The Good, The Bad and The Undead. Kim Harrison

       Eight

      Thankfully, there was no line when we pulled up to Pizza Piscary’s in Glenn’s unmarked FIB car. Ivy and I slid out almost as soon as the car stopped. It hadn’t been a very comfortable ride for either of us, the memory of her pinning me to the kitchen wall still new-penny bright. Her manner had been odd this evening, subdued but excited. I felt like I was going to meet her parents. In a way, I suppose I was. Piscary was the way-back originator of her livingvamp family line.

      Glenn yawned as he slowly got out and put his jacket on, but he woke up enough to wave off Jenks, flitting around his head. He didn’t seem at all uneasy about going into what was strictly an Inderland eatery. I could almost see the chip on his shoulder. Maybe he was a slow learner.

      The FIB detective had agreed to exchange his stiff FIB suit for the jeans and faded flannel shirt Ivy had tucked in the back of her closet in a box labeled LEFTOVERS in a faded black marker. They fit Glenn exactly, and I didn’t want to know where she had gotten them or why they had several neatly mended tears in some rather unusual places. A nylon jacket hid the weapon he refused to leave behind, but I had left my splat gun at home. It would be useless against a room full of vamps.

      A van eased into the lot to take an empty space at the far end. My attention drifted from it to the brightly lit delivery/ takeout window. As I watched, another pizza went out, the car lurching into the street and speeding away with the quickness that told of a large engine. Pizza drivers have made good money since they successfully lobbied for hazard pay.

      Past the parking lot was the soft lapping of water on wood. Long strips of light glinted on the Ohio River, and the taller buildings of Cincinnati reflected in wide streaks on the flat water. Piscary’s was waterfront property, situated in the middle of the more affluent strip of clubs, restaurants, and nightspots. It even had a landing where yacht-traveling patrons could tie up to—but getting a table overlooking the dock would be impossible this late.

      “Ready?” Ivy said brightly as she finished adjusting her jacket. She was dressed in her usual black leather pants and silk shirt, looking lanky and predatory. The only color to her face was her bright red lipstick. A chain of black gold hung about her neck in place of her usual crucifix—which was now tucked in her jewelry box at home. It matched her ankle bracelets perfectly. She had gone further to paint her nails with a clear coat, giving them a subtle shine.

      The jewelry and nail polish were unusual for her, and after seeing it, I had opted to wear a wide silver band instead of my usual charm bracelet to cover my demon mark. It felt nice to get dressed up, and I’d even tried to do something with my hair. The red frizz I ended up with almost looked intentional.

      I kept a step behind Glenn as we moved to the front door. Inderlanders mixed freely, but our group was more odd than usual, and I was hoping to get in and out quickly with the information we came for before we attracted attention. The van that pulled in after us was a pack of Weres, and they were noisy as they closed the gap between us.

      “Glenn,” Ivy said as we reached the door. “Keep your mouth shut.”

      “Whatever,” the officer said antagonistically.

      My eyebrows rose and I took a wary step back. Jenks landed upon my big hoop earrings. “This ought to be good,” he snickered.

      Ivy grabbed Glenn’s collar, picking him up and slamming him against the wooden pillar supporting the canopy. The startled man froze for an instant, then kicked out, aiming for Ivy’s gut. Ivy dropped him to evade the strike. With a vamp quickness, she picked him back up and slammed him into the post again. Glenn grunted in pain, struggling to catch his breath.

      “Ooooh,” Jenks cheered. “That’s going to ache in the morning.”

      I jiggled my foot and glanced at the pack of Weres. “Couldn’t you have taken care of this before we left?” I complained.

      “Look, you little snack,” Ivy said calmly, putting herself in Glenn’s face. “You will keep your mouth shut. You do not exist unless I ask you a question.”

      “Go to hell,” Glenn managed, his face reddening under his dark skin.

      Ivy shifted him a smidgen higher, and he grunted. “You stink like a human,” she continued, her eyes shifting toward black. “Piscary’s is all Inderlanders or bound humans. The only way you’re going to get out of here with all your parts intact and unpunctured is if everyone thinks you’re my shadow.”

      Shadow, I thought. It was a derogatory term. Thrall was another. Toy would be more accurate. It referred to a human recently bit, now little more than a walking source of sex and food, and mentally bound to a vamp. They were kept submissive as long as possible. Decades sometimes. My old boss, Denon, had been counted among them until he curried the favor of the one who had granted him a more free existence.

      Face ugly, Glenn broke her hold and fell to the ground. “Go Turn yourself, Tamwood,” he rasped, rubbing his neck. “I can take care of myself. This won’t be any worse than walking into a good-old-boy’s bar in deep Georgia.”

      “Yeah?” she questioned, pale hand on her cocked hip. “Anyone there want to eat you?”

      The Were pack flowed past us and inside. One jerked, doing a double take as he saw me, and I wondered if my stealing that fish was going to be a problem. Music and chatter drifted out, cutting off as the thick door shut. I sighed. It sounded busy. Now we’d probably have to wait for a table.

      I offered Glenn a hand up as Ivy opened the door. Glenn refused my help, tucking his anti-itch spell back behind his shirt as he struggled to find his pride, squished under Ivy’s boots somewhere. Jenks flitted from me to his shoulder, and Glenn started. “Go sit somewhere else, pixy,” he said around a cough.

      “Oh, no,” Jenks said merrily. “Don’t you know a vamp won’t touch you if there’s a pixy on your shoulder? It’s a well-known fact.”

      Glenn hesitated, and my eyes rolled. What a crock.

      We filed in behind Ivy as the Were pack was being led to their table. The place was crowded, not unusual for a workday. Piscary’s had the best pizza in Cincinnati, and they didn’t take reservations. The warmth and noise relaxed me, and I took off my coat. The rough-cut, thick support beams seemed to prop up the low ceiling, and a rhythmic stomping to the beat of Sting’s “Rehumanize Yourself” filtered down the wide stairs. Past them were wide windows looking out over the black river and the city beyond. A three-story, obscenely expensive motorboat was tied up, the docking lights shining on the name across the bow, SOLAR. Pretty college-age kids moved efficiently about in their skimpy uniforms, some more suggestive than others. Most were bound humans, since the vamp staff traditionally took the less supervised upstairs.

      The host’s eyebrows rose as he took Glenn in. I could tell he was the host because his shirt was only half undone and his name tag said so. “Table for three? Lighted or non?”

      “Lighted,” I interjected before Ivy could say different. I didn’t want to be upstairs. It sounded rowdy.

      “It will be about fifteen minutes, then. You can wait at the bar if you like.”