The Pardoner's Tale Read online

  "That was just a warning, you big baby." He was angry.

  "Go feed," I growled. "Go find yourself a victim." I pulled out my wallet and handed him cash. "Have a whore. My treat!" Hey, I was angry too.

  Alex grabbed the cash, flipped me a salute, and left.

  He returned just before sunrise. He stood in the doorway to my bedroom, staring at me until I woke up.

  I sat up and switched on the light next to the bed. "Did you want something?"

  He threw the money back at me. "So you know, I didn't kill anyone tonight. I didn't even feed."

  What did he want me to do, congratulate him? I collected the scattered bills, stacked them neatly on the bedside table and turned the light off. "Goodnight, Alex."

  "Good morning, Nicky." He slammed the door behind him.

  I looked at the door. I got out of bed and pulled clothes on. I stalked my way to the living room. Alex was sprawled across the couch with headphones on.

  I kicked his foot. "Show me."

  He slipped the headphones off one ear. "Show you what?"

  "Prove to me that you're a vampire. Do something vampiric. Give me a reason to kill you. Do something to prove to me you are a vampire, so I can justify killing you."

  "I asked you first. That night in the alley. I wanted proof you were a shifter, remember? I've still never seen you shift."

  "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." I quipped.

  He stood up and moved close. We were eye-to-eye. Had his eyes always been that oddly dark shade of blue? I was aware of his breath hitting my face in angry little puffs. It was fresh with the scent of mouthwash. His skin smelled of the soap in the bathroom. There was an underlying salty scent to him and it reminded me of the ocean. This close I could see the very faint start of stubble on his cheeks and chin. Wildly, I wondered if his face would feel rough if I touched it. I raised my hand and lightly brushed my fingertips across his jaw, tilting my head to the left to watch the progress of my fingers. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The hair at the nape of my neck rose.

  He pressed the tip of his index finger against the vein in my throat. "Bang," he whispered, and suddenly the world returned to normal.

  I backed away from him, blinking, and stuttering. "You asshole! What was that?"

  The one-shoulder shrug. "You wanted proof. That's what it feels like when I'm about to feed. That's what makes it so easy. You get the idea that it'll be the most pleasurable thing you've ever experienced, so why should you stop me from doing it?"

  "That's just fucking sick. You really do that to people?" I shivered and hugged myself.

  He nodded and pressed his right hand against my chest. A dizzy feeling washed over me and breathing became difficult. I was getting lightheaded and I was aware that there was something was missing. My heartbeat.

  Alex pulled his hand back and then shoved it hard against my chest. Not a punch, but a very hard shove. Suddenly everything came flooding back. I gasped and filled my lungs, clutching my chest to be certain my heart was actually beating.

  "Your turn."

  "I can't."

  "You can. You're not bound by the moon."

  "I mean I don't trust you. I'm not going to make myself vulnerable like that."

  He raised one eyebrow. "I've already had countless opportunities to hurt or even kill you, you know. I'm faster, I'm stronger, and I do the cooking. I could drug your food or your fucking coffee and remove your heart or just feed from you while you were out cold. But if you'll notice I haven't done any of that. The worst thing I've done lately is let you drink milk that was just about to go off."

  "You never did that."

  "Well you smelled it first and threw it out, but I didn't stop you from opening it."

  I hated it when he was right. It really pissed me off. "There's really no way I can get out of this, is there."

  "Not really, no."

  I turned around so my back was to Alex and briefly considered making a run for my room, but he could move faster and get there first and I hated having him in my bedroom. I pulled my T-shirt off.

  "Whoa. Whoa! What are you doing?"

  I looked back over my shoulder. "What? This is what I do. I can't shift when I'm dressed. Not unless I want to ruin what I'm wearing."

  "For my sake? Ruin the jammies."

  "Fuck off. You're just going to have to deal with seeing my bare butt for a few minutes." Pajama bottoms came down, were kicked to the side, and the process started.

  The process was halted by a loud giggle.

  I turned and looked back at him again. "What is your problem?"

  "Nothing, man. That's just the hairiest ass I've seen in a while."

  "Werewolf!" What did he expect? I don't have excess hair, really. It's just... darker and more obvious on me than it is on non-were. And maybe there is more of it. I've never been in a position to compare it to anyone else's.

  He waved his hand dismissively. "Carry on."

  Shifting is not an easy or comfortable process. It takes time and it usually requires somewhere that's soundproof. Have you ever broken a bone and had to have it re-broken so it could set properly? Try to imagine that happening to every bone in your body at once. Joints separate. Muscles stretch or contract. Your skin crawls as hair sprouts. Your teeth shift and your face stretches to accommodate your muzzle. The reshaping of your ears, the set of your eyes, your posture-- it all changes. Smells intensify. Sounds grow louder. Colors fade out. Top it off with suddenly obtaining a fluffy tail that insists on wagging itself and it's a humiliating, shocking transformation that you never quite get used to.

  But I did it.

  I made my way to my bedroom before reverting back to human form. I showered, letting abused muscle and bone relax under the hot spray. I'm always cold and sore after I shift, which is another reason I don't do it as often as I could.

  ***

  The little display of skills broke the ice, and Alex and I worked as a team from that point on. In simple cases where I was just the courier, I trusted him to drive. If I was going to be "just a retriever", I might as well be a dignified one. It was nice to show up at an auction house or a consignment shop or even a pawn shop and have Alex wait in the car while I conducted business. Sometimes he was needed to help me carry something heavy or cumbersome, like the dresser with the poltergeist trapped in the one drawer that wouldn't open.

  These were the best assignments. Very simple, no-one-gets-hurt affairs. Go somewhere, buy something, make the drop, and go home. By morning the cost of the purchase plus my fee was safely in my bank account. After each job I shuttled money into my savings account, made sure all the bills were paid (my rent was now paid for six months in advance), and then we'd go out to the bar or a restaurant or even a movie.

  I really appreciated Alex's presence and his skills on the cases involving free-range demons. Things like exorcisms, or spirits that were attached-to but not locked inside items. Some of the smaller ones were afraid of Alex just because he was a vampire and it didn't matter that Alex was more afraid of them than they were of him. Demons don't expect vampires to be afraid of them so they don't look for the fear when they encounter one.

  One particularly small demon who was really no threat at all (except he liked to hang out in vending machines and take people's money without giving them their purchase), voluntarily got into the iron ball, just so he'd be safely away from the "vicious vampire."

  With bigger, more dangerous demons it was good to have someone stronger and faster than me. Once he pointed out that if we were being chased by something, he'd just have to outrun me. I replied that once it was through with me it'd be right back after him and demons don't get tired. Ever. The jar of wriggling, clicking, iron balls in my bedroom was proof of that.

  "What will you do if you come up against a demon that isn't bound by iron?"

  "Don't ask questions, Alex. Just drive."

  "I was thinking about 'Ghostbusters' the other day."

  "What's that?"


  "Right. I forget that you don't watch movies. Never mind."

  I watched the movie later. It doesn't work like that at all.

  There are some benefits to being born a werewolf. I can shift when I want to or need to, regardless of the phase of the moon or the time of the day. The increased strength and speed are nice, but you have to actually work for them. You're not just born stronger. You've got to develop the muscles just like anyone else does. We've just got the ability to do more than your average, non-steroid-abusing human.

  Seeing it written down, the perks of being a werewolf aren't really that impressive, since technology and medical science can give people a lot of what we shifters are born with. We're a genetic mutation and I think we're on the way out. The birth rate of shifter couples is low. Both shifters have to be the same animal to produce a child with the ability, and shifting is obviously recessive, so if only one parent carries the gene the odds of a child being a shifter are slim (I still have no idea who the shifters are in my family). Contrary to the myths, it's almost impossible for a shifter to pass on "the curse" to someone through an attack. I don't know if this is because most were don't need to attack anyone, or because very few people ever survive an attack when it does happen.

  The down side of being a shifter is everything else. Increased sensitivity to light and sounds and smells, for one thing. You don't know what disgusting creatures humans are until you walk into a public restroom. Do that once and you'll never do it again if you can help it.

  Until you get the hang of shifting and learn how to control it, it's worse than anything else that happens to so-called "normal" teenagers. While my friends were out discovering drugs and alcohol and their sexuality I was trying to figure out why I was -- well, turning into a wolf. There isn't a school counselor around that can handle that sort of thing. Puberty makes most people grow hair in new places, but nothing like what I dealt with.

  I finished high school at seventeen and moved out immediately into a small apartment near college. I couldn't handle the idea of a dorm and a communal bathroom. My unit was in the basement. I felt safe there. I told the landlord I was a musician and he let me install soundproofing. Better a little insulation than noise complaints and lost tenants, right? I was nineteen when I finally had enough control to not need to shift during a full moon.

  I majored in law. I studied psychology, and photography. I took courses in crime scene forensics. And through it all I worked for a collector who operated what he called a "dime museum." Albert Tyson encouraged me to take courses in archeology, history, anthropology, and he paid me more than enough for the simple job of rounding up his purchases.

  I would drive all over the state of Ohio, and sometimes all over the mid-Atlantic region, picking up things that ranged from mundane and ugly to downright creepy. Old dental equipment. Things that looked like torture devices. Obviously fake "oddities" like the two-headed cat with very visible stitching holding the second head in place. And some things looked completely benign but touching them made me feel uncomfortable. Almost violated.

  After graduation, I worked full time for him, expanding my retrievals to all parts of the continental United States. Eventually he confronted me. Asked me what I was. What I really was. He stressed it in a way that let me know there wasn't a point to lying.

  I'd known Albert for years. He had become like a father to me. Despite the fact that it could have meant my death, I told him.

  That's when he told me what some of the antiques I collected really were. That's when he taught me how to draw the demons out of things and lock them into the hollow iron pellets.

  It took me three weeks to stop thinking about the fact that I'd been driving across country with jars full of demons in the back seat of my car. Steady income tends to make you feel a lot better about questionable acts.

  I worked exclusively for him for a year while I saved more than enough money for rent on an office and for the licensing to become an investigator. In that time I learned how to use conventional weapons and I took a few refresher courses in martial arts (I'd had classes as a child, because my father bought into the whole "Karate Kid" thing).

  Albert cosigned my loans and my lease. He was doing it on the condition that no matter what else I was working on, his requests would take priority. He also made it clear that any vampire I encountered would be eliminated, no questions asked. His baby sister and her husband had been killed by vampires. It was their way of telling Albert to stop meddling with the supernatural. It only made Albert more determined. It was what made Albert confront me and ask me what I really was.

  It was his niece, Linda Mullins, who was my contact in the local police department. She worked in the headquarters as a clerk, which meant she got to handle a lot of the paperwork that passed through the central office. Suspicious deaths, unidentified gang symbols, or any crime with unusual elements were passed to her uncle, who made the decision to forward the case to me.

  I wondered how he would feel about the fact that I had a vampire living in my house.

  I never had to find out what Albert thought. They killed him.

  The "They" in question wasn't immediately known. It was barely six in the morning. The only thing I was aware of, other than my extreme desire to retreat back into my dreams of chasing bunnies, was Alex. He was standing next to my bed, poking me in the shoulder and ribs.

  "Nick. Nick. Nick. NickNickNickNickNick." He said my name over and over so many times he started to sound like an idling scooter. I swatted his hand away and pulled the pillow from under my head, clamping it down over my head to block him out.

  "G'way!"

  "Nicholas. This is Important."

  I lifted the pillow and peeked out from under it. "Capital I important?"

  "Capital I. Capital M. Capital portant. In italics. Are you awake enough to understand what I'm saying?"

  I sat up and rubbed sleep from my eyes. "Yeah, I'm good. What's up?"

  "Albert's building is on fire."

  If I hadn't been capable of understanding, I was certainly sober and wide awake now. Alex had driven to Albert's several times so I could drop off purchases. I knew he wouldn't be mistaken. Still, I had to see for myself. I got out of bed and ignored the mocking shriek from Alex as I hopped around getting into jeans and a shirt. Alex followed me back into the living room where the "breaking news" played out.

  Live footage of Albert's consignment shop and attached warehouse in a blaze that we probably could have seen from the front steps. My stomach twisted in knots. Please god or whoever, please let him be safe at home. I had no idea what would happen to all of Albert's collected "things." Hopefully fire would destroy them and not release them.

  I jammed on a pair of sneakers and found my keys. I tossed them to Alex, who handed me a travel mug full of hot, fresh coffee in exchange. We bolted from the house and drove to Albert's shop, weaving in and out of rush hour traffic, wishing we had a siren or some sort of official documentation to get us close to the scene.

  Alex pulled into a spot two blocks from the warehouse and we ran toward the building. It was ruined. The firemen had to break down part of a wall to get inside the warehouse, which was apparently the origin of the fire. Rubble and burnt wood, dripping wet, steam rising from the ruin, and the thick smell of smoke and gasoline greeted us.

  A very tall man in a heavy rubber coat greeted us next. His hand was roughly the size of my head and it clamped down on my shoulder like a steel claw, turning me away and ushering me back.

  "That's my boss," I explained. "I work for him. What's happened? Is he okay?"

  He wasn't okay. I could smell that he wasn't okay. He was the farthest thing from okay he could be. "Albert," I mumbled. I know I sounded pitiful, but I couldn't help it.

  I sank down and sat on the curb, head in my hands, aware that the wolf was waking up. I could feel it stretching inside me, pushing my internal organs out of the way. My hands were shaking when I drew a business card from my wallet and held it out to the f
ireman. I couldn't lift my head. I couldn't let him see my face. Alex took the card from my fingers and passed it to the man.

  The words faded in and out, drowned out by my pulse bashing into my brain. "... to contact him ... taking him home ... obviously distressed ... very close...." Then Alex's hands were under my arms and he hoisted me to my feet and steered me back in the direction of the car.

  He piled me into the back seat and slid into the driver's seat, watching me in the rear view mirror. "Are we okay to drive home, or should I hide the car somewhere and let you wolf out?"

  "Home," I growled. I could control it, but not for long.

  Alex drove, checking me in the mirror and with quick glances over his shoulder. "It's kind of like The Hulk, huh?"

  Great. Just what I needed. Another movie reference. My entire body convulsed as the wolf got stronger and tried to change my posture. I started to pull at my clothes, not wanting to be trapped in them. And, okay, not wanting to ruin my favorite jeans.