Soul Shock, page 18
“So is she your actual daughter, then? Why is she a cat? Instead of a wolf, I mean,” he asked after Secret and I had a discussion of why the man from the math problem would need fifty bananas.
I abruptly swung us into the nearest parking lot and purposely braked hard enough to make our seat belts lock.
“Uh, oh. Somebody made Abby mad,” Secret giggled at Samuel.
Samuel coughed and tugged on his seat belt. “Look, I’m just curious about how it works. What you did was incredible.”
I took a deep breath. “Let me tell you something about myself, Samuel. I’m a very private person. If you want to keep working here, I suggest learning to respect that. I showed you far more than I intended today, because a life was on the line.” I glanced over at him to see if the threat to his job had registered, but he still looked at me as if I were some sort of silver-coated star being.
“But if you can do all that from the videos, why do you bother with this at all? You make, what 30 bucks an hour? Why pretend to be anything else? My friend says the cops are terrified of you. That you took out an entire SWAT team a few months ago, but the city hushed it up!”
I snarled, “and what do you think I should do instead? Murder people for money? You could do that, too. Go buy yourself a gun, put up a classified ad, and see how far that gets you.”
His face paled with shock. “T-t-that’s not what I meant!”
“Sure it is. You just asked why I don’t trade violence for power or money. I don’t want to, same as almost everyone else on the planet. A combination of moral code and fear of the consequences. I’m still doing paramedic work because it pays the bills and I’m good at it,” I said, knowing full well I’m a hypocrite. Trading violence for the city to leave my territory and my pack alone was the foundation of my entire approach. We had to be the devil the city knows and trusts, providing more than we take.
Samuel’s expression turned sullen as he looked out the windshield.
I continued. “Since you don’t seem to be in the business of taking hints, here are my boundaries. No questions that are not relevant to the job, nothing about my home life or what I am. That’s for my protection. If I find out that you’ve blabbed about our shifts together online anywhere, I’ll make certain you’ll never work as a paramedic in Portland again.” While I had no such pull with other EMT outfits in Portland to blackball him, straight up threatening to eat him would probably just make him excited at this point. Although eating him would technically accomplish the task in a much simpler manner.
That penetrated his skull, at least partially, because he pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands. “Sorry,” he said with that instinctual ease that carried little weight but what the hell was I supposed to do, transform, drag him up the side of a building and dangle him from the rooftop like some sort of hairy Batman?
We returned to the road, the air between us strained as we listened to the radio.
We got called for a fender bender and a homeless addict who’d OD’d. She begged me not to tell Granny Maggot she’d shot up again. I assured her I would not, but I had to wonder what the hell Mrs. Weatherby was doing. Might have to track her down soon and ask.
The probie behaved, mostly. I only had to remind him of the boundaries once and he shifted topics. Still, far more talking than I was used to, and as we drove into the station, I was tired of words and smooth skin. As we handed over the bus to the next shift, I noted that all the workout equipment had shifted its position while we were out.
After checking out, I found Cliff still in the office, staring intensely at a computer screen. He smiled when he saw me, but it didn’t ease the tightness around his eyes.
“Hey, Abbs. You bring back the probie, or do I have to notify next of kin?” he asked.
I crossed my arms. “He survived, barely, but he’s way too curious. I had to threaten his job to stop the questions.”
“That’s all you threatened?”
“I try not to threaten my coworkers with bodily harm, Cliff.”
“Probably a good policy. HR approves.” He paused, then sighed as I shut the door, for all the good I knew it did.
“Mum?” I asked.
“She’s fine. Told me to stop calling her. Let’s focus on what we can actually fix.” He reached over himself and pulled his sword halfway from its scabbard. “I’m so ready to actually fix something.”
26
Secret and I met Victoria at the skate park across from Kelly Butte Park. The park now had a collection of fifteen trees, and the single massive pine towered over them like a proud parent. In the back of my hatchback, I recounted my day with the probie and Cliff’s worries while stroking her short fur. Then we traded places and I placed my muzzle in Victoria’s a lap as soon as she had pulled on a pair of black pants.
“Hey!” She protested with a tired laugh, “These were clean. You constantly getting white fur on my clothes is murder on my whole aesthetic. I’m spending half what I make from telling fortunes on lint rollers.” As she spoke, her hand stroked my muzzle and scratched my ear, which made me have zero thoughts about moving.
“Not me!” Secret sang, flopping down against my chest. To my surprise, she hadn’t skated off as soon as we’d arrived. She smelled a bit stressed.
“You have magic clothing. It’s cheating,” Victoria said.
“I know. I’m magically wonderful!” Secret giggled, her sharp nails idly scratching my belly. Between that and Victoria’s fingers, one leg kicked involuntarily. Which of course made Secret scratch harder, making it difficult to pay attention to what Vicky said next.”So I followed Joy all day today. She spent most of the morning in those warded gardens of hers, then she wandered Alberta Street for a bit, occasionally distributing favors. Seemed to be interested in some of the boarded-up clubs. She didn’t give any sign of noticing me, but in the midafternoon I lost her. Caught her scent coming across the river, but by the time I made it to downtown, she’d bounced and retreated to one of her gardens. Stayed there up until an hour ago.” Her face tilted down at me. “You get any of that?”
“Hrrng,” I answered less affirmatively than I had intended. Secret had found a superb scratching spot, a slice of heaven. Still, I gently pushed her away from my belly.
She frowned at me, but shrank back. With a grunt of effort, I rolled onto my stomach to show Victoria that I was paying attention.
“You ready for the important bit?” she asked.
I nodded.
“She’s in a club called the Gaslight District, which is now advertising a special encore performance by the Lovely Wreckers tonight at eight.” Victoria fumbled with her bag to pull out her phone and commanded it to go to the Gaslight District’s ticket sales. “I’m going to guess we’re going to need tickets.”
Wait, why the same band? I wondered before I fit it together. She gave everyone at last night’s concert a beautiful moment, not so they’d get distracted and cause car accidents, but so they’d come back! Everyone who was there last night would now be excitedly texting friends and telling them to come see this incredible band. If we, meaning Cliff, couldn’t stop it, then surely a portion of the concert goers would get invites to one of Joy’s hidden garden parties which they’d never leave.
Then the Cycle would repeat.
Victoria nodded at her phone. “The Lovely Wreckers are trending in Portland on all the social media right now. The Gaslight is half the size of Salamas; it’s gonna be paaacked. I’ll call Cliff. You’ve got like an hour of wolf time before we gotta get down there; otherwise we might not get in.”
The Gaslight District was established during the height of the hyperflu, when Portland was in a total lockdown. Some tech investor decided that his favorite punk band’s show would not be canceled and bought this ramshackle venue over a thousand bio-warfare-rated gas masks. They even had bladders to store drinks. Everyone but the performing band was required to wear one at all times. It was a citywide sensation. A joyful triumph over pestilence. It worked for about two months before the city shut it down for lax enforcement of the “mask on at all times” policy.
The bouncer didn’t give us a second glance as we stepped through the doorway in artfully cut jeans, tied up t-shirts borrowed from Cindy and a random assortment of jewelry. The only thing that really set me apart from the crowd was my purse, which doubled as a Secret carrier. Compared to the Salamas, this place felt like a backyard clubhouse assembled by a bunch of middle schoolers equipped with nail guns. Painted chipboard walls shuttled us into the bar area; instead of tables, large beer barrels served as surfaces to place store beer and cocktails served in plastic cups. Cloth banners bearing band names hung from the ceiling with typography either painfully plain or too chaotic to actually be read. A bare four hundred feet from the bar sat the stage, bracketed by speakers so large that looking at them made my ears ring. The show started in half an hour, and people swamped the bar.
I didn’t see Joy, but after beer and sweat, her cloying fragrance impregnated the air, like a territorial marker. Perhaps she was backstage with the band? According to the bill, the Lovely Wreckers were the only act. Their merch tables were mobbed.
We weren’t here for the show, though; we had our own trick to perform. Locate Joy, then smuggle in a six-foot-four man wearing body armor so he could stab her with a magic sword. Cliff had insisted that he needed the armor, and he might be right if things went south. Fortunately, this tinderbox of a club seemed to obey some of the fire codes. Besides the main entrance, there were plenty of fire exits that were unguarded. Victoria and I selected the best one to sneak him in through, and I texted him to let him know the plan. After that, we purchased two sets of ear plugs and settled down to wait.
When the MC announced the Lovely Wreckers, that crowd screamed so hard it caused feedback to squeal over the speakers. Fans streamed from the bar toward the stage, and I spotted Joy. Not alone this time, either. The councilor wasn’t there, but in his place was a cluster of very fit-looking men and women; a few of them wore orange gi’s advertising Blossom’s Mixed Martial Arts Gym on their back.
“Expecting us?” Victoria asked.
“Expecting something,” I mouthed back. “I’ll keep an eye on her; you go let Cliff in.”
With a nod, she slipped from the table toward the emergency exit. I texted him, “She’s here, but she’s recruited a bunch of muscle heads. I can help with a distraction, but I’m not sure we can do more than that without risking more.”
“Now worries, I got this,” he texted back.
Gripping the barrel that held my drink, I did my best to believe him. The Lovely Wreckers seemed completely overwhelmed by and thankful for the enthusiastic crowd. They’d finally gone viral; too bad they were being used. Joy watched them with that self-assured smugness that she radiated, puffing from a small vape box instead of a cigarette. Her acolytes claimed barrels on either side of her.
The mic screeched as the band readied their instruments. “Hey,” the vocalist started, “We’re gonna start with a request by our new friend, Lady Giper-afala. It’s called, well, you’ll figure it out.”
Cliff came around the corner as every light in the house dimmed except for the spotlights on the band. Wearing tactical ballistic armor he’d painted red, with the added height of the helmet he wore, he towered a full head above everyone in the club. I watched his shoulders rise and fall, nod to himself before he reached across his body to grab the hilt of his sword. Pointing his shoulder at Joy he advanced across the bar. Not a single of the toughs moved to block his path, despite several gazing directly at him. Joy’s eyes remained on the stage, but her hand rested within the basket of her rapier.
A trap. Wolf me snarled in surprise as Cliff’s arm lashed out toward Joy, carrying the gleam of his fey sword with it.
Joy twisted suddenly, jerking that basket into the arc of Cliff’s strike. The swords clashed with a muted tang! The force of the blow sent Joy’s thin body back onto the bar and she flipped over it. She disappeared beneath its edge momentarily, before popping up a few feet from where’d she’d been, the long rapier in its proper hand and pointed in Cliff’s direction.
“Ah ha! The bearer of Azonior comes at last. I saw you at that lame party. I knew the wolves would throw you at me, eventually. Do you fight for them?” Joy shouted at him over the music.
“I fight for everyone here.” Cliff twirled his sword as he settled into a defensive stance. “Azonior calls for your… blue blood.”
The bodyguards moved, but not toward Cliff, I found their eyes on me. From sleeves and belts they each pulled out a knife.
Shit. I pushed back from the barrel and checked the exits. All paths to the doors were crowded with people.
Joy laughed, “Azonior is always thirsty. Shall we duel, Sir Knight? Let us dance with our blades. What shall we wager?”
“Cliff! Don’t mak-”
“DOWN WITH THE MAAAAAAAAN!” The band’s crescendo drowned out my warning.
This had been a mistake, a huge mistake. She’d sensed the sword! Or found out our plan somehow! Wolf me pushed down into my limbs to give me strength as I rushed toward Cliff. One of the goons moved to block my way. He swiped at me with his knife. I grabbed his wrist and drove my fist into his stomach. Pain rippled up my arm as if I’d punched a wall.
Searing cold sliced into my shoulder as my very essence bent towards it. Silver! My mind shrieked. I turned to see one goon ripping her blade from my flesh. Her mistake. I lashed out with clawed fingers, slashing across her cheek. She clapped a hand to her cheek and staggered back.
“Abby!” I heard Victoria call behind me. “We can’t fight here.” She snagged my elbow and jerked me back.
I brushed her off to probe my screaming wound. She’d stabbed clean through my upper triceps, and the blood ran freely down my arm. The healing would kick in in a few moments. The gym goons grinned, gesturing with their knives for me to try again.
“We have to get Cliff out of here,” I gasped.
“I thought we agreed this is wasn’t our fight here, Abby,” she shouted into my ear. She still hadn’t changed at all, other than the way her golden eyes shone. “We knew it’s risky.”
Secret mewed in agreement.
Before I could protest or charge, Joy jumped up on top of the bar and the band’s music softened, “Revelers of the Gaslight! Witness that I, Giper-afalalongkipadong, Knight of Joy, has been challenged by this Crimson Knight to a duel to the blood.” She gestured at Cliff, who scowled at her on the other side of the wall of goons. “He wagers his heart’s home against my claim here.”
Soft boos rose from some of the crowd. Heart’s home? Was that his apartment? Or the firehouse? Had he just bet the NLS?
“Yes, I know. We just met, but don’t worry. I don’t intend to let this man beat me. But I must warn you all,” she smiled down at me, “that any interference with the duel will be regarded as an attack on my person. Understand?”
I looked at Cliff. He nodded and mouthed, “I can do this.”
No you can’t, I wanted to shout at him. She has you and us precisely where she wants. Instead, I smiled back, mouthing, “Good Luck. Make sure she bleeds.”
Fey do bleed, I’d seen that first hand.
“En guard!” Joy leapt from the bar, and as her sword met Cliff’s, the band’s music blasted back into my awareness. Cliff batted the rapier aside and counter-attacked. Joy sank low, ducking, giving ground to Cliff’s scything slashes. People scattered, the goons hauling the barrels clear of their patron’s way.
As her foot touched the bar, the band singer screamed, “CHOKE ON MY BLOOD!” With that battle cry, Joy thrust forward, the tip of her sword striking at Cliff’s legs. He barely sidestepped in time; his momentum broken, she drove him back with a series of thrusts as the tempo swelled, the clash of the swords matching the crash of the cymbals. The fight synced to the music, their steps with the beats, a chaotic dance of flashing blades. Joy moved like a ballerina who’d thrived within a mosh pit, whirling her thin body out of the arcs of Cliff’s powerful swings, her parries marking notes in the song more than redirecting his blade. Cliff tossed his helmet aside, and sweat made his close-shaved head glisten, on his face a Cheshire’s grin of gritted teeth.
“Get her, Cliff!” I heard myself shouting, “Don’t let her win!”
“Down with the man!”
A lyric in the song, but it became the cheer of the crowd. My nostrils were full of sweat and Joy’s flowers. Victoria was next to me, cupping her hands in an effort to shout through the song and noise.
“Down with the man!”
“Down with the man!”
Cliff slowed driven to the defensive, but he still wore that smile as he struggled to fend her off, desperately batting away her blade. Yet, that wild look in his eyes. He was having fun. I looked around at the cheering crowd, the bouncing band, and felt the ache in my cheeks caused by the grin on my face..
It’s all Joy. It’s all her; we were all lost in Joy.
“Cliff!” I howled out to him. “You can’t beat her if you’re having fun. Remember what she is!”
Perhaps Cliff heard me, but Joy certainly did, she looked toward me and gave me her little patronizing smirk, not even looking as she parried Cliff’s counterattack. She blew me a kiss, and feinted a thrust at Cliff’s eyes. He overcorrected, knocking her sword high, but leaving himself open.
Joy’s form blurred with the Fey’s swiftness, driving a small, booted foot into Cliff’s midsection. Had physics applied she should have launched herself backward; Cliff outweighed the elf by a factor of three, at least. Instead, he flew backward as if the boot were worn by a draft horse. He hit the floor and skidded into a barrel at the edge of their arena.
The cheering redoubled. “Down with the man! Down with the man! Down with the man!”
Cliff lay there for a moment, stunned, as Joy soaked in the crowd’s adoration, waving with her sword.
