me, they were organized by intended location, so I just flipped my way over to the P section and began poking around. Lots of students trying to get to college, and individual witches who had just been forced to leave the family group because they’d hit the age of twenty-two, and were trying to get to a city that could promise potential work plus livable rates of rent. None of those were what I needed, so I continued sorting until I’d pulled out the files for the families that were trying to move here. What I was hoping for was a family that had already had their application in, so that I could just get Chivalry to approve it, then shove through paperwork for Ambrose and his family that put them in the newly created opening wherever the other family was from. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but I was pretty certain that Ambrose would take a blind move over possible death by elfling, even if it meant moving to Bangor.
There were three in total, and once I was sure that I had all of them, I pulled out my phone and called Valentine. He picked up immediately, and I could hear him apologizing his way out of an appointment. As soon as he gave me the okay to talk, I read through the list of families who had official requests in. Pulling open each folder further, though, revealed that all of them had already received some attention—on the second page, next to biographical information, was a clear stamp—LOCATION AT CAPACITY.
“What the hell?” I muttered. “This isn’t just backlog.”
“How big are the families that were trying to come in?” Valentine asked.
I checked. “Um. . . . smallest one has five members. Two adults, one dependent elder, two children.”
“Yeah, the cities are hard to get into. If you’re born in Boston, say, you get grandfathered in, but the old quotas for how many witches can live in an area were set over two hundred years ago, and they don’t exactly reflect current population density, or the growth of the witch population, or even that we just don’t stick out as very weird anymore, especially in cities. A lot of people end up in the suburbs or rural spots and having pretty long commutes, even though we actually are a bit more at risk for exposure in little communities where our neighbors get to know us too well.” Valentine paused. “I can see what you’re trying to do, Fort, but isn’t there any way to just convince your brother or sister to do an emergency approval of moving Ambrose and his family? I know that there are lots of open spots in Manitoba.” From Valentine’s tone, that was a fate preferable to death—but not by much.
“Asking them to actually agree with me on something is not exactly going to work, especially today,” I said grimly. I paused and considered the files, flipping around. Behind the transfer requests was the overall listing of witch locations, divided by town and city, with a precise number of residents beside each name.
Numbers. Not who, just the total. I could feel the seed of an idea start tugging at my brain. I paused, felt at the edges of it. Trying to do anything behind my siblings’ back had an element of danger to it, especially with witches, who my sister was always eager to kill. But if I could do this in a way that kept it completely under the radar from her, and never produced a paper trail that she’d notice, it would be safe. Or at least, as safe as it could be.
“Valentine,” I asked, “do you know a family of three that would be okay with moving to Providence? Or even just three people from the same town who would be okay with moving? Doesn’t matter if they live together, they just need to be from the same location.”
“Oh . . . so like a swap?”
“Exactly. Three people come into Providence, at the same time that three people from Providence replace their number from the origin location. If we do it fast, then the reported numbers won’t change at all, and no one at the top over here will even register that something happened.”
“Let me think. . . .”
I could hear a rustling of paper over at Valentine’s end, and pictured him shifting through piles of notes.
“Oh, okay, here’s something. I was talking to a young couple in northern Vermont. New baby, and they lost the primary income a couple of months ago and haven’t been able to replace it. Things are pretty sluggish up there. They would like to move to an urban area, but they haven’t even bothered putting in a transfer request because they knew they weren’t going to get it.”
“Family of three, Vermont, perfect. What’s the name?” I wrote it down quickly. “Listen, I need you to call them right now. They can come to Providence, but it has to happen right now. We’re going to switch these two families, and everyone needs to be in their new area by tomorrow morning. Tell everyone to pack just the things that they need—fill up their cars, rent a trailer, I don’t care, but they’re on the road. They can stay wherever the other family was living while they figure out other housing. If they’re going to sell, go somewhere else, all those details can wait, and they’ll finish the packing for the other family.”
“I know that Ambrose and his wife will do this, but . . .” Valentine hesitated. “I can’t promise things for the Vermont couple. This is pretty sudden, and they don’t have a death threat like Ambrose heating things up.”
“Then you need to call them up and convince them,” I said, knowing that I was being a hard-ass here but knowing no other way. “This is their one chance to get to a city, and I’ll be honest, this offer probably won’t be on the table tomorrow. If they want to move, it has to be now.”
“They’ll want to hear this from you, Fort. They’ll need a Scott’s confirmation, beyond what I’m saying.”
“Give them my number, then. When they call, I’ll tell them myself. Now get this moving—everyone needs to be hitting the road either tonight or in the wee hours tomorrow, and we need to do this as quietly as we can.”
I knew that Valentine was mulling it over, that this wasn’t what he’d expected, but when he said, “Okay. I’ll make the call,” I knew that he would make it happen.
We exchanged good-byes and hung up. I wrote down the names of both families, then swallowed hard. I’d had adrenaline in my favor when I told Valentine what to do, but now I had to do my part, and hope that things worked. Because if they didn’t, I knew that I’d have both my siblings breathing down my necks, and both Ambrose and the Neighbors would have a lot more attention focused on them then they could really afford right now.
I went to Loren’s desk, where she was working at her computer. One of the human accountants was out of the room, and the other had on a set of seventies-style vintage headphones and was apparently rocking her spreadsheets out to Black Sabbath, judging by the portions of sound that I could hear even across the room. Taking advantage of the momentary privacy, I handed Loren the paper with both names on it.
“Loren,” I said softly, looking her directly in the eye and hoping that what I’d seen in her during the trip down to the succubi was something real. “I need you to swap these two witch files. Off the books, just move the files.” If the files had solely been print, then I would’ve done it myself, but there were backup lists on the computers that were used to make up the tithing lists and bills that the accountants handled, and she would almost certainly notice if I started trying to mess around with those with all the grace and subtlety of a water buffalo in a marsh.
She stared at me. “Off the books?” she asked slowly.
I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. I could see her hesitation, and her very real worry. She knew who she worked for—she’d probably been one of the staff members who had made arrangements for the bodies on the night that Madeline died, with those most faithful of her retainers. Loren knew exactly what was at stake—for all her years of dedicated service, all the extent to which we relied on her to keep things running smoothly, just one careless blow from Prudence and she would break.
She inclined her head, just once. “Of course, Mr. Scott,” she said, her voice shaking just a fraction as she spoke. “I’ll handle it right now, and you can rely on me.”
“Thank you,” I said, relief palpable in my voice. “It’s really important. You know that I’d never ask you if it—”
“I know,” she said, cutting me off. She glanced quickly around the room, taking in her office mate’s complete distraction, then looked back at me. “You can trust that it will be taken care of immediately.” Then, worry breaking into her expression and made all the more shocking for how controlled she normally was, she said, quickly and nervously, “But you know that this can’t be usual. There are too many things—”
This time I was the one to cut her off, nodding. “I know. I know that. And I’ll tell Prudence and Chivalry about the switch—eventually. After it’s settled and everyone is safe. It’ll be easier then, to just agree with what was done, rather than have to actually agree to do something.”
As I walked out of the room, I really hoped that was true.
* * *
The temperature continued to plunge throughout the day, leaving any snow that had partially melted at some point or been turned to slush by passing cars or feet to freeze into the kind of ice that caused sidewalk falls and multiple car pileups. Between the weather and the fact that it was Thursday, the scene at Redbones after we opened for business started dead and pretty much stayed that way, with our few customers consisting primarily of extremely drunk frat guys from the local colleges, who, fortunately for me, were in the “I love you, man” oversize-puppy state of inebriation, which made them easy to handle. After my long days at the mansion, there was an odd sense of comfort in my evenings at Redbones. Sure, I was filling snack baskets and sprinkling sawdust on vomit, but I was at least accomplishing something.
I wondered if that said something awful about the current state of Scott family affairs.
Hoshi sauntered into the bar a few hours in, but was quickly eyeing up the goods in the bar with a distinct air of dissatisfaction.
“I thought the blond was working out?” I asked as I delivered her gin and tonic.
She shook her head sadly. “I had to eliminate him from the running after I found a copy of Atlas Shrugged on his bedside table.”
I paused, and considered. “You know that enjoying Ayn Rand isn’t genetic, right?”
That earned me a horrified glare. “Why would I potentially risk my future daughter’s health and safety, Fort?” She shook her head, sending her curly hair flying. “Jeez, think these things through.”
At just past eight, with the bar continuing to empty out, I headed into the back room to officially freshen up some snack baskets, and unofficially to escape the frat boy who had apparently been dumped recently and was currently working out his feelings by singing a whole lot of Adele songs, badly. After a quick glance out the door to make sure that no one was looking like they were trying to get table service, I walked over to where my heavy parka was hanging and pulled my phone out of its pocket. I’d long since learned that as a bar waiter I had too many drinks spilled on me in the course of an evening to risk keeping my phone in my apron pocket.
Pulling open the phone, I was surprised to see that Lilah had tried calling me over a dozen times since my shift started. I didn’t bother to listen to her messages, just called her back while checking out the back door porthole to make sure that Orlando wasn’t looking in my direction. For once, luck was with me, and I could see that the frat boys had apparently reached the point in the evening where they thought it would be hilarious to order a whole tray of elaborate girlie drinks, which would keep my boss well occupied for a while.
Lilah picked up on the first ring. “What’s going—” was as far as I managed to get.
“Fort,” she said urgently. “Cole’s moving tonight. I talked with him this morning, and I thought that things were fine, but someone tipped me off that he called a meeting without me, a meeting that only the three-fourth mixes were invited to, and that he’s going to take a small group over to the witch’s house and kill him.”
“Shit,” I said with feeling. “What the hell is he thinking?”
“He’s rolling the dice that Prudence won’t care if he kills a witch, and that even if you do, it won’t make a difference.” She paused, then said, “Fort, my sister is in the group, and she isn’t answering my calls.”
“Okay, I’ll handle it,” I promised. “Stay where you are and don’t get involved.”
I hung up and cursed. Pacing the room, I immediately called Valentine and filled him in on what was developing.
There was no hiding Valentine’s anxiety. “I checked on Ambrose earlier—they packed one car, and their son is driving that up now, but Ambrose and Carolina were still packing the second car, and they said they didn’t expect to be done until at least after midnight. Listen, I’m at a patient’s house right now in Boston, so I’ll leave now, but it’s going to take me at least forty minutes to get there.”
“Crap.” I gave a pile of neatly stacked plastic food baskets an irritated shove. “How did they even find out where he lives?” I asked, frustrated.
“. . . . well, probably the Internet. His address is on his Web site.”
“What?” Once again, technology coming around to bite us in the butt. I momentarily longed for the days when people had been reduced to rooting through the phone book. If the Terminator movie had happened today, Sarah Connor would’ve been dead.
Valentine was still talking. “His wife does Reiki massages out of their house, and Ambrose has been helping out a little since he lost the work with Leamaro. I know that they’ve updated the Web site, so—”
“Shit, fine, okay, it doesn’t even matter. You call them up right now and tell them that they’re hitting the road—I don’t care what they have to leave behind. They’re in that car and driving in two minutes. Text me the damn address. I’ll go right over.”
“Okay, but, Fort, the Vermont couple is already heading down, and they’re going to need to stay in that house for a month at least. If the elves are—”
I could see what Valentine’s concern was on this, and I cut him off, grimly. “They can keep coming. I’m going to make sure that everyone knows that the witches are not fair game. Now text me the address. I need to get going.” I hung up, and Valentine’s text came through almost immediately. In the first break I’d caught in a while, it turned out that Ambrose lived in the College Hill neighborhood, in an area that I actually recognized. I forwarded the text to Suze, then typed out “if you want to punch someone, MEET ME HERE RIGHT NOW” and hit SEND, figuring that would get her moving faster than anything else.
Now came the undeniably sucky part. I pulled off my waist apron and yanked on my jacket, and hurried out of the back room at double pace. A few of the frat guys were starting to look around in a way that I immediately recognized as the classic “searching for waiter” presentation, and I hustled over to the table where Hoshi was currently enthroned, pouting over the fact that the tabletop was only half-filled with the drinks that other people had bought her.
I shoved my waist apron into her hands. “Listen, Hoshi, I need you to cover the rest of my shift.”
“Wait, what—”
“No, seriously. You can tell Orlando that I quit, but I need to go and protect some witches, and I just don’t have time for him to scream at me. Tell him that I’ll send someone over to get my last check.”
Recovering much faster than I would’ve given her credit for, Hoshi shot back, “I get all your tips from tonight.”
“What—Jesus, Hoshi, I’m just trying not to be a complete dick and leave Orlando with no waitstaff, not actually—”
“And whatever you’ll be paid for tonight.”
“Oh my God, woman—you know what, fine, just fine.” I realized that any extension of this conversation would just end even worse for my wallet, and I ran out the door. As the door swung shut behind me, I finally attracted Orlando’s attention, and I could hear him bellowing my name behind me.
I’d had a lot of ignominious ends to employment, but this was definitely breaking my Top Five.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Suze and I were waiting in Ambrose’s tiny two-story house, hedged in on both its sides by identical homes on equally postage stamp lawns. I’d arrived in time to tell Ambrose and his wife that, no, they really and truly had to hit the road now, and could not put fresh sheets on the bed for the couple driving down, and I didn’t care how late it would probably be before they arrived. Carolina was apparently one of those dyed-in-the-wool nurturers who was also slightly skewed in where she put her priorities, and so the emergency rush out the door had also been slowed by her insistence that they go up in the attic and bring down their own children’s old crib for the Vermont couple. Whether this was a common witch trait or that this was just a woman who Darwinism somehow missed, I didn’t know or care, just promised her faithfully that, yes, I would keep an eye on the pie that she had going in the oven while she and her husband fled from the people coming to kill him.
Suzume showed up, lured by the possibility of violence, and together we shut off all the lights in the house and waited, me by the back door, her manning the front, for the attack to come.
After all the creeping around, I was alerted to the incipient danger when I heard Suze bitching loudly from the front hallway. “Idiots. Fort, you’ve got to come see this. They’re going full lynch mob here. Just coming up to the front door! This is completely amateur-hour.”
I came up behind her and looked out the pane of glass set in the middle of the front door, coated with those faux stained glass decals that were sold down at hardware stores. Sure enough, there was Cole, at the head of a phalanx of seven other people, whose features in the light from the neighbor’s motion-activated deck light were just off enough that it was clear that we were dealing with almost entirely three-fourths Neighbors. “Suze—”
She was too busy being offended on the part of murderers everywhere to listen to me, and continued. “If I was going to murder someone in their home? Full-out fucking fox ninja actions. I’d wait in the bathroom, kill whoever was first in there with a garrote so there’d be no noise, then I’d hide in the tub with the curtain drawn and wait for them to find the body. I’d wait for them to scream, then I’d jump out and stab them. Then for the third—”
“Wow, can we just stop right there, Suze, and be really grateful that elf gene sociopathy apparently doesn’t include crazy murder planning?” She leveled a glare at me, still very annoyed. I sighed heavily, wondering exactly how my night had come to this point. “Yes, Suzume, you’re the greatest that there is, and no one else can possibly hold a candle to your badassery.”
“Damn straight.” She nodded, and finally settled down enough to focus on the actual situation. “Now, how do you want to deal with—”
I walked out the door and onto the porch, while behind me I could hear her say, “Oh, so you’re just going to do that. Well, okay. Straightforward it is.”
The Neighbors had made it about halfway up the brick walkway, hemmed in at either side by about half a foot of crusted snow, and while some looked a little uncertain when I walked out, Cole’s shining white face was unmistakable, as was the rage that burned in his dark purple eyes.
His mouth twisted as he realized who must’ve told me what had been planned. “Lilah—”
“Is the appointed liaison to the Scott family,” I warned him, my voice so cold that I almost didn’t even recognize myself—I sounded too much like my own family in that moment, but it was what was necessary to keep these idiots alive, so I accepted it. “I’d be very careful what you say, and what you do. And right now she’s got a much better sense of wise moves to make.”
Cole sneered. “Like the Scotts care if a witch dies.”
I could hear the sound of Suzume’s boot heels as she walked up behind me, and knew that I could only hear them because she wanted me to. “Of course they wouldn’t, Legolas,” she said disdainfully. “But they probably care a lot about Neighbors killing with impunity—if you broke a plate that Prudence Scott hated, she wouldn’t give a damn about the plate, but she’d rip you apart for daring to break something that she owned.”
“Ambrose is gone,” I warned them, but it was all too obvious from the group dynamics who was the ringleader. All those faces with their strange bone structure—the kind you’d see on runway models or CGI characters that looked just wrong enough to give you the shivers—were sneaking glances over at Cole, looking at him for what would happen next, grateful that he was there to talk with me. And after they’d give him a long look, they’d turn back to face me and Suze, and all that nervousness would be gone again, replaced with righteous anger and certainty—for a minute. Then they’d have to look back at Cole again. “And I’m telling you now—don’t you dare try to find him or go after him.”
“So he gets away with it?”
I didn’t like Cole, but there was no doubt in my mind that the rage in his voice right now was real.
“With what he did? With what happened because of him?”
He saw the answer in my face, and his anger carried him forward across the two feet that separated us. He was throwing a punch before I think he even knew that it was what he wanted to do, but it was coming anyway, and faster than any human could’ve been. But I was fast as well now, with speed that might’ve been the slowest of any vampire on the continent, but it was full vampire speed now. I moved away, dodging enough that I was only lightly clipped in the shoulder instead of smacked in the mouth. I realized as it happened that it was probably a good thing that I’d moved rather than tried to block in the boxing manner that Chivalry had taught me, because I could feel the power behind that punch, and it was more than a human’s, and more than that of any other Neighbor that I’d ever encountered, even on the night that we’d fought against the handpicked loyalists of the Ad-hene.
But I’d gone through my transition, and almost all of what had kept me human had burned away with Henry’s death. I got a hand on Cole’s shirt collar and gave him a shake hard enough to make his head snap forward, but it wasn’t enough to make him think twice, and then we were locked close in a scuffle, hands kept low enough by our proximity that we were landing short, shallow punches to each other’s ribs, without enough room to maneuver. I gave a sudden shift, enough to get room to swing my elbow up fast and pop Cole in the nose with enough force that blood came pouring out.
I wouldn’t have been able to do that a month ago. Before my transition, Cole would’ve been too fast, too strong, to inhuman for me to keep up with. But now we were almost evenly matched, and I didn’t know if it was the old me or the new me, or both, that felt that thrill and triumph when blood that was just slightly not red flowed out of Cole’s nose.
All of this had taken mere seconds, too fast for others to be reacting, and it was only then that the other Neighbors reached us and were yanking Cole back and away, all of them straining to hold him as he pulled forward, trying to get at me. For a second, my own blood churning, nothing but a roaring sound in my ears, I took a step forward, but then Suze’s hand was around my wrist, urging me back and reminding me what was happening and where I was. I looked at the Neighbors urging Cole back and saw the unmistakable brilliance of Lilah’s sister Iris’s hair, like a newly shined copper teapot, and looked at her inhuman face. It calmed me, reminded me why Cole was doing all these things, and for just a second I felt regret.
“Cole,” I said loudly, but staying exactly where I was, “I don’t think Ambrose shouldn’t have some kind of accounting. I’ll talk with Lilah. Then I’ll talk with my siblings—”
“And nothing will happen,” the elf scion said harshly, his eyes brighter in the darkness than they should’ve been, his skin gleaming with that otherworldly hue that seemed to suggest that the moonlight was seeking him out specifically. He stared at me, and I could see his anger, but also his despair. “You can’t make promises for Prudence and Chivalry. Neither of them will give a shit, so whatever you say now to make it seem like you want to help us, you know exactly what I know—this won’t go anywhere.”
He was right, and we both knew it, and everything seemed to drain out of us in the long minute that we stared at each other, leaving just dull emptiness behind. Then he turned and began walking away. Behind him the Neighbors glanced between us before falling, one by one, into line behind him.
I started to go after him, not even knowing what I would say, just that I had to try to at least say something, but then Iris stepped into my path, blocking me. She put out one hand, unmittened and painfully pale in the cold night air, coming within a hairbreadth of touching my chest for just a second, then jerking back before she could touch me with as much aversion as if she’d just been burned.
“Don’t worry about my sister,” she said quickly, quietly. “Cole will be pissed, but none of us would hurt her.” Her mouth pressed together and she pressed those pale fingers against her own face, almost yanking at her own skin as she looked at me with eyes that were far too empty. “I know why she told you. She says that we have to be careful to make decisions based on what all of us need.”
A deep, painful pity filled me, reminding me of my own helplessness in this situation, looking at a young woman who had been so deeply betrayed by the ones who should’ve been fighting the hardest to protect her, instead just trying to turn her into a vessel to be used. For the barest of seconds I could almost understand why Cole would be desperate to continue to find targets for the young women like Iris, rather than have to face that feeling of helplessness. “I know you want Ambrose to pay, but I can’t let you kill him,” I said, as very gently as I could. Then, seeing nothing in her face, I continued. “Lilah already told me that you killed the Neighbors who knew, the ones who were helping the Ad-hene.”
For just a second, Iris’s glamour flickered, and I caught a glimpse of her inhumanly golden eyes with those long, reptilian slits, and the true brilliance of her hair before it was covered again by that hazy illusion. “You’re like Lilah—she asked me when there would be enough blood for me to start healing.” Anger flicked across her masklike face, tied to hurt, painfully real and human. “She told me that killing Ambrose wouldn’t help me, or any of us, and that if it would’ve, then she would’ve found a way to let us do it. She promised, and I believe her.”
“What would help, then?” I asked softly.
Even with the illusion, there was no hiding how very eerie the expression in her eyes was, as her face emptied entirely. “Killing the ones who are really responsible, of course.” Then she turned and left, disappearing into the darkness, following the others.
As I looked out into the darkness of the little residential neighborhood, spotted up and down the road with its identical houses, Suze stepped up beside me. “You know who she really means, of course,” she said, her tone conversational.
“The Ad-hene. And can you blame her?”
Suze tucked her hands into the front pockets of her thin fleece jacket, and tilted her head to one side, considering the question for a moment. “Nope. Not one bit.” She gave a loose shrug, then nudged me playfully in the side, somehow managing to avoid all the places where Cole had connected, which were already, now that the adrenaline had filtered out of me, making their presence known in a dim, annoyed way. “Nice moves there with Cole, Fort. I got so proud when you tried to dodge that punch.”
“Oh, is that why you just stood there?”
“You were handling things,” she said calmly. She looked pensively up at the moon. “Real bummer about the karaoke job. If all you’re drawing for cash is that couch money you get for doing Scott work, then I guess you’ll have to take your trust-fund stipend this month. Of course, with the way things are going with the territory right now, I guess this is more your job anyway, right?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumbled. I would almost welcome another rumble with mixed-breed elf offspring if it meant that I could continue not having to think of the amount of crow that I might end up eating regarding my financial situation.
There was just the barest hint of sympathy on Suze’s face when she looked at me. “We all have to get real jobs eventually, Fort. No one can do shitty postgrad jobs forever.”
Another long pause passed as we both pondered that nearly philosophical statement, until it was broken by Suze’s sudden, extremely annoyed realization. “Hey! I didn’t get to punch a single damn elfling!”
* * *
Like my own personal Groundhog Day, the next morning found me back in the drawing room of the mansion, having what felt like the same conversation with my siblings, as useful as digging holes on the beach right at the wave line.
“This entire territory is a powder keg waiting to blow, and we’re not doing a damn thing!” I yelled.
“You are overstating things, Fortitude,” my brother said mildly, leaning back into one of the leather armchairs and steepling his fingers, looking very much the captain of industry this morning. “Last night’s situation proves that our system is working entirely adequately, despite recent pressures. You defused and dispersed the Neighbors, and by taking the action of switching the witch families, you managed to clear up the whole problem.”
Prudence’s response was significantly less mild, as she practically did a spit-take into the cup of distinctly Irish coffee that she was nursing. “Chivalry, how can you think that? We nearly had an interspecies brawl in the middle of Providence. What we should be doing right now is stringing up enough bodies that the races focus on preserving their lives and stop causing trouble—I suggest we start with everyone involved in this sordid little incident, and then just expand from there. I doubt anyone would be crying over the loss of a few witches and elf brats.”
“Prudence, are your suggestions ever not based on mass murder?” I asked with biting sarcasm. “What we need to be doing is figuring out a way to actually address the underpinning issues that are coming up here, rather than waiting for things to boil over so that I have to quit my job and run around the city putting out fires.”
At the update about my employment status, my brother looked extremely pleased. “See? That’s yet another good thing that came out of last night’s fracas. Fort, by quitting that demeaning excuse for employment, you can finally fully focus on the business of the family rather than busing tables and folding napkin swans.”
“As thrilled as I am that one of our family is no longer debasing himself for minimum wage,” Prudence interjected in icy tones, “I’m not as sure about the directions that Fort is putting his efforts. You certainly did not ask for our agreement when you went ahead and validated travel plans for two sets of witches.”
Tempers were on edge all around the table, and I glared at my sister. “If I’d brought it up, then we’d still be sitting here arguing, and there would be bodies on the ground. And not even ones that you put there, Prudence.”
Chivalry had apparently decided to try to put his walkout from yesterday’s meeting entirely behind him, since he frowned at both of us. “Prudence, I have to side with Fort on this one. He found a way to work within the existing system—our population quotas remain entirely undisturbed, yet the witches are probably more content today than they were yesterday. If anything, our brother had a stroke of brilliance, and we should put someone on the task of implementing this idea of location switching as part of our overall system. Perhaps we can ask Loren about the possibility of a Web site.”
I broke in before the train to Delusionville could leave the station. “That’s just another Band-Aid, Chivalry. And if we want to talk about things that could actually use a discussion from the group, Prudence, then how about the succubi who are still in complete limbo down in New Jersey?”
My sister’s monumental irritation with me was clearly evident as I brought up one of the least favorite subjects yet again. “Yes indeed, a group that will bring us all trouble and no income. The last thing we actually need, given that when I popped my head in to check on the accountants this morning, one of them informed me that one of the primary ghoul businesses completely missed its final quarter tithe payment.”
Chivalry lifted his eyebrows. “Well, that’s rather a surprise. The ghouls are usually so reliable about those things.”
Prudence made a small moue, as if she expected so little from any of the other races that she was incapable of being surprised over yet another failure. “I’ll go over today and get the money, and remind them about their duties while I’m at it.” And from the look in her eyes, there was no doubting about what form her “reminder” was going to come in.
“No, Prudence, I’ll go over and talk with them,” I said quickly, hoping to derail the one-woman traveling production of The Clockwork Orange level of ultraviolence.
Temper flashed across her face. “If this territory is a powder keg, as you’ve just claimed, then perhaps our residents need to be reminded why it is a poor idea to cause troubles—and right here at hand is an excellent opportunity to set an example.”
I refused to be deterred. “Prudence, you’re going to go straight in there and start ripping people apart. This isn’t a business that has missed payments in the past. Well, that suggests to me that this should be handled by talking—”
Clearly yet another reference to talking was enough to break her control entirely, and she half rose from her sofa, her voice heading for the rafters. “Little brother, you are—”
“Hush, both of you,” Chivalry snapped loudly, startling both of us into a momentary pause. He nodded at our result. “Good. Sister, we might as well send Fortitude over there and see if we can get the money owed the soft way. For one thing, the forecast today is for very sunny skies, enough that I was planning to stay inside, so you will definitely be unable to drive up to Providence in any comfort at all until at least the late afternoon, and by then our brother could already have gone up and ascertained the lay of the land, so to speak. If our brother is able to sort this out his way, then he has saved you a trip, and if not, you wouldn’t be getting up there any earlier anyway.”
Prudence did not look remotely appeased by his logic, but a glance at the sun streaming through the windows had her reluctantly acknowledging the truth of it. “And I notice that you are showing no interest at all in undertaking this yourself?” she asked pointedly.
“Certainly,” he replied, looking not even remotely sorry. “Simone was just employed to guide a group of hikers up Mount Washington next week, and I would far rather spend some additional time with her than listen to excuses about how the check is in the mail or some idiocy like that.”
Prudence made a wordless sound of frustration. “You are always the same in your honeymoon period, Chivalry, do you realize this?”
My brother flinched at her comment, and his expression was profoundly insulted. “There’s no reason to be rude, sister. Simone is an utter delight, and if you would just make an effort to get to know her, I’m sure that you—”
She cut him off with a gesture, then swept her cutting gaze over both of us. “I hope that you are not as dense as you are attempting to appear, brother, and that you are realizing what I am more than certain that Fortitude has already long comprehended.”
Chivalry’s expression changed between one breath and the next, his eyes suddenly very dangerous, and in that moment I was abruptly reminded that my sister was not the only predator in the room. “And what is that, my darling sister?” he asked, his voice very low.
“That despite all of Mother’s hopes, and all the vows she made us swear, this is not working.”
For a long second, no one even dared to breathe, even Prudence, at what had been said. A muscle in my brother’s cheek twitched, just once, and he got up, very silently and deliberately, and walked out of the room for the second day in a row.
I looked at my sister. I agreed with her, but we were coming at this whole situation from such polar opposite directions that it didn’t even seem to matter that we were meeting at this point—it was just the happenstance intersection of two lines that would otherwise have nothing else in common. Frankly, that we were agreeing at this point seemed like a pretty bad thing. I got up and slowly began to head out myself, saying to her as I went, “I’ll get the tithe information from the accountants, and I’ll drive up—” Just outside the door, I froze. Sitting patiently on a small chair in the hallway was Jon Einarsson, reading a copy of Wired magazine, looking like he was in a doctor’s waiting room. I hadn’t seen Jon since the day that Prudence invited him to her town house in order to use him as a live feeding example for me. He still had that fit and square-jawed appearance of a former college athlete that no amount of legal education could completely exorcise, but there was a slight change in his pallor. Perhaps no one who didn’t know what they were looking for would’ve seen it, but while Jon was still blond and handsome, there was a hint of sickness to him, an air of vulnerability that hadn’t existed a month before. Being my sister’s source of fresh human blood was taking its toll on him.
He caught sight of me, and set his magazine down immediately. “Fort!” he said cheerfully, and reached out to give my hand a firm shake. “Good to see you doing well!”
“Yeah . . . so, are you here to see my sister?” Inwardly I cringed a little—somehow that felt even more awkward than if he’d been my sister’s hired gigolo.
“Oh, Prudence asked me to come by today,” he said, that friendly smile almost welded into place.
Behind me, Prudence emerged from the room, looking very pleased with the situation, her previous irritation set aside. “Jon, punctual as always,” she complimented him. “Yes, I was wondering if you’d be willing to let my brother drink your blood today.”
“What?” I squawked, taking an automatic step backward.
Jon’s eyes never left Prudence’s face. She’d tricked him into ingesting some of her blood, which at her age created a powerful sense of unwavering loyalty in his regard of her. It was a frightening, insidious thing, which made him so willing to give up all sense of self-preservation and allow her to feed on him, and even hide the evidence of it from anyone else in his life as she slowly killed him, one bite at a time. “Oh, if that’s what you’d like, Prudence,” he said, as if she’d asked him to let me borrow a pen, rather than open up a vein. “It doesn’t seem like it would be a problem.”
“Prudence,” I started, then looked at Jon’s open, friendly expression, and just couldn’t take it. I grabbed my sister by the elbow and towed her to the other side of the hallway, then turned my back to Jon and hissed, “Prudence, what exactly are you doing here?”
She looked at me very seriously. “Little brother, you will need to drink from the vein very soon to maintain your health, so why not do so with Jon? He is present, and I have already made certain of his loyalty, which you will be unable to do with your own victims for many years yet.”
My sister was never more terrifying to me than when she was showing her affection. I knew that, in this instance, there was no ulterior motive—that her primary concern was for my physical well-being. It made me want to vomit, but I forced myself to be calm as I answered, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to handle this in my own way.”
She sighed, the perfect image of a put-upon sister with a bratty little brother. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stubborn.” Her expression turned sympathetic. “And how are your teeth today? I know that Chivalry was looking around online for remedies, and purchased some kind of small terry cloth octopus that can be put right into the freezer for when you—”
“No, no, I don’t even want to know. I’ll talk with you later.” I turned and left.
As I walked away, I could hear Jon ask Prudence, “Well, if he isn’t interested, would you like to drink my blood today?” and hurried my steps so that I couldn’t hear her response.
* * *
After collecting the tithing files from the accountants, and double-checking the location of the ghoul-owned business in question, I drove up to Providence and picked Suzume up from the downtown area, where she’d just wrapped up a business lunch on behalf of her grandmother.
“Was this one of those business lunches?” I asked her as she carefully maneuvered herself into the Scirocco. All I could see of her was a long black wool coat that came down to the tops of her calves, and a pair of black stockings ending in a pair of perfectly acceptable business pumps, but I could tell from her movements that she was almost certainly wearing her usual business uniform of a knee-length pencil skirt and a silk blouse.
“Silly vampire,” she said affectionately. “I told you that Midori got the short straw and is doing client interviews now. That was a meeting with the state attorney general about how happy Green Willow Escorts will be to make a sizable donation to his campaign fund when he announces his candidacy for the Senate in a few months.”
I snorted. “Another great example of money in politics.”
“Don’t be grouchy,” she replied. “Look, I even brought you my leftovers.” She held up a leftovers box. “Scallops!” Withdrawing a napkin from her pocket, she unrolled it to reveal a clean fork, then popped open the top of her container and was in moments holding out a forkful of incredibly decadent-smelling scallop to me.
I was admittedly kind of hungry, so after I had merged the car safely back into traffic, I leaned over and begrudgingly ate the bite she was holding out to me. It was delicious. “I’m surprised you aren’t taunting me with surf and turf,” I grumbled as I chewed. “That’s what you used to always go for when someone with deep pockets was footing the bill.”
“I normally would’ve,” she agreed, “but I got your text about going to shake down the ghouls right before I ordered, and given where we’re going to end up going, even for me it seemed like a good day to avoid red meat.”
I made a face and had to agree.
* * *
The era of the local butcher shop—where professional butchers took huge sides of meat that were delivered to them directly from the slaughterhouses and broke them down themselves for customers, able to answer any and all questions about the meat in question—was one of the sad casualties of the modern big-box grocery store, where precut, packaged, and frozen meats were shipped in from hundreds of miles away to be thawed and presented for sale by glorified stocking clerks. The small butcher shops that remained were fighting the long defeat against an opponent that would always be able to undercut them on price, and whatever edge the butcher shop had in terms of customer service or basic competence was invariably lost when customers weighed that against the ability to also be able to buy eggs, panty hose, laundry detergent, and just-released DVDs while they waited for their order to be put together.
The butcher shop that we entered was one of this dying breed. With no frills or shiny pizzazz, it nevertheless had a long and gleaming selection of meats, and the chalkboard that ran the entire length of the counter showed a rather staggering breadth of both meats and cheeses. Looking over the counter gave the customer a full view of the three men currently working. One was breaking down meat from the full half of a cow into specific cuts to be sold, another was mixing ground meat in a large bowl, and a third was at the slicer making deli cuts. The only woman was standing at the counter, waiting on an elderly customer, but from her red-flecked apron, she was also no stranger to the butcher’s knife.
If I hadn’t known that this shop was owned and entirely staffed by ghouls, and that some of the offal meat that was cut, ground, or sliced on those workstations was from animals that had walked on two legs, I probably would’ve bought as much cheese as my budget could allow out of the sheer desire to express solidarity for the locally owned store. As it was, of course, I had to work to keep my stomach under tight control. Even living with Dan couldn’t shake me of the feeling that it was just kind of gross to eat human organs.
I was aware of what a hypocrite that made me, given my very regular consumption of human blood smoothies (the crushed ice and fruit didn’t exactly improve the flavor, but it did distract me a little more than when I warmed it). However, that didn’t make it any less true.
The ghouls knew who I was. From that mixture of outright terror and pants-wetting relief that crossed each of their faces, it was also clear that they’d known this visit was coming, and that they were aware just how lucky they were that I was the one to show up rather than my sister. I’d never exactly wanted a reputation—frankly, I’d spent most of my life just trying to fade into the background of almost every situation I was in—but I’d apparently, despite my best efforts, secured one for myself. Fortitude Scott—Holy Shit, We’re Glad You’re Not Your Sister.
Suze and I were hustled immediately to the back room, given the nicest seats, and then spent the next half hour trying to get everyone to stop promising speedy repayment and repeating babbled apologies so that we could actually figure out what was going on. After they finally caught on that—just as they’d barely even dared to hope—I wasn’t planning on using my sister’s method of persuasion, they calmed down enough that I could get them to actually walk me through the background.
What finally came out was that a year earlier, a large supermarket chain had bought up some defunct warehouse just one street over from the butcher shop, and had announced plans to raze the old building and construct a beautiful new grocery store with an emphasis on environmentally sustainable practices, excellent foods, wide varieties, and, among other things, its own in-store butcher station. Realizing the danger that this posed to their business, the ghouls had sent an appeal to my mother to use her political connections to make certain that the supermarket never moved in. They had received assurances that this would happen and had settled back, certain that Madeline Scott’s hands would soon be manipulating the levers of power like a seasoned organ player.
The problem came, however, when that never happened. Why my mother never became involved was unclear, though I wondered if many small items might’ve begun slipping through the cracks as my mother’s health trickled away over the last months, but the ghouls realized too late that Madeline Scott wasn’t going to intervene as promised. They attempted a local protest against the plan, and made quite a lot of fuss at city meetings, but they were simply the owners of a small, threatened local business, and without a big and powerful ally in their back pocket, they ended up in the situation of every other small but beloved local business since the beginning of time—steamrollered by the incoming supermarket chain with its very deep pockets and slick advertising campaign.
The supermarket had opened five months ago, and the butcher shop had lost half of its business virtually overnight. At first, the ghouls had put their savings into the shop to try to ride it out, hoping that those who had gone to try out the new supermarket got tired of getting a much lower quality of meat in exchange for a little bit of savings and convenience, and would return to the store. That didn’t happen. They had to cut back on some of the variety that the store offered, and lost more customers as a result. They still had the local ghoul population, which relied on the store to break down and distribute the human organ meat that they needed to maintain their health, but the problem there was that the ghoul community treated the human meat as a shared commodity—it was obtained by those who owned funeral homes or worked in professions that gave them access to the organs, then passed along to the butcher shops, then distributed to all the households, all without money changing hands. The ghouls of course did do all their other meat purchases at the stores that were ghoul-owned, but that wasn’t enough to offset the loss of the human patronage that had made up such a vast percentage of the customer base.
When the autumn tithe to my family was due, the butcher shop had already been struggling and didn’t have the money to pay the bill. They’d turned to others within the community, who had gone around and raised the money by each business and individual household putting forward what they could spare, which had allowed them to get by that time. But when the winter tithe had been due at the end of December, the butcher shop’s profits plunged even further, and on top of that the other businesses were facing tight times as well, and hadn’t been able to offer an equal amount as in the autumn, leaving the butcher shop owners with a large shortfall to make up. They’d stretched as long as possible, and were in fact in the middle of acquiring a loan, with the owner using his house as collateral.
“That’s completely unacceptable,” I said bluntly.
“No,” the owner said frantically, “if you just give me a few more days—”
“That’s not what I mean at all!” I replied. “That grocery store isn’t going away, and the last thing that should be done is for the tithe to be the deathblow to your business. No, what I mean is that I’m going to have one of our accountants come up here today, and you’re going to go over all your records from the five months since the supermarket came in. The tithe is going to be readjusted to reflect the difference in what is a real-case bottom line in the current market conditions, not what existed before in the best times.”
The owner looked at me, so incredibly grateful that it hurt to even see it. “That’s amazing, Mr. Scott,” he stammered, “and we’re so—”
I cut him off, anger filling me. “No,” I said. “We dropped the ball on our end, and you’ve had months of stress and hard decisions as a result. If we hadn’t been able to stop the supermarket, then adjustments should’ve been made to the tithe immediately. So I’m also going to be telling the accountant that you need to be issued a credit for the tithe amount that you essentially overpaid. I also want credits issued to all the businesses and households that put money forward to help you when you almost went under in the autumn.”
They stared at me, unable to process what I’d said at first. “You mean,” one of the younger men said finally, almost forcing out the words, “that you’ll be talking to your family, and that this is your recommendation that—”
“No. This is what’s happening, and I’m getting that process started today.”
The owner began to cry, fat tears sliding down the deep wrinkles in his face. And I was suddenly surrounded by all four of the ghouls, all of whom were clasping my hands and thanking me in as many ways as they could say it. I nodded, uncomfortable but knowing that they needed to do this, studiously ignoring the expression on Suzume’s face.
We didn’t leave the butcher shop for several hours, not until Dulce Scarpati, the accountant who was the Black Sabbath fan, had arrived, somewhat surprised at my unexpected call, but well conditioned to follow Scott orders without question, and had made as much headway as she could on the numbers and tithe recalibration for the day. I signed off on everything, making my signature large and unmistakable, the whole time trying to hide from the euphorically relieved ghouls just how unbelievably pissed I was.
Once Suze and I walked back to the car, and were out of sight of both grateful ghouls and a mildly bemused accountant, I tried to get out some aggression by kicking at a wall of iced-over snow that had been created by multiple plowing passes through the parking lot. Suze watched silently as I chipped away at it, not commenting. Finally I felt at least ready to get into the car, if not exactly drive safely, and unlocked the Scirocco.
We sat silently beside each other as the car slowly warmed up. After several minutes, Suze slowly turned to look at me, her face very grim. “So, you know that your family is not exactly going to take this well,” she said at last.
“I don’t give a shit about them right now,” I said through gritted teeth.
Suze continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Even if they end up agreeing with you in the larger sense about reducing the tithe and attempting to keep the business alive in order to maintain a long-term stream of revenue, you should’ve brought this one back to the group to discuss and agree on.”
“We couldn’t agree on whether or not to eat ice cream at this point.”
“They’re going to be pissed, Fort. Pissed at you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, fed up at last. “This is an unsustainable situation, and I know it, Prudence knows it, and Chivalry is trying as hard as he can to not know it.” I took a deep breath and looked out the window at the ice and snow for a second, then turned back to Suze. “It’s time to just accept what things are, Suze, rather than what we’d like them to be. So that’s why I actually did something for the ghouls, even though I know it’s going to cause trouble with my family.”
Suze watched me steadily. “If that’s true, Fort, and how you really feel, then how far does it go?”
I frowned at her. “What do you mean?”
“Your hands are restless when you’re listening to someone. Your pupils are wider than they should be. I don’t think you even notice it, but I’ve seen the way that you’re tracking all the people around you today.” She reached over and touched my arm, very gently. “In another day or so, you’ll notice it yourself. But by then you might be getting dangerous.”
I wanted to yell that this wasn’t true. I wanted to beg for just a little more time. I didn’t do either, because she was right. “You’re saying that I need to feed,” I said, forcing the words out.
“I’m saying,” she said, her eyes so brilliantly dark and lovely, so sharp and knowing, “that you need to accept what things are, rather than what you’d like them to be. And accept that it’s not your fault that you are what you are.”
I couldn’t say anything at first, and I just moved my hand over to hers and twined my cold fingers through her warm ones. We sat together, watching the movement of people and cars and the whole city around our tiny oasis of the parked Scirocco.
“Will you help me?” I asked finally.
“You know I will.”
“Okay. Then it will be tonight. Before I’m dangerous. Tonight.”
It hurt to say it. To lose that last dream and illusion. But this was the path that I’d started down from the moment that a collection of multiplying cells suddenly created a heart that could beat. And after all that fighting and terror, it finally came down to this—that tonight I would feed on a human.