Chapter 4
A large part of my bravado in inviting Suzume to check my computer was a solid understanding of how anal Gage had been about updating his weekly planner. Sure enough, a quick check of Gage’s desk revealed the planner, and neatly penciled into the spot for Friday evening was the name, time, and street address of where the speed-dating was held. I hauled Suzume off of my computer, where she’d already been hard at work trying to guess my new e-mail password, and we loaded into my car and drove out.
We were well before the lunch rush, so I found a parking spot right in front of the restaurant.
“Indigo, you said,” Suzume said.
“Yeah, exactly.” I nodded and started unbuckling my seat belt.
“And you think your plan is going to work?”
“Why wouldn’t it? I talk to the staff to see if Gage ever got here or if he left with someone; you sniff around and see if you can pick up a trail.” I stared at her, and she glared back at me. I threw my hands up in frustration. “Ten minutes ago you were fine with this plan!”
“Ten minutes ago I hadn’t seen the restaurant.”
“What could possibly be wrong with it?” I looked over. It was small, brick, with big green awnings and a few outside tables available for anyone who didn’t mind a late-autumn chill with their lunch.
“Fort, the name is IndiGo.”
“So?”
“We’re twenty feet from the front door and I can’t smell anything other than curry.”
I looked from her to the restaurant. Sure enough, the front window proudly announced its authentic Indian cuisine.
“Oh,” I said. I paused, then asked, “Now, are you really sure—”
“Fort!” There was a very distinct expression of outrage on her face.
“Okay, okay.” I sighed heavily. “I guess I’ll talk to the staff and you’ll . . . supervise.”
“Hrmph.” Now she was looking thoroughly pouty.
I opened the Fiesta’s door to get out, and had to admit, there was a distinct whiff of curry in the air. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that we were beating the lunch crowd, but not by too much. I glanced over again cautiously. “Unless . . . I’ll talk to the staff . . . and you can buy lunch to go?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
• • •
Suzume did eventually relent and grab lunch while I was busy getting information out of the IndiGo manager. By posing as a fresh-faced cub reporter for the business section of the Providence Journal, I’d been treated to a long rendition on the ways that speed-dating sucked at drawing in business.
“I would’ve thought that it would’ve been a bonanza in liquor sales,” Suzume commented around a bite of her roti wrap. We were sitting in the parked Fiesta, eating lunch, while I filled Suzume in on what I’d learned.
“Apparently just a few sales on appetizers. I guess people on five-minute dates don’t want to spend a lot of time chewing.”
“Exactly. That’s why they should’ve been spending a lot of time drinking.”
I rolled my eyes and took another big bite out of my aloo gobi curry. One of the best things about Indian food, in my opinion, was how well it catered to vegetarianism. “Yeah, the manager was disappointed too. Really took a chunk out of his bottom line. Twenty tables taken up from six to seven-thirty, plus all the disruption from the egg timers going off and people moving seats, and apparently they even had to make room for a table to sell tchotchkes and gifts. The manager said that he’d rather take a swim down the Blackstone River than do this again.”
Suzume snorted. “He really said that?” The Blackstone River was one of Rhode Island’s claims to fame, declared by the EPA in the nineties to be the most polluted river in the country. Providence had spent years dumping industrial sewage into one of its tidal extensions, but it was still a rather resonating event for most members of the Ocean State. After all, who would’ve thought that something was dirtier than the Hudson?
“Made sure I even wrote it down so that I could quote it correctly in the paper.”
“Hm.” Suzume shrugged, then nudged me with her elbow. “What was the thing about the tchotchke table?”
I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and checked it again. “Turns out that they didn’t do this on their own. There’s this New Age store called Dreamcatching,” Suzume’s massive and completely predictable eye roll made me laugh; then I got back to the notes. “They’re the ones coordinating the speed-dating. They get the people, collect fees—the whole thing. Apparently they’ve been doing a whole bunch of them around the city over the past year. The restaurant is ensured business for the night, and the Dreamcatching people set up their table with candles and pretty rocks and the usual crap to try to get extra business.”
“Does the guy remember seeing Gage?”
“Doesn’t remember anyone other than one cougar who was the only one who ordered any drinks and ended up vomiting on the floor of the women’s bathroom. None of the servers from last night are on shift now. But the IndiGo guy says that there were two people hosting the speed-dating, both from the other store.”
“Ah, and I assume that you got names?”
I smiled. “Yup. Tomas Doubrant and Lilah Dwyer. If they were running it, one of them probably would remember Gage.”
Suzume balled up her roti wrapper and tossed it into the backseat of my car, which I would’ve been more irate about had it not joined half a dozen similar comrades of fast food. “Great. So the next station of the cross for my poor nose will be crappy incense. Onward.”
“Don’t grumble, Suze,” I said. “If you’re really good, I’ll buy you a sparkly geode.”
Suzume’s retort was mercifully lost in the grinding sound of the Fiesta’s engine struggling to turn over.
• • •
Dreamcatching was everything I expected it to be. Books on harnessing inner power or earth goddesses lined the walls, while the rest of the store was devoted to awkwardly placed displays filled with colorful (and, from the advertisements “powerful focuses for psychic energy”) rocks, selections of incense, sparkly scarves, cheap pewter jewelry, and racks of CDs that boasted themselves to be entirely whale song or wolf howls. The walls were hung with more than enough dream catchers to justify the business name, and there was a pervasive aura of smug self-congratulation posing as spirituality that set my teeth on edge.
“I want to shove a handful of lit incense sticks up the owners’ noses and see how they like it,” Suzume muttered behind me. “Get information fast so that we can get out of here.” Clearly she was also not a fan.
With Suze staying by the door and exhibiting no intention whatsoever of taking one step farther, I headed up alone to the main counter. The woman behind it looked around my own age, and gave me a friendly smile with only a hint of mercantile intention. Her hair was the color of a shiny new penny, a bright coppery gold, and was braided around her head like a crown, but strands seemed determined to escape, making it look like a somewhat fuzzy halo. Her complexion was a true redhead’s, with freckles trailing over both cheeks and her forehead, light brown pinpoints that formed their own constellations on the map of her skin. Her eyes were large, and as I walked closer I saw that they were a bright, almost golden brown. She was dressed in a long, gauzy green skirt, the kind with layers and embroidery that my ex-girlfriend had been a fan of. She’d paired it with a rather plain cream blouse whose scooped neck revealed just the top of her collarbone (along with another universe of freckles) but that fit well enough to reveal a nice hourglass figure.
Apparently my perusal had been too much on the obvious side, and her smile widened in amusement, crinkling her nose. Caught, I could feel my face reddening, and I cleared my throat and pretended to closely examine the contents of the counter display case.
“Interested in tarot cards?” she asked. Her voice matched her hair—almost fluorescently chipper. I obediently examined them.
“No, not really. But I’m sure that they’re really nice and, you know. Tarot-y.” I kicked myself internally.
“How about jewelry? We have necklaces, rings, and bracelets in every shade of pewter.”
I glanced up and saw a twist of irony in her smile and a refreshing twinkle of cynicism in her eyes. It was like bumping into an agnostic at a Bible revival, and I relaxed and grinned back at her. “I’m sure that pewter has all sorts of inherent earthy powers.”
She laughed. “We’re happy to say it does, at least.” Then she tilted her head slightly and asked, “Did your girlfriend drag you in here? That happens a lot. I’ve suggested putting a pile of sports magazines by the door, like in a doctor’s office, but my boss shot it down.”
I glanced automatically back at Suzume, who had somehow acquired a pen and was writing something on one of the many fliers attached to the bulletin board. I shuddered at the thought of what she was composing, and forced myself to put it out of mind and look back at the counter girl. “Oh, Suze isn’t my girlfriend,” I assured her. She gave me a somewhat skeptical look, and I hurried to elaborate. “We’ve never even dated.” The thought of dating Suzume, I reminded myself, should be enough to frighten years off of the life of any red-blooded American man. It should definitely not be remotely enticing.
Apparently I hadn’t quite convinced the counter girl either, since she raised one feathery copper eyebrow and said, “Really?”
Clearly I wasn’t going to win here, so I hurried to change the subject. “Actually, I’m looking for someone. Are either Tomas Doubrant or Lilah Dwyer here? I have a few questions about the speed-dating they ran last night.”
She dropped her Scully-like expression of skepticism and went back to smiling. “Then you’re in luck, because I’m Lilah, the store manager.”
There was the smallest hint of self-deprecation in the way she’d said her title, and I found myself fighting a smile. “Impressive.”
Lilah made a face and shrugged off the compliment. “Four people work here. I wasn’t exactly fighting my way to the top. Tomas owns the store, but he’s not in today.” She tilted her head again and gave me a more thorough once-over. I did my best to subtly flex. “I don’t remember you from the speed-dating last night, but”—she grinned again—“of course, I was running the merchandise table, so you might’ve been running in the other direction.”
“Candles and shiny rocks?” I guessed.
“We also had a sign-up sheet for classes about harnessing your personal bubble of living energy,” she said seriously, then laughed at whatever expression crossed my face.
“What a thought,” I said, striving for blandness in my tone. “No, actually my friend Gage was planning on going, and I’m just trying to find out if he ever arrived.”
Lilah immediately dropped her smile and looked concerned. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did something happen?”
I cleared my throat, considered, and lied. “Yeah, he’s . . . missing. I’m just trying to track him down.” In this ridiculous store, talking to a girl who practically radiated wholesomeness, it felt wrong even saying the word murdered, as if that would make Gage’s death real on a level that touching his body and having cops swarm my apartment hadn’t.
“Can you describe him?” she asked, helpfulness radiating off of her.
“Tall, blond, kind of built, mid-twenties.”
Recognition immediately bloomed across Lilah’s face. “Oh, THAT guy. Yeah, he was definitely there.”
“You remember him?”
“Sure. He made a big impression on the female participants. It was kind of like chumming shark-infested waters. I was sending out the e-mails this morning to the participants, and pretty much every woman asked to have her info sent to him.” Lilah considered for a moment, then asked tentatively, “I’m sure you’re really worried about him, but have you thought about whether he went home with someone? People aren’t supposed to do it at the dating events, but I know that sometimes they slip phone numbers to each other.” She shrugged, dropped her voice, then said almost apologetically, “It seemed like a really nice group, but sometimes when one person is so obviously popular a few of the daters try to . . . you know . . . make an impression. There have been a few incidents.”
Lilah’s expression suggested that those incidents were weird, probably sexual, and definitely good storytelling, and I was about to ask for details when Suzume walked up beside me, apparently done with whatever form of vandalism she’d come up with to occupy her attention. She opened her mouth to say something, then suddenly stopped, frowned slightly, and peered hard at Lilah. She leaned across the counter, well into Lilah’s personal space, and gave a very obvious sniff. A wide, slightly malevolent smile spread across her face, reminding me of the cartoon Grinch, and she said, “Well, if it isn’t one of Santa’s little helpers.”
Lilah went completely white at the statement, her freckles suddenly stark against the pallor of her skin, and her hands flew instinctively to her hair, patting frantically at the braid that circled her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said thinly, even as the patting continued.
Suzume snorted. “Oh, give it a rest, halfsie.” She rolled her eyes at me, as I continued to attempt to puzzle out what exactly was happening. “If it wasn’t for the level of patchouli funk in this place, I would’ve smelled it earlier.” At Lilah’s persistent hair groping, Suze gave a rather mean smile and said, “Don’t look so horrified. You didn’t flash an ear. Let’s get this thing rolling. I’m”—she pointed at her chest—“a kitsune, and he’s”—now the finger went in my direction—“a vampire.”
I choked. Apparently all secret identities were off.
It didn’t seem possible, but Lilah got even paler and shuffled backward. “Chivalry Scott?” she squeaked, like she’d just been introduced to the boogeyman.
Trying to recover myself, I hurried to correct her. “No, no, that’s my older brother. I’m Fortitude Scott.” I paused, then added lamely, “Everyone calls me Fort.” The statement hung there in the air for a long minute.
It did have the positive effect of returning some of the color to Lilah’s face, and she sounded surprised as she said, “Oh, I didn’t know about you.” Then she realized what she’d just said and scrambled to cover it up, talking quickly and in the tone that girls use when they’ve implied that a guy has a small penis. “But I don’t know much about the vampires at all. I mean, Tomas is the one who handles the store tithes.”
“Tithes?” I asked. Clearly my brother had left something out.
Suzume gave another eye roll. “Fifteen percent of earnings off the top go to Madeline Scott, Fort. Jeez, I thought Chivalry was filling you in on this shit.” She leaned back across the counter and said to Lilah, in a very loud faux whisper, “Don’t worry about him—he’s still new.”
In an almost normal tone of voice, Lilah said, “Huh. I never really thought of vampires as new.”
I smiled reassuringly, hoping to reclaim our earlier rapport. “That’s because the rest of my family qualifies as antique.” She smiled back at me, amused.
Suzume looked from me to her, then gave a very blustery sigh. “Good grief.” She shook her head, then pushed back to business. “Anyway, something killed Fort’s buddy last night. We don’t know what, but it wasn’t human.”
“God, that’s awful,” Lilah said, then looked over to me and said, with almost charming earnestness, “I’m so sorry,” and actually sounded like she meant it.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”
“Of course.” Lilah nodded, then frowned, clearly thinking very hard. “The blond, I mean Gage, he was there for the whole event. The speed-dating ended at seven-thirty, and people left really quickly. I remember that Gage was at the merchandise table and looked things over, but he didn’t buy anything, and I’m pretty sure that he left on his own.” The frown deepened. “I didn’t talk with him . . . No, I just don’t remember.” She looked back at me. “I’m so sorry. There were just too many people.”
“Was there anyone there who wasn’t human?” I asked.
“Me, of course, and Tomas—he’s like me.” Here she stumbled a bit, then blushed. Apparently this wasn’t a usual conversation topic for her.
“Yes, yes, halfsie,” Suzume said impatiently, making a Go on motion with her hand.
Lilah glared. “We prefer to be called the Neighbors,” she said stiffly. Then she gave a small shrug and her glare dissolved into a self-mocking expression. “Not that it really matters to you. But, yeah, we’re both half-bloods. Tomas is a first-generation; I’m second.”
“Second generation?” I was confused. I’d had one brief encounter with a half-breed elf before, and both Suzume and my brother had given me a sketchy background on the species, but this was like trying to go from a Psych 101 course to a graduate seminar—I was lost on most of the terminology.
“Both my parents are half-bloods,” Lilah explained, then shrugged again. “It doesn’t really make a difference, but you know how people are. When my parents were little, all of the half-bloods had human mothers. But then there were enough that they could marry each other, and now, with people my age . . . The Neighbors make a big deal about the ones who had human mothers.” She sighed. “It’s all Gilded Age snobbery, really. Like the millionaires whose parents had made money looking down on the nouveau riche.”
“And back on the topic of why we’re here . . .” Suzume hinted loudly. I winced a little as Lilah blushed. I’d been interested in what Lilah was saying, but at the same time, Suzume was right. We were here about Gage, not for cultural anthropology.
“Uh, yeah,” Lilah smiled apologetically, then concentrated again. “As far as I know, the only people there who weren’t human were me and Tomas. But”—she spread her hands helplessly—“it’s not like I’d know if someone wasn’t. I don’t have a fox’s nose.”
“You wouldn’t know at all?” I asked.
“Just if it was another of the Neighbors, and only because I’d see their glamour.”
“You all have one?” Okay, maybe there was a little time for my inner anthropologist.
“For some of us it’s small,” Lilah said. She glanced around almost reflexively, but the store was just as deserted as when we’d come in. Reassured, Lilah leaned across the counter toward me, then pushed her braid up slightly, exposing her right ear. I looked, curious, but it was a perfectly average ear. There was a short pause while Lilah closed her eyes and bit her lip, concentrating, then something changed. It was almost like the kind of heat shimmer I’d seen on pavement on record-hot days in the summer, but for just a moment that round, average ear became sharply pointed. It was thinner at the base than a human ear, and along the back of it there was the slightest hint of fur that matched her copper hair, reminding me of a cat’s ear. Then I blinked and it was a regular human ear again, but there was something wrong with it now. Now it was as if that round ear was just a wispy front, and if I concentrated I could almost see that real ear again.
Lilah tugged the braid back into place, covering up most of her ear again. She smoothed it nervously with her hand, in the kind of reflexive motion I guessed she did hundreds of times a day. I looked back at her face, feeling oddly like she’d just accidentally flashed cleavage and we were both aware of it and now trying to ignore that it had happened. She patted her hair again. “For most of us, that’s all we can do,” she said, and met my eyes. I was struck again by how brilliant her eye color was, and I wondered what part of her ancestry had supplied it.
Suzume broke the moment when she asked, very slyly, “A few of you need something more, though, don’t you? More than just a little ear muffling.”
“What do you mean?” Lilah looked nervous. I reflected that she was probably not a great poker player.
“Don’t play dumb,” Suzume scoffed. “There are more than half-bloods running around.”
Lilah nodded reluctantly. “It’s not a secret; we just don’t talk about it much to outsiders.” Suzume snorted loudly, apparently taking issue with Lilah’s use of the term much.
“Lost? Really lost?” I complained, feeling irritated at being left out. Apparently spending a summer with Chivalry hadn’t brought me nearly as much up to speed as I’d assumed.
“I thought the vampires knew,” Lilah said, looking surprised.
“I only got involved in this kind of stuff a few months ago,” I explained. “I’m picking some things up as I go.”
“Oh, well—” Lilah paused at a small tinkling sound, and a moment later the beaded curtain behind the counter below the prominently displayed Employees Only sign rustled. A woman emerged—around the same age as Lilah, maybe a little younger, since she looked like she would be carded every time she ordered a drink. Her hair was very curly, cut just above her shoulders, and the kind of brilliantly glossy gold that should’ve been the result of coloring products but somehow seemed like it wasn’t. It took me a second to look beyond her hair, just from the sheer visual impact of it, but glancing at her face made me recoil slightly. There was a severe sharpness to her features that a runway model would’ve envied, but it was more than just the angles themselves—there was something that made me think of big predatory lizards, and her thin lips were pressed together in a way that reminded me strongly of the way that my mother sometimes held her mouth to carefully conceal her fangs. The last thing I noticed was probably the first thing I would’ve on any other woman: her giant, heavily pregnant belly. I didn’t spend much time around pregnant women, but it was clear even to me that she was ready to drop at any time.
Lilah looked over at her and asked, “Allegra, do you need something?” Her voice confirmed the age difference—the tone and familiarity made me wonder if she’d been Allegra’s babysitter at some point in years past.
Allegra looked annoyed, but gestured vaguely at me and Suze. “You can finish with them. I just need something off of one of the upper shelves and”—she patted her gigantic belly—“probably not a great idea to climb for it.”
“I’ll be back in a second,” Lilah promised. With a nod, Allegra turned and left, moving with a decided waddle, which only had the unfortunate effect of increasing her eerie resemblance to a komodo dragon. I looked over to Suzume, wondering what her reaction was, and noticed that her eyes were almost slits as she examined Allegra speculatively, and I was close enough that I could see the slight twitch of her nostrils as she sniffed.
When the tinkling sound came again, clearly the result of bells attached to some back door, Suzume spoke. “So, that’s one of your three-quarter jobs. Definitely different. She’s got glamour caked on her like a transvestite’s makeup job, and she’s still barely passing for human.”
Lilah definitely didn’t like that comment, and there was a warning edge as she said, “Allegra is a nice girl, and Tomas’s daughter.” Suzume raised a mocking eyebrow, and Lilah flushed but didn’t back down, clearly protective of the younger woman. “I’ve got to get back to work.” Her tone had a definite snap to it.
I nudged Suzume with my elbow, making her bite back whatever comment she’d been about to make, and inserted my own. “Okay, thanks for your time. If you think of something else, will you give me a call?”
She paused for a long second, assessing my level of culpability in Suze’s comments, then relented and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that. I’m sorry your friend died, but I just don’t know how much help I can be. Whatever killed him, it did it after he left the restaurant.” She handed me a piece of paper and a pen, and I wrote down my name and cell phone number. Lilah took it, glanced quickly at it, then folded it and tucked it into a pocket in her skirt. “Good luck,” she said, but it was clearly a dismissal.
I thanked her and we left.
• • •
Back at the car we both buckled in, but then just sat, lacking a direction. Our last lead on Gage had just gone up in smoke.
Something was clearly on Suzume’s mind. She looked at me thoughtfully, then said, “So, that’s your type, huh? Kinda granola and yogurty? Making sure that her deodorant is earth-friendly?”
I flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Suze poked me playfully in the side. “Seriously. It was like I was in the middle of some meet-cute setup. But that’s the type of girl you usually go for?”
Giving in, I considered her question. It was true that my ex-girlfriend Beth had been about as granola as possible, from her very militant veganism to her clothing choices to her enthusiastic support of cannabis laws. I wasn’t sure where Lilah fell on the first or the last, but in terms of clothing she and Beth were probably shopping in the same places. “I guess.” Certainly before Suzume had come over there had been a noticeable level of bantering going on.
“Hm.” Suzume turned to look out the window.
Suddenly getting where the drift of this conversation was going, I immediately tried to cover my tracks. “I mean, not exclusively. Just kind of happens. I mean—”
Suzume gave a little shrug. “No, it’s cool. Everyone has a type.”
With a little desperation, and not actually kidding, I said, “Your hair is really pretty today, Suze.”
That made her laugh, and just like that the weird tension was broken and things returned to normal. After a moment’s silence I asked, “What was all that fuss about a three-quarter something?”
“Just curiosity. There are only a handful of the real elves left—like, think single-digit levels. They’re frantic to breed themselves back up, but all the females are gone.”
“Gone?”
Suzume nodded. “Gone. Don’t know what happened, because they won’t talk. So the elves get it on with human women to make a halfsie. Works okay, but the result is just like what your buddy back there is—pretty weak. She’s a human with a pocket’s worth of glamour and pointy ears. But breed a weak little halfsie to a full elf and you get . . . ”
“A three-quarter,” I finished, comprehension finally hitting.
“Yup. They’re still rare. That one back there is the first I’ve ever seen close-up. I heard a rumor that the first crop of them just hit their twenties. Probably why this one is pregnant. Must be labor-intensive work to breed back a species.” She glanced over to me, a huge smile on her face. She wiggled her eyebrows broadly and nudged me. “Get it?”
I refused to acknowledge the pun, partially out of jealousy that I hadn’t thought of it first, and resolutely turned the conversation back to the topic. “Why is it that every time we talk about elves, we start talking about breeding?”
She snorted. “Because halfsies are head cases and full elves are sociopaths, just like I’ve told you before. I’m not sure where the three-quarter jobs fall, but my bet is farther up the crazy scale.”
I paused for a moment, considering this comment against the way that her normally taunting and borderline antagonistic behavior had taken on a newer, sharper edge against the completely innocuous Lilah. “You don’t like the elves, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t,” she said without hesitation. “I have to deal with them sometimes, but it’s not something I’d go out of my way to do.” Suze eyed me, then said, “When that girl back there calls you for a date, just keep in mind what kind of in-laws you’re dealing with.”
“What? Suze, I just gave her my number because of Gage. I gave my number to the guy at IndiGo too, and I sure wasn’t hitting on him.” I paused, considered the situation, then asked carefully, “Why, did it look like I was hitting on her?”
“Like I said, Fort. Meet cute.” Suzume checked her watch. “So, now that we’re shit out of leads, how about we fumigate my nose? We passed a bakery down the street.”
“Are you always hungry?” Hosting Suzume was already proving to be a drain on my wallet, and I winced.
“I’m a fox, Fort. We’re opportunistic predators.”
“Meaning that you’re always hungry as long as I’m buying.”
She smiled. “We can discuss that further when you get me a cannoli.”
• • •
In a good film noir, running out of leads would’ve resulted in a cinematically significant rainstorm and maybe some ruminating at the bottom of a bottle of whisky, finally punctuated by the entrance of a femme fatale. For me, though, it resulted in finally having to do what I’d put off: I called Gage’s parents to express my sympathy. It was a painful phone call, made more so because of just how very nice they both were to me. They were trying to find some comfort in the fact that Gage’s “killers” had been caught. I didn’t like the lie, but I hoped that it would at least give them a little closure. I knew they were dreading a trial, but at least they’d be spared that. Madeline never let any of her frame jobs go that far—there would be a tragic accident in the prison very soon, to tie up any potential loose ends.
Trying to appease some of my own guilt, I offered to box up all of Gage’s stuff for them, which they accepted. His parents had moved from Rhode Island down to Key West about three years ago, after his dad retired, and this would at least save them a trip up here. They promised to make arrangements for a moving van to pick up the boxes and Gage’s car in a few days, and after a few more painful minutes of conversation, I said good-bye and hung up.
Suzume was stretched out on the sofa, openly listening to the call, and lifted an eyebrow. “So,” she said, “I guess you’ll need some help.”
I couldn’t help being a little surprised. “I knew you said you’d help me look for Gage’s killer, Suze,” I said, “but if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”
She shrugged, stood up, gave a bone-defying stretch, then smiled crookedly at me. “I meant what I said before, Fort. I’ll help you. Even if it’s boring.”
I stared at her for a long second, trying to read into her inky black eyes. Finally I shrugged helplessly and just said, “Thank you.”
She nodded. “If you give me your keys I can go down to the grocery store and get some boxes. That way you can get a start on sorting things.”
“Thanks,” I said, tossing her the keys. Then I went into Gage’s room and took a long look around, seeing all of his stuff just sitting there. For a moment I felt stuck, unable to take the first movement of breaking down his room and removing the last parts of my friend from my life.
There was a small scuff of a shoe, and I turned to see Suzume leaning in the doorway, watching me. There was so much sympathy and empathy in her eyes that I was almost viscerally reminded of how foolish it was to ever assume that I’d figured her out.
“While I’m out,” she said, very gently, “you should probably take the chance to find and dump your friend’s porn.”
I gaped, and she gave that familiar slow smile. I couldn’t help it—I laughed. At the sound of it, Suzume gave a little my work is done here gesture and sashayed out the front door.
I turned back to the task, feeling lighter. Gage would’ve laughed at that joke, I knew. And he also would’ve recognized, as I did, that there was a certain truth to the matter. So the first thing I did was check under the bed, then at the bottom of his closet, then in his bottom drawer, and when I found the box I was looking for, I immediately walked it out to the Dumpster.
• • •
We spent the rest of the day boxing things up. Knowing that his parents might take a long time to unpack on the other end, and wanting to spare them anything unexpected, Suzume and I took much more care with the packing than I think either of us had ever taken with ourselves. Everything was completely sorted into similar boxes—there would be none of my usual moving experience, where I’d just throw toiletries in the same box as winter sweaters. We also wrote out inventories of each box—both on the side in black Sharpie marker and on included sheets of paper.
“This must be how Martha Stewart packs,” had been Suze’s only comment when I’d told her the idea. Other than that, we hadn’t talked much.
Other than one quick pizza run around eight, we worked without pause. By the time we’d finished it was almost one in the morning and we were both completely wiped out. Suze and I sat on the floor of the room, staring at the results of our work. The bed frame and mattress were the only items that had belonged in the apartment, but everything else had been stripped down and packed. We’d even taped cardboard around Gage’s dresser to prevent it from getting scratched up during its trip down to Florida.
“This is why I bought a house,” Suzume said after taking a long swig of her beer, then failed to control her shudder. I felt a brief twinge, remembering that my last conversation with Gage had been about me buying shitty beer. “I got so sick of having to pack up all my stuff.”
“Yeah, it does suck,” I admitted. “Last year my landlord jacked up my rent. I got incredibly pissed off and started looking for a new apartment, but then I remembered what a pain in the ass moving is, and . . .”
“Knuckled under?”
“It was the three flights of stairs with no elevator that did it.”
Suzume nodded sagely and took another drink. The silence between us was comfortable.
“So,” Suze said after a long minute, “are we crashing here or heading back to my place?”
I thought about it. I’d swept up the broken glass basically on autopilot, and Suze had scrubbed the tiny blood stains while I’d packed Gage’s clothing. Once those two signs had been gone the room had looked so deceptively normal that it was easy to imagine that Gage had just left without warning. Keeping busy had helped me ignore the thought of Gage’s body lying on the floor just last night, but it all came flooding back at Suze’s question. I looked over at the window, with its taped garbage bag. There was a small but noticeable breeze, and I wondered whether my landlord would actually have it fixed before winter.
“You don’t have any of your stuff. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable,” I offered.
“I threw an overnight bag in your trunk this morning while you were showering,” Suze said calmly.
“Oh, good.” I paused. “You’d be uncomfortable, though. I don’t have any sheets that would fit this bed.” Gage’s room had a double, but I made do with a single mattress.
“Nah, I’m good with the couch.” Suze continued looking at me.
I thought for a second. “Suze, do you want us to stay here?”
“That’s not what’s important. The real question is, do you want to stay here?”
I considered, then answered slowly. “This is more than just tonight. You’re asking if I’d be okay living here, even though I found Gage’s body here.”
She shrugged. “We packed up everything Gage owned in a day. I could go get some more boxes and we could have you out before Monday.”
“Do you think I should want to go?”
She shook her head. “I’m not saying you should want one thing or another. I’m saying that if you don’t want to stay here, we’ll pack you up and move you out. If you do want to stay here, I’ll go put my jammies on and crash on your couch. There’s no right answer, Fort.”
It took me a long time. While I thought, Suze just sat quietly, her eyes almost closed, taking small sips of her beer, looking completely relaxed.
Finally, I said, “Go get your jammies.”
She nodded once. “Okay.” She stood up and stretched, then looked down at me. “Probably the better choice anyway. Three flights of stairs would’ve made moving a real bitch.”
• • •
I woke up once that night, one of those abrupt surges into wakefulness. I lay perfectly still for long minutes, straining my ears, but I heard nothing beyond the usual night sounds of the apartment. I retrieved the Colt from its hiding place under my bed and walked into the living room, intending to check Gage’s room.
In the glow from the streetlight streaming in from the windows I could see the black fox on my sofa, completely dark except for the brilliant white tip of her tail. Her paws were tucked under her, and her head rested on the arm of the sofa as she watched the open door to Gage’s room. I knew she heard me, because one of her long furry ears twitched sharply in my direction, swiveling like a radar dish. After a moment she turned to look at me, and I could see the gleam of her dark eyes. She wagged her tail twice, making a soft little thump against the nest of sheets and quilts I’d made for her, then turned back to continue her watch.
I felt a warm sense of comfort. I backed out of the room as quietly as I could. I thumbed the Colt’s safety back on and slid it under the bed again. As I got under the covers, I called out, once, “Suze?” and heard her immediate yip of acknowledgment. When I closed my eyes again, I slid back into a dreamless sleep.
• • •
The next morning the night’s interlude seemed like something I might’ve imagined, but when I went into the living room I saw the black fox sleeping peacefully in exactly the position I remembered her. She woke up while I started putting together breakfast, padded into the bathroom, and returned on two feet, dressed in a T-shirt and a set of red argyle lounge pants. Her hair had that kind of sleepily mussed yet sexy look that I’d secretly always considered a Hollywood trick, given that every woman I’d previously seen first thing in the morning had looked like they’d been caught in the middle of a windstorm. Beth had been particularly notable in that department, as the perfect Grecian curls of her hair had required a really frightening level of maintenance and preparation before they were ready to be seen by the world.
I’d made cheese omelets, and I slid one onto a plate and handed it to Suze. She nodded her thanks, and we spent a few minutes with no sounds filling the air other than those of mastication.
Eventually I glanced over at Suze, cleared my throat, and brought up the elephant in the room. “You were up all night watching Gage’s room. Did you think that whatever killed him was going to come back?”
“Fort, if I’d thought that thing was coming back, there’s no way I would’ve let you trot out off to bed. We would’ve been waiting for it with extensive firepower.” Suze took a long swig of orange juice.
“Then why—”
She frowned. “Sometimes shit happens, Fort, and people get killed. Meteors fall out of the sky, texting teenagers plow SUVs into pedestrians, and roaming monsters get hungry and are too lazy to just order takeout. It’s not personal; it’s just bad luck. I still agree with your brother that it was a sucky coincidence that it happened to be your roommate. But it’s been bugging me that whatever did this dumped Gage’s body in his own bedroom.”
I nodded. That particular thought had been very uncomfortably itching at the back of my own brain. “I was thinking that it might’ve looked in his wallet and found the address. We don’t know if it robbed him as well.”
“It’s possible,” Suze acknowledged. “Maybe even likely. Most things that prey on humans will mix a mugging with dinner. But to specifically return Gage’s body to his own room is kind of excessive.”
“It’s almost like a sick sense of humor,” I said. Suze nodded grimly, taking another mouthful of eggs. I considered what we knew again and asked, “You keep referring to food. Do you think that whatever killed Gage wanted to eat him? I mean”—and here I gulped a little, regretting that I’d made this a breakfast discussion—“most of him was still there.”
“You told me that his hands were gone,” Suze pointed out. “And your detective buddy told you that most of Gage’s blood was gone. I called my grandmother after you passed out like a sorority girl after one drink.” I protested the characterization indignantly, but she just continued talking over me and I had to give up. “Grandmother said that there are lots of things that would drink blood, even besides your family, but the hands have her a bit stumped as well.”
I deliberately ignored the pun. “Gage’s hand wasn’t bitten or ripped off. It was sliced.”
“Then I have less than no idea, Fort,” Suzume said. “But it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world to keep an eye on you last night.”
“I do appreciate that,” I said, and I meant it.
“You could appreciate it even more by making me some bacon.”
“I have a whole package of tofu in there. I can fry it up and you could pretend.”
• • •
Perhaps it was a residual bitterness over my lack of real pork products, but Suzume suggested we try sparring after breakfast. Despite the unexpected holiday from Chivalry’s fitness regimen, I agreed that it seemed like a good idea.
We pushed back all of the furniture in the living room to make an open space and centered the rug so that there would be a nice surface to both potentially fall onto and to also muffle the noise to avoid bothering Mrs. Bandyopadyay downstairs. Suzume hadn’t bothered to change out of her pajamas, but I’d taken the opportunity to put on my usual workout clothing.
I’d seen Suze in action several times, and had a high level of respect for her ability to kick ass and take names. “Don’t take it easy on me,” I said as I finished stretching out.
Suzume’s sole concession to the workout portion of our morning had been to pour herself a second cup of coffee, which she saluted me with before putting it on the counter behind her and pulling her hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I would never dream of doing such a thing, Fort.”
“No, I’m really serious,” I said, pulling my fists up into the correct fighting position that Chivalry had drilled into me, as we started circling each other. “I’ve been working really hard this summer, and I’m definitely not where I was a few months ago.”
“I have no doubts,” Suzume said. She tossed a lazy right hook at me, which I blocked easily. “See? Last spring we’d be trying to get your nose to stop bleeding right now.”
I dropped my guard just long enough to make an extremely rude gesture, which she laughed at. She then gave a little shrug to her shoulders and threw a quick set of three punches at me, all of which I blocked. She lifted an eyebrow at me, looking moderately impressed, and made another few hits, all of which I also blocked. We were still circling, and her smile was gone, replaced with a slight frown, as if she was working out a small, confounding puzzle. My self-confidence took a distinct step upward, and I felt good about myself, finally seeing some very real payout from my summer of physical misery.
I made a sharp left jab, but she quickly sidestepped the blow. Her frown was now much more pronounced.
“See?” I said, not fighting my own desire to smile.
“Yes,” she agreed, “very instructive.”
Five seconds later I was on my back with her arm pressed into my throat and her left knee digging into my kidney.
“What the hell has your brother been doing?” she demanded, looking profoundly irritated.
“Guh?” I choked out with the small amount of air I was somehow dragging into my lungs. Suze noticed my distress and took the weight off of my throat, at which point I gasped in air desperately.
“Seriously, what is wrong with Chivalry?” Suze continued, undeterred. “You’ve been blocking every punch I threw at you instead of trying to move out of the way, you are doing nothing with your legs except for shuffling, and you were completely unprepared for the most basic sweep I could come up with. What have the two of you been doing all these months?”
I scooted out from under that kidney-jabbing knee before I answered, wary about exactly what would happen if Suze put all of her weight onto it. “This is how Chivalry fights, Suze.”
She gave a derisive snort. “Your brother has all the vampire bennies going on, Fort. Inhuman speed, strength, and accelerated healing. Remind me what you have again?”
I sighed. “A degree in film theory and a can-do attitude?”
Suzume’s expression spoke volumes. “You’ve got at least a century before you catch up with Chivalry and can fight like a Victorian gentleman defending the honor of queen and country. Let’s do our best to keep you alive until then.”
As she gave me a hand up, I had a very sinking feeling in my stomach about the direction that this morning was going in.
“Right.” Suze pulled her hands up again, and there was a distinct gleam in her eyes that boded poorly for me. “Now, this is the kind of gutter fighting that you’ll actually be up against.”
What followed was a forty-minute demonstration of all the things that Chivalry had decided didn’t apply to the way real men fought. It was extremely illuminating and rather painful, given that Suze seemed to direct an inordinate amount of her strikes to my throat, kidneys, or knees.
“I’m leaving out most of the groin hits for today,” she said cheerfully at one point, circling me at a safe distance. “But you need to start working on making your height work in your favor.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I’d finally managed to block her latest attack toward my legs and was feeling a bit better about myself. A second later I made nose-first contact into my rug as Suze slipped behind me, gave me an extremely painful kick in the back of my right knee, and rode me to the floor with one arm wrapped around my neck in the perfect position for a good throttling.
“Well,” Suze said, as I gagged, “I’m shorter than almost anyone I get into a fight with, excluding my own family. This means that if I want to hit someone, I usually have to get inside their strike zone. I use a lot of what I learned from my mother and aunts, but I also took some Krav Maga classes because I like that the whole point of that style is to end a fight fast instead of being showy. So you’ll notice”—she tightened her arm slightly for emphasis—“that most of what I aim for are the most vulnerable parts of the body. Your face, neck, groin, knee, eyes, and joints are all good spots for me. You”—and after one last, almost affectionate, choking she let go and let me wheeze—“have been aiming punches at the center of my body only.”
“Point taken,” I said as I pushed myself upright again. “Dirty fighting.”
“Not dirty—effective,” Suze corrected. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, looking obnoxiously fresh and pleased with herself, in a bizarre reflection of how Chivalry always looked at this point in our lessons. “Also, knock it off with your two-point contact system.”
“Huh?”
“This,” she made two quick jabs at me, each of which I blocked. “You’re using just your fists. Have you heard about muay Thai?”
“Does it come with a little umbrella?”
She grinned. “Not quite. It’s a fighting system that relies on eight points of contact—punches, kicks, elbows, and knee strikes. With your freakish height it actually might be a good fit.”
“Let me put that on my to-do list.”
“Good, and while we’re on that—” And with another of those incredible bursts of speed, Suze had dropped to one knee in front of me and I felt a sharp prick just under my rib cage. I froze, then looked down very carefully. An open switchblade was in Suze’s right hand, pressed against my skin with just enough pressure that a single drop of blood had welled up and was slowly staining the fabric of my T-shirt. The heel of her left hand was resting casually against the handle of her knife, innocently placed yet clearly prepared to add an extra boost of muscle to send the blade slicing into some fairly critical organs.
Suzume lifted one eyebrow slowly. “Questions?” she asked.
“One,” I managed, being very careful not to move. “Exactly where did you get that from?”
She gave me a slow, feral smile. “I always try to keep one stashed. You can always try to pat me down and figure out where I had it.”
“I’ll take a rain check on that.” I moved backward carefully, keeping an eye on her. “So I assume that your lesson here was that I should be prepared for anything?”
“It’s pretty hard to be prepared for anything,” she scoffed. “The lesson here is much simpler: always bring a knife to a fistfight.”
“And in a knife fight?”
Suzume gave me that bright, brilliant smile that made me catch my breath for a second. I told myself sternly that it was just all of the injuries my body had suffered, possibly combined with some head trauma.
• • •
As easy as Suzume had made wiping the floor with me look, we’d both needed showers before being fit for the company of the outside world. While Suze was taking hers, I pressed a bag of frozen peas against my abused kidney region and called my brother. Chivalry hadn’t called that morning, which was unusual—lately he’d made a daily check-in whenever I wasn’t meeting up with him at some point in the day, apparently to make sure I was doing lots of push-ups on our off days. My call went straight to voice mail, so I hung up and tried the mansion. This time I was connected—but to my mother.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Madeline explained, “but Chivalry is very occupied with his wife at the moment. It’s horribly inconvenient.” I winced. My mother was not known for her empathy.
“Is Bhumika okay?”
“She’s doing exactly as we can expect, so do try to give your brother a bit of consideration. It’s very thoughtless of him to forget to call you, but this part of the process has always been difficult for him.” She paused, then scolded, “Oh, Fortitude, I can actually hear you biting your tongue.” My mother was right, and I was barely withholding several comments about her blasé attitude toward Bhumika’s failing health. “But he did tell me that you had your own bit of excitement with that renter of yours managing to get himself murdered. Bad luck, my turtledove, but, really, what do you expect when you rent in Providence? The city has been going downhill since the Irish arrived.”
“Mother! You can’t say that!”
“Really?” She sounded surprised. “Goodness, you should’ve heard the things we said just a century ago,” she mused. “Things do change, don’t they?”
I gritted my teeth. “I have to go now, Mother.”
“Have a lovely day, my precious. I’ll let your brother know that you called.”
Sadly, that was a better-than-normal phone conversation with my mother.
• • •
It was just after lunch that Suze and I stood in a lane at my usual gun range. Given that it was Sunday, we were surrounded by off-duty cops, guys with their acne-ridden teenage sons who were more interested in texting than shooting, and one very badass-looking nun who was definitely adding some of the Holy Spirit to her paper target.
Suzume freely admitted that she far preferred knives to guns, so she stood next to me (looking unnaturally adorable in her oversized ear protectors and safety glasses) and watched with interest as I made my way through three clips in my Colt. I’d spent many Saturday mornings in a gun range with my foster father as a child, but he’d always specifically trained me to aim for only one spot on my paper targets: the midway point between the shoulder and the neck, where one shot would usually break the collarbone and cause an excruciating but completely non-life-threatening injury. Several months before I’d discovered at a very inopportune moment that this might’ve been a great stopping shot for the average home burglar, but it did not exactly have similar effectiveness on a nonhuman opponent. Since then I’d begun working on training my aim into kill shots: head and heart.
Once I’d finished the clips I’d brought with the Colt, I hit the retrieval button and examined my target. In the black silhouette of a man I could see the holes where my bullets had gone through. The majority were right in the areas where I’d intended them. Not bad for twenty-five yards.
Suzume leaned over my shoulder and poked a finger at the one hole that was off in the far upper left of the target, in the white area that meant I’d missed entirely. “Bet that would’ve scared the crap out of some low-flying birds,” she said.
“It’s generally considered bad form to poke people in the ribs while they’re target shooting, Suze,” I said between gritted teeth.
She snorted, loudly enough that I heard her even above the shots being fired on either side of us. “Yeah, the next time you’re in a life-or-death situation, we’ll all make sure not to break your concentration or surprise you while you’re trying to make a shot. Besides”—she gestured to the rest of the shots—“you ended up doing fine. By the end of it I was seriously considering making things a challenge and giving you a wedgie.”
“Don’t even think about doing that on the next round,” I warned her as I reached into my duffel bag and pulled out my most recent financial investment, an Ithaca 37 pump-action shotgun that I’d sawed down according to the instructions I’d found on a rather disturbing Web site.
“Oh yes,” Suzume purred. “This is exactly what you should bring to a knife fight.”
“Just hang a new target for me,” I said as I checked it carefully, then loaded in four 20-gauge shells. I’d owned the Ithaca for just over a month, and it had taken suspending my Netflix, seriously scaling back my cable package, and then five straight weeks of eating nothing but ramen noodles and scraps from the restaurant to afford it.
Suzume put up my target, and I sent it out to fifty yards. The main attraction of the Ithaca was its ability to blow an impressive hole in something at a price range that was not completely unattainable for me. Other than one very interesting day during a father-son gun-safety course where we’d received an excellent visual demonstration on exactly how much damage could be inflicted on a human stand-in (in that case, some very ill-fated cabbages), I’d never used a shotgun before my purchase of the Ithaca. I’d been taking a lot of time getting used to controlling the kickback from it, and also trying to increase my speed of reloading, given that it held only two shells.
I spent thirty minutes on it, working my way down to a 12-gauge shell, the largest type of ammunition that the shotgun would accommodate. When I was finished my arms and shoulder were aching, my target was demolished, and Suzume was looking profoundly bored.
“Paper targets will tremble in fear as you approach,” she assured me as we drove home. Apparently I’d impressed her at some point in the day, however, either in my ability to be thrown around my living room or in my very masculine display of firearm prowess, because she not only chipped in for our delivery order of Chinese food that evening, but she even agreed to watch Avatar with me. She lasted halfway through the movie (admittedly only that long because of the presence of both Sigourney Weaver and the badass female helicopter pilot) before changing into her fox form and spending the remainder of the film playing with a balled-up piece of paper.
The next morning arrived without incident, despite Suzume again remaining on furry guard, and over breakfast we both agreed that whatever had killed Gage wasn’t coming back, and that unfortunately neither of us had any more ideas for how to pick up its trail.
“I really appreciate your sticking around this weekend, Suze,” I told her.
Chewing a mouthful of tofu bacon, Suzume gave me a very serious look. “What else are friends for?”
We looked at each other in silence for a moment, then she cleared her throat and we both occupied ourselves again with mastication.
The movers arrived just after ten to collect Gage’s boxes, followed quickly by the cargo truck that would be taking Gage’s car down to his parents in Florida. After it was done, I stood in what had been Gage’s room and looked around. Once again it was just an empty room with a bed frame, bare mattress, and wood floors that were a decade overdue for sanding and refinishing. There was nothing left to hint about who had lived there and been my friend.
Suzume came up behind me and carefully placed one hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked, and when I turned to look at her I was surprised to see something tentative in her eyes, rather than the usual brassy confidence that she seemed to bring to every situation.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my hand against my eyes and clearing my throat. I gave her hand an awkward pat, and received a brief squeeze in return. For a second we both froze, holding each other’s hands. I registered how close she was, almost right up against me, her eyes just below the level of my shoulder. I could feel my pulse pick up and my breath catch.
Then we both let go and stepped apart at the same moment, resulting in a whole different kind of awkwardness. For a moment I almost thought that I could see a flush in Suzume’s cheeks, which I immediately shrugged off as impossible. I looked back at Gage’s room and sobered. “I just wish I didn’t have to start looking for a roommate right now,” I admitted. “It just feels really . . . disrespectful, you know? Like he didn’t matter as much as he did.”
Suzume walked over and brushed one hand lightly against the window. We’d replaced the trash bag with a sheet of plywood yesterday, but there was still a noticeable breeze. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It just sucks.”
I paused, then continued, voicing the nagging worry that had been rattling at the back of my mind for the past few days and that had made it hard to fall asleep the night before. “I know you and Chivalry keep telling me it was just a coincidence, and maybe you’re right, but with me getting more involved with the family enforcement, how safe is any human who lives with me? I mean, really?” It hung in the air, and even though I’d been thinking about it, hearing myself say the words hurt. It was admitting that everything I was doing was getting me farther away from what I’d wanted to be for so long: just another guy.
“Would you like me to find you a roommate?” Suzume said suddenly.
“What?”
“Well, you’re not wrong. Renting with a human isn’t a great idea. You don’t know that many supernaturals, and you can’t exactly put up a Craigslist ad for what you need, so let me find you a roommate. I’ll even filter out the douchewads for you.” She looked uncomfortable again, and I realized that she was actually rambling.
I was honestly surprised and very touched. She had some very good points too; other than her, almost all the nonhumans I knew were those I’d met while doing ride-alongs as my brother enforced my mother’s laws. I didn’t think that any of them would welcome a social call from me—even if I’d actually met any who I would’ve been willing to live with, which I hadn’t. “That’s great, Suze. That would be a huge help.”
“Good, then. I’ll get on it.” She knelt down and fiddled with the zipper on her bag.
“I really appreciate it. Thank you—I mean it.”
The more I thanked her, the more uncomfortable she looked, so I dropped the subject and we headed out to my car so that I could drive her home before I had to get to work.
As I drove, doubts started seeping through my gratitude. Had I actually just given Suzume, prankster extraordinaire, carte blanche to find me a roommate?
I snuck a look at her out of the corner of my eye. She was looking back at me, and as I watched, she gave a wide, evil smile.
“Yes,” she said, clearly reading my expression, “you did just agree to let me pick your roommate.”
“Do not mess with me on this one, Suze,” I said warningly. “I’m serious.”
Her smile just widened, and I felt a distinct worry that I would end up regretting my impulsive agreement.
I dropped Suzume at her place and it was only by blatantly breaking the speed limit that I was able to get to work right before my shift started. As it was I had to run flat-out from where I’d parked my car to get into the restaurant, and I got several sideways looks when I arrived, sweaty and out of breath. But I lined up with the other waiters for the briefing, which was the part of the day where Chef Jerome explained each of the night’s specials to us and had us sample the dishes so that we would be able to properly describe them to the diners. We were also given the day’s set of allergy flash cards to memorize. Each card pertained to one of the major allergy groups, and it listed which dishes were safe to consume for someone with that allergy. Chef Jerome felt very strongly about people with allergies—namely that he didn’t want any of them dying. For all of his other major faults (and there were several very notable ones), I had to also respect that Chef Jerome seemed to view people with allergies as a very personal challenge to his skills, and that it was his duty to make sure that everyone could come into Peláez and leave full and happy, regardless of their dietary challenges.
Of course, that was his viewpoint of people who couldn’t eat something. For those of us who chose not to . . . well, that night Chef Jerome was clearly on a particular rampage, because I found myself being forcibly fed duck, turtle soup, and a sliver of foie gras. It was all amazing.
I had just seen Chef Jerome go thundering by me in the direction of poor Josh, holding a forkful of some kind of cheese, when someone shouted that there was a phone call for me. I frowned and hurried over to where Daria, the restaurant manager, stood at the door to the kitchen, holding the black cordless phone that usually lived at the reservation desk. Daria was usually pretty good about taking messages and then passing them to us during our shifts, but the policy about the phone being brought over was that it had to be a real emergency. The last time Daria had walked the phone over, it had been because the girlfriend of the guy who worked at the meat prep station had gone into labor a month early. So it was with a very real sense of trepidation that I took the phone.
“Hello?”
“Fort, it’s me.” Matt’s gravelly voice rattled over the line. The sound of it made me freeze, inside and out, and a deep sense of foreboding rattled through me.
“Matt,” I forced out between my numb lips. “What’s wrong?”
“I found something,” he said, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. “We need to meet.”