Pet Shop Boys: A Short Story (5 page)

T
HREE

S
hivering violently, Cooper waited in Kay’s office for her to come back, a feminine shawl that smelled like flowers draped over his shoulders as he practically sat on the space heater. It roared as it kicked out the heat, but he still shook with cold and shock. His shiny shoes squished with snow melt, and his slacks were soaked from it. A soft bundle of fur cowered in his lap, and he curved a hand about the little black kitten as if it was a talisman.
What the hell happened?
he thought, flexing his free hand to see his strength returning. He’d say he had gotten some weird drug into him and had hallucinated the entire thing if not for the changes in Kay’s appearance—changes she didn’t seem to know he saw.

The familiar soft sounds of her feet filled him with new foreboding, and he managed an uneasy smile as she pushed past the hanging sheets of milky plastic to hand him a cup of coffee. “Better?” she asked as she sat on the edge of her flower-decaled desk and sipped her own hot chocolate.

Cooper set the cup down, the heat from it seeming to burn his cold-soaked fingers. Kay was sitting almost as close as he was to the heater, not wearing her coat but still having her scarf around her neck to make her look kind of trendy—in a petite, preppy, sword-wielding-warrior, pet-shop-owner kind of way. “Yeah,” he croaked out, feeling his throat. “Tell me that didn’t happen.”

The woman gave him a toothy smile. “What, you getting drunk and me having to spend your Christmas bonus on bail money? You owe me, Cooper. You owe me a week of Sundays in the store, and don’t think I’m not going to take advantage of it.”

Cooper’s lips parted. “Jail?” he said, one hand around the kitten, the other circling the hot coffee. “I was at a dance club. They were vampires, and you broke down the door and slaughtered them.” He didn’t believe it, but that’s what he’d seen, and he risked a glance at her, her eyes crinkled up in laughter as she sat on the desk like she was a normal person—a little closed and reserved perhaps, but normal.

Her laughter dying away, Kay brought a knee to her chin and wrapped her arms around it. “Vampires,” she said as she rested her head on her knee. “That’s what the cop said you were raving about. Drink your coffee,” she said, glancing at it. “It will make everything all better.”

A quiver went through Cooper at her words even as he lifted the mug, his grandmother’s words echoing in his thoughts again. Feeling Kay’s eyes on him, he dutifully brought the hot coffee to his lips, letting it touch his lips and nothing more—faking it. Sure enough, a hint of bitterness blossomed, reminding him of that sloppy, little-girl kiss that Emily had left on his lips. He hadn’t eaten anything, but what if that kiss had changed him? It might explain how he got the door open and could see the changes he now saw in Kay, things that had been under his nose for three years, but he hadn’t seen until now.

“Better?” she asked, all innocence and light, and he pretended to take another drink, sneaking looks at her and wanting to be sure what he was seeing was real. “You take the cake, Cooper,” she said as she slid from the desk and stretched to make Cooper look away fast. “It’s not every boss who will come down at two in the morning to bail out an employee. It’s a good thing you got drunk enough to be hauled out, though. The place burned down an hour later. You were lucky. No one made it out. They’d bolted all the doors to keep out the riffraff, and everyone inside died. Terrible. Just terrible.”

“Yeah, lucky.” Looking past the clear plastic curtain, Cooper had a view of the bus stop on the opposite side of the street. Under the slatted bench was a straggly black cat with a bedraggled kitten. They’d been there for the last fifteen minutes. Felicity and Emily? Cooper had been waiting for them to do something, but all they did was stare malevolently at the store. He was not going out until they left—or had a dog with him.

He shivered, and Kay touched his shoulder. The warmth of her hand came through the blanket to feel like the sun itself. “You okay?” she asked in concern, but he couldn’t look at her, afraid she might notice where his eyes were drawn to.

“Fine,” he said, his gaze on the old oak floorboards. “I need to warm up before I go home.”

She turned away and reached for some paperwork. “Sure, go ahead. I can take you home when I pick up the puppies.”

“Mind if I pick one out?” he said, and Kay hesitated in her reach for a pencil. “I’ve been wanting to get a dog for a long time,” he said, carefully not looking at her. “I can keep it here at the store with me in the day, and take it home at night. Besides, it will give Ember here someone to grow up with,” he added, petting the kitten still curled up in a frightened ball against him. He couldn’t call her Happy—that was a name of a snack cake.

“That’s a great idea.” Kay stuck the pencil behind her ear and headed to the front of the store with a clipboard to do the year-end inventory.

He watched her walk away, free to stare now that she wasn’t looking.
Next to that long pointy ear of hers is probably a really good place to wedge things
, he thought as he watched her floor-length, dexterous tail push aside the grimy plastic curtain so she could go through without touching it with her hands. It wasn’t that her pointy ears were especially big. Actually, they were kind of small and cute, but the little horns poking out right next to them cinched it. The pencil tucked between her ear and that cute little wedge of bone wasn’t going anywhere.

And neither was he
, he decided, holding Ember close and breathing her fur smelling of pine and iron.

If you enjoyed Kim Harrison’s
Pet Shop Boys
, don’t miss her forthcoming story collection
Into the Woods
, coming October 2012, and read on for a sneak peek at her next novel in the Hollows series,

EVER AFTER

Coming in February 2013!

“T
his is close enough. Thanks,” I said to the cab driver, and he swerved to park at the curb, a block down from Carew Tower’s drop-off zone. It was Sunday night, and the trendy shops in the lower levels of the Cincinnati high-rise were busy—the revolving door never stopped as laughing couples and groups went in and out. The kids-on-art exhibit had probably brought in a few, but I’d be willing to bet that the stoic pair in the suit and sequined dress getting out of the black car ahead of me were going up into the revolving restaurant, as I was.

I fumbled for a twenty in my ridiculously small clutch purse, then handed it over the front seat. “Keep the change,” I said, distracted as I tugged my shawl closer, breathing in a faint lilac scent. “And I’m going to need a receipt, please.”

The cabby shot me a thankful glance at the tip, high maybe, but he’d come all the way out to the Hollows to pick me up. Nervous, I readjusted my shawl again and slid to the door. I could have taken my car, but parking was a hassle downtown on the weekends, and tawny silk and lace lost a lot of sparkle while getting out of a mini-cooper. Not to mention the wind off the river would wreck havoc with my carefully styled hair if I had to walk more than a block.

I doubted that tonight’s meeting with Quen was going to lead to a job, but I needed all the tax deductions I could get right now, even if it was just cab fare. Having skipped filing a year while they decided if I was a citizen or not had turned out to be the boon I had originally thought it was.

“Thanks,” I said as the man handed me the receipt, and I tucked it away. Taking a steadying breath, I sat with my hands in my lap, debating if I should change my mind and go home. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Quen, but he was Trent’s number one security guy. I was sure it was a job offer, but probably not one I wanted to take.

Curiosity, though, had always been stronger in me than common sense, and when the cabby’s eyes met mine through his rearview mirror, I reached for the handle. “Whatever it is, I’m saying no,” I muttered as I got out, and the driver, a Were by the rough look of him, chuckled, having heard me even over the sound of traffic. The thump of the door barely beat the three loud teenagers dressed in Goth descending upon him.

My low heels clicked on the sidewalk, and I held my tiny clutch bag under my arm, the other hand on my hair. The bag was tiny, yes, but it was big enough to hold my street-legal splat gun stocked with sleepy-time charms. If Quen didn’t take no for an answer, I was going to shoot him and leave him facedown in his twelve-dollar-a-bowl soup.

Squinting through the wind, I held a hand to my hair and dodged the people loitering for their rides. Quen had asked me to dinner, not Trent. I didn’t like that he felt the need to talk to me at a five-star restaurant instead of a coffee shop, but maybe the man liked his whisky old.

One last gust pushed me into the revolving door, and a whisper of impending danger tightened my gut as the scent of old brass and dog urine rose in the sudden dead air. It expanded into the echoing noise of a wide lobby done in marble, and I shivered as I made for the elevators. It was more than the March chill.

The couple I’d seen at the curb were long gone by the time I got there, and I had to wait for the dedicated restaurant lift. Hands making a fig leaf with my purse, I watched the foot traffic, feeling out of place in my long sheath dress. It had looked so fabulous on me in the store that I’d bought it even though I couldn’t run in it. That I could wear it tonight was half the reason I had said yes to Quen. I often dressed up for work, but always with the assumption that I’d probably end the evening having to run from banshees or after vampires.
Maybe Quen just wanted to catch up?
But I doubted it.

The elevator dinged, and I forced a smile for whoever might be in it. It faded fast when the doors opened to show only more brass, velvet, and mahogany. Taking a steadying breath, I stepped inside and hit the R button at the top of the panel. Maybe my unease was simply because I was alone. I’d been alone a lot this week while Jenks tried to do the work of five pixies in the garden and Ivy was in Flagstaff helping Glenn and Daryl move.

The lobby noise vanished as the doors closed, and I looked at myself in the mirrors, tucking away a strand that had escaped the elaborate braid Jenks’s youngest kids had put it in tonight. If Jenks were here, he’d tell me to snap out of it, and I pulled myself straighter when my ears popped. There were ley line symbols carved into the railing like a pattern but were really a mild euphoric charm, and I leaned backward into them. I could use all the euphoria I could get tonight.

My shoulders had eased by the time the doors opened and the light strains of live chamber music filtered in. It was just dinner, for God’s sake, and in a better mood thanks to the charms, I stepped to the reception desk, smiling at the young host, his hair slicked back and wearing his uniform well. Behind him, Cincinnati spread out in the dark, the lights glinting like souls in the night. The stink and noise of the city were far away, and only the beauty showed. Maybe that’s why Quen chose here.

“I’m meeting Quen Hanson,” I said, forcing my attention away from the view and back to the host. The few tables I could see were all full.

“Your booth isn’t ready yet, but he’s waiting for you at the bar,” the man said, and my eyes flicked up at the unexpected sound of respect in his voice. “May I take your shawl?”

Better and better
, I thought as I turned to let him slip the thin silk from my shoulders. I felt him hesitate at my pack tattoo, and I straightened to my full height, proud of it.

“This way, please?” he said as he handed it to a woman and took the little plastic tag, handing it to me in turn.

I let a little sway into my hips as I fell into step behind him, making the shift to the revolving circle without pause. I’d been up here a couple of times; the bar was on the far side of the entry, and we strode through tables of upscale, wining-and-dining people. The couple that had come up ahead of me were already seated, wine being poured as they sat close together and enjoyed each other more than the view. It had been a while since I’d felt that, and a pang went through me. Shoving it down, I stepped again to the center, unmoving portion and the brass and mahogany bar.

Quen was the only one there apart from the bartender, his stance hinting at unease as he stood with a ramrod straightness in his suit coat and tie. He had the build to wear it well, but it probably hampered his movement more than he liked, and I smiled as he frowned and tugged at his sleeve, clearly not seeing me yet. The reflection in the glass behind the mirror showed the lights on the river and beyond it, the Hollows. Seeing him against them, I decided he looked tired—alert, but tired.

His eyes were everywhere, and his head cocked as he listened to the muted TV in the upper corner behind him. Catching the movement of our approach, he turned, smiling. Last year, I might have felt out of place and uncomfortable, but now, I smiled back, genuinely glad to see him. Somehow, he’d taken on the shades of a father figure in my mind. That we kept butting heads the first year we’d known each other might have something to do with it. That he could still lay me flat out on the floor with his magic was another. Saving his life once when I had failed saving my dad probably figured into it, too.

“Quen,” I said as he needlessly tugged his dress slacks and suit coat straight. “I have to say this is better than meeting you
on
the roof.”

He smiled, the hint of weariness in his eyes shifting to warmth as he took my offered hand in a firm grip to help me onto the perch of the bar stool. Tired or not, he looked good in a mature, trim, security sort of way. He was a little short for an elf, being dark where most were light, but it worked well for him, and I wondered if that was gray about his temples or a trick of the light. A new sensation of contentment and peace flowed from him, one I’d not seen before. Family life was agreeing with him, even if it was probably why he was tired. Lucy and Ray were thirteen and ten months respectively. As Trent’s security advisor, he was powerful in his magic, strong in his convictions . . . and he loved Ceri with all his soul.

Quen made a sour, amused face at the reminder of our first meeting at Carew Tower. “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said, his low, melodious voice reminding me of Trent’s. It wasn’t an accent as much as his controlled grace extending even to his speach. He looked up as the bartender approached and topped off his glass of white wine. “Rachel, what would you like while we wait?”

The TV was just over his head behind him, and I looked away from the stock prices scrolling under the latest national scandal. My back was to the city, and I could see a hint of the Hollows beyond the river through the bar’s mirror. “Anything with bubbles in it,” I said, and Quen’s eyes widened. “It doesn’t have to be champagne,” I said, warming. “A sparkling wine won’t have sulfates.”

The bartender nodded knowingly, and I smiled. It was nice when I didn’t have to explain.

Quen leaned in close, and I caught my breath at the scent of cinnamon, dark and laced with moss. “I thought you were going to order a soft drink,” he said, and I set my purse on the bar beside me.

“Pop? No way. You dragged me all the way into Cincy for a meeting at a five-star restaurant; I’m getting the quail.” He chuckled, but it faded too fast for my liking. “Usually,” I said slowly, fishing for why I was here, “when a man invites me somewhere nice, it’s because he wants to break up with me and doesn’t want me to make a scene.”

Silent, he tightened his jaw. My pulse quickened. The bartender came back with my drink, and I pushed it around in a little circle waiting. Quen just sat there. “What does Trent want me to do that I’m not going to like?” I finally prompted, and he actually winced.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” he said, and the slight unease he had been hiding took on an entirely new meaning.

Dude . . . The last time I’d met Quen without Trent knowing about it . . . “Holy crap, did you get Ceri pregnant again? Congratulations! You old dog! But what do you need me for? Babies are good things!” Unless you happen to be a demon, that is.

He frowned, hunching over the bar to sip his drink and shooting me a look to lower my voice. “Ceri is not pregnant, but the children do touch on what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Suddenly concerned, I leaned closer. “What is it?” I said, a flicker of anger passing through me. Trent could be a dick sometimes, taking his “saving his race” quest to unfair extremes. “Is it about the girls? Is he pressuring you about something? Ray is your daughter!” I said hotly. “She and Lucy being raised together as sisters is a great idea, but if he thinks I’m going to sit here while he shoves you out of their life—”

“No, that’s far from the truth of it.” Quen set his drink aside to put his hand on mine in warning, imprisoning it on the bar. My words cut off as he gave my hand a squeeze, and when I grimaced, he pulled away. I could knock him flat on his ass with a curse, but I wouldn’t. It had nothing to do with the fancy restaurant and everything to do with respect. If I knocked him down, he’d knock me down, and Quen made up for his lack of power with a spell lexicon that put mine to shame.

“Ray and Lucy are being raised with two fathers and one mother. It’s working beautifully, but that’s what I wanted to discuss,” he said, confusing me even more.

I drew my hands back to my lap, slightly huffy for him trying to manhandle me. So I jumped to conclusions. I knew Trent too well, and pushing Quen out of the picture to further the professional image of a happy,
traditional
family wasn’t beyond him. “So discuss. I’m listening.”

Avoiding me, Quen downed a swallow of wine as if needing the support. “Trent is a fine young man,” he said, watching the remaining wine swirl.

“Yes . . .” I drawled, cautiously. “If you can call a drug lord and outlawed-medicine manufacturer a fine young man.” Both were true, but I’d lost any fire behind the accusations awhile ago. I think it was when Trent slugged the man trying to abduct me into a lifetime of degradation.

Quen’s flash of irritation vanished when he realized I was joking—sort of. “I have no issue in taking a secondary public roll in the girls’ lives,” he said defensively. “Trent takes great pains to see that I have sufficient time with them.”

Midnight rides on horseback and reading before bed, I imagined, but not a public show of parenthood. Still, I managed not to say anything but a tart, “He gives you time to be a dad. Bully for Trent.” I took a sip of bubbly wine, blinking the fizz away before it made me sneeze.

“You are the devil to talk to, Rachel,” he said curtly. “Will you shut up and listen?”

The unusual, sharp rebuke brought me up short. Yes, I was being rude, but Trent irritated me. “Sorry,” I said as I focused on him. The TV behind him was distracting.

Seeing my attention, he dropped his head. “Trent is conscientiously making sure I have time to be with both Ray and Lucy, but it’s becoming increasingly evident that it’s caused an unwise reduction to his own personal safety.”

Reduction to his own personal safety?
I snorted and reached for my wine. “He’s not getting his fair share of daddy time?”

“No, he’s scheduling things when I’m not available and using the excuse to go out alone. It has to stop.”

“Ohhhh!” I said in understanding. Quen had been keeping Trent safe since his father had died, leaving him alone in the world. Quen practically raised him, and letting the billionaire idiot savant out of his sight to chat with businessmen on the golf course probably didn’t sit well. Especially with Trent’s new mindset that he could do magic, too.