'And then,' Transomnia said, unsmiling, 'we shall see what he will make of you.'
14. The Marquis
Drums beat, strong and primal. Fire blazed from burning barrels. And on the broad floor of what had been a warehouse, a crowd of nearly-human shapes cheered on as a huge wolf the size of a tiger faced off with a stag the size of a Buick.
I started to think that maybe this job wasn't worth it.
Ragged young boys ran the outer perimeter of the werehouse, human in form but snapping and snarling at each other with the voices of dogs. Wolves padded back and forth around the largest and scruffiest single group of men; both wolves and men stared at me with hungry eyes. There were other groups-tall, proud men I took to be werestags, another group crowded around a werebear, and many others. Or perhaps there was no relation between their human forms and their beasts-I had not seen any of them change yet.
To the snarling was added whistling. I looked up, and saw an upper set of loft structures, perhaps once offices, that had been converted into living space. Boys and young men, expertly tattooed with wolf s heads and cat's paws, hung from the railing, whistling down at me. I laughed. Actual wolf whistles and cat calls! My laughter faded as I saw girls mixed in with the boys, angry, indignant-hitting their men and glaring down at me.
Then an orange-haired girl leapt down from the railing, shoved a knot of boys apart and stalked up to me. She wore a cropped top and vest and short pants that showed off elaborate, tattooed tiger stripes-and it was good work, I mean, I was impressed-but the claws erupting from her fingers and the tail curving behind her were quite real.
'You thinks you can just waltz in here and get a taste of our men?' she said, glaring up at me with yellow cat eyes, which made her all the more exotic and beautiful. She held up a long, sharp set of claws. 'You thinks you can go through me to do it?'
I leaned in down on her until my face was inches from her exotic, oval face, and her tufted cat ears folded back as her eyes grew wider. I closed mine, and drank in her scent. She was warm and spicy with sweat, with a hint of real perfume that tasted of cinnamon.
'Oooh, you smell yummy,' I cooed, opening my eyes to see hers terrified. 'Why would I want them when you're throwing yourself at me? Give me a taste, little girl.'
Emboldened, I licked her face, and she leapt back with a squeal, hissing at me and swatting like a frightened little cat. It made her all the more cute, like the younger Savannah I remembered, and I watched her back all the way to a clump of the very same boys she'd challenged me over, hissing and swatting at them as they laughed.
I licked my lips. 'Definitely cinnamon.'
'Most interesting,' Calaphase said. 'Definitely Saffron's ex.'
Lord Buckhead suddenly strode forward and broke into the ring, pulling the wolf and stag apart like a pair of stuffed toys. The stag snorted and challenged him, but the wolf just whined and tried to get away. Both twisted uselessly at the ends of his straightened arms.
'Enough!' he shouted, his voice ringing out throughout the house. 'We are not animals, that we should fight like dogs!'
'But this is a werehouse, Lord Buckhead,' snarled a voice that was half laugh and half roar, as Lord Buckhead slowly lowered the combatants to the floor. 'This is not a place for decorum. This is a place to celebrate our beasts! And when is more appropriate to celebrate our beasts than Halloween?'
Oh, just wonderful. Halloween was just next Tuesday… and this was Friday night. This was literally a Halloween party. Every werekin in the Atlanta metro region was probably here tonight, and I'd wandered straight into it.
Lord Buckhead released the fighters, and they slunk away. The stag looked back once or twice, but Lord Buckhead did not acknowledge him. Buckhead just stared up at the end of the hall, to a raised platform, and even though he had a stag's head I could tell he was glaring.
'But what is this?' the voice said, and I swallowed as the crowd parted to reveal the massive shape looming on the platform. 'What have you brought before us tonight?'
A huge chair welded from parts of cars made the throne for a massive man-bear easily nine feet tall. The long claws of his 'hands' curled over the working headlights of an old Cadillac. The engine and grille had been removed to make room for a huge bench seat groaning beneath the weight of two hairy, brawny legs. The hood had been flipped up into a backrest for his hyperdeveloped chest and shoulders, which were covered in a shaggy mane that would have made a lion proud. And atop his massive neck loomed a head that looked like it could have swallowed me whole, with two glowing green eyes fixed straight upon me.
'My name is Dakota Frost,' I said, voice ringing out in a silence that was unexpected. 'I travel under the protection of the court of the Lady Saffron and the ban of the Lord Delancaster, but I come here to see the Marquis on business of my own.'
'I think Lord Buckhead was supposed to introduce you,' Calaphase said under his breath-and I noticed he'd moved quite a few steps back, with Transomnia skulking behind him like a wayward child.
'Ooops,' I said, turning back to face the Bear King. At least, I assumed it was the Bear King; hopefully there weren't two of these monstrosities floating around.
A wolf lying at the monster's feet snarled something, and the Bear King snarled back so deep it reverberated in my gut. 'We have a human in our court,' he spat. 'If you have not learned to use a human voice in that shape, don't talk to me.'
The wolf ran off, snarling and whining, and the Bear King leaned back, seeming to become even larger against his oversized throne. He waved a hand at the throng. 'We care not for vampire politics,' he said, eyes boring into me. 'Tell me, why have you dared to interrupt our Halloween revels, little one?'
'Little,' I snapped, stalking forward. The vampires hung back as I walked forward through the predominantly werewolf crowd, climbed the steps of his throne and stopped straight in front of him. The huge beast's jowls were only a few feet from mine.
'Little,' I said, projecting my voice, turning around to face the throng. On one level, I was scared out of my wits; on another, the only way I could get through this was to brazen my way through. 'I can't tell you how good it is to hear a man call me 'little'!'
The bear leaned closer. 'Are you challenging me, little one?'
'Good heavens, no,' I said, waving my hand to indicate his legion of followers. 'You get plus three, plus three to attack as long as seven or more cards are in play.'
The Bear King froze for a moment, befuddled; I guess he didn't play Magic: The Gathering. Then he laughed, a long, hearty laugh that sounded jarringly human coming from his monstrous face. 'Very well, little one, tell us what was so urgent that it could not wait?'
'I'm doing a tattoo for a werewolf,' I said, 'and he wants it done before the full moon.'
The bear head stared at me, then laughed uproariously, the whole crowd laughing and howling with him. 'Oh, I very much doubt that.'
'A werewolf wants her to do a tattoo,' a female voice cried, and I saw the girl who had challenged me hanging on to one of her boys and pointing at me. I blew her a kiss, and quicker than a magic trick, she was hiding behind her friends. Satisfied, I refocused on the bear.
'Marquis, this one is no threat to you,' the Bear King said. 'Approach without fear.'
I turned, and saw a man with a raised brown Wolverine haircut and long brocaded coat step cautiously out from one of the doors leading to the warren of side offices and shops. He looked like an extra from the Renaissance Faire who fell off the back of a truck and then got run over by it. He had elaborate pants and a ruffled pirate shirt beneath the brocade, but all were old, dirty, nearly as unkempt as his hair. He approached us with a curiously mincing step and upraised hands held slack, as if he deigned to touch nothing other than his tattooing tools.
He hopped up onto the platform gracefully, and bowed to me. He didn't do the standard double take when he stood and found me still towering over him, which notched him up in my regard; but then he turned to the throng and spoke with evident disdain. 'I heard this is the 'artist' who would tattoo a wolf,' he said to the crowd, in a
