Hellforged

of Drudes—those are dream-demons—I need to keep track of how time is passing outside. If the client wakes up while I’m still inside the dream, I can get stuck there.” Being trapped in someone else’s dreams was not my idea of fun. It was like endlessly watching a stranger’s home movies, only freakier. “I give the client a sleeping pill, so I’ll know how much time I’ve got. But time passes differently in dreams, and most watches get screwed up. So far, this one hasn’t.” I knocked on the wooden bar for luck. I’d never had a watch last more than a couple of dreams before it died. This one had kept on ticking through a dozen Drude exterminations. I knocked on the bar again, just in case the good-luck gods hadn’t heard me the first time.

T.J. laid my watch on the bar and picked up his tray, then went off to clean tables. Norden and Sykes were coming back down the hallway from the storeroom. From the look on Norden’s face, they hadn’t found anything more interesting than some kegs and cartons of bar snacks.

Norden stopped. Across from the restrooms was a metal door with a NO ENTRY sign. And the door seemed to mean it: Three deadbolt locks lined up above the doorknob. Norden tried the knob, then shook it. Even if the knob had turned, I don’t know how he thought he’d get through those deadbolts.

“Bartender!” he shouted. Axel leaned out just far enough to see down the hallway. “What’s in there?” Norden pointed at the locked door.

“Nothing.” Axel started to go back to his station.

“Nothing? It’s locked up like freaking Fort Knox.” He rattled the doorknob again. “Open it.”

“That’s my apartment.” Axel spoke as though everyone knew that. Well, everyone did—everyone who hung out at Creature Comforts, anyway. And the other thing everyone knew was that you never, ever violated Axel’s privacy.

Apparently, Norden didn’t think he was everyone. “I said open it.”

The remaining customers turned to stare as Axel came all the way out from behind the bar. The angle of his head, the tightness of his shoulders broadcast a warning.

“What’re you waiting for,” Norden said, “a warrant? We don’t need one. Not in the Zone.”

“You’re not going through that door.” Axel stood in front of it, his arms crossed. The warning in his posture morphed into a threat. Subtle, but definite.

Norden didn’t do subtle. He stepped back and lowered his head like a bull about to charge. He stood that way for three or four long seconds. Then he gestured to his partner. “Okay, Sykes, break it down.”

Sykes planted himself in front of Axel. It was like watching one of the Rocky Mountains saunter over to the Sierra Nevadas to compare size. They faced each other, tension pouring off them. Everyone watched; Carlos half- rose from his chair. The bar was silent, waiting for the explosion that would come when one of these two made his move.

Then Sykes stepped back and shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Norden’s face invented a whole new shade of purple. “Whaddaya mean, ‘no’?”

“There’s no need. I’ve heard about this place. The bartender’s right: Nobody goes through that door. And that means no illegal vampire activity is happening in there.”

“That door could be hiding anything, damn it!”

“Then you break it down.” Sykes moved aside, giving Norden room for a clear run at Axel. The idea of the short, wiry norm shoving Axel out of the way, let alone knocking down the solid door, was ludicrous. Down the bar from me, someone sniggered.

Norden looked ready to pop. If he’d been a cartoon character, he’d have steam shooting out both ears. But he said, “Aw, the hell with it”—loudly, so everyone in the bar could hear—like he’d changed his mind himself.

“C’mon, Sykes. We’re outta here.” Norden stormed through the room. T.J. walked toward the bar carrying a tray of empty glasses. Norden stuck his foot out and tripped the zombie. Glasses flew everywhere, shattering as they hit the ground. T.J. sprawled facedown on the floor.

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and, from there, reared up into a kneeling position. “Hey,” he said to Norden, looking genuinely puzzled, “what’d you do that for?”

Norden laughed nastily and went outside. Sykes helped T.J. up, gave a “What can I say?” shrug, and followed his partner. He didn’t look at Carlos or his other friends on the way out.

T.J. fetched a broom to sweep up the broken glass. I got down from my stool and retrieved his tray, then picked up a couple of intact glasses and empty bottles. T.J. was pushing the broom near the front door when it opened. Norden came in, his head twisting over his shoulder as he said something to his partner outside.

I don’t think T.J. tripped him on purpose. The kid didn’t seem like the vindictive type, and Norden wasn’t watching where he was going. But somehow the broom got tangled up with Norden’s feet. Norden took three faltering steps and nearly went down. But he caught himself, and when he straightened, his gun was in his hand. Pointed at T.J.

Goons packed the exploding ammo that could take out a zombie.

I’d never seen a zombie go pale, but T.J. did. He dropped the broom and held out his hands, palms out, like they could ward off a bullet. “Sorry, man. It was an accident, all right?”

“You assaulted an officer of the law,” Norden said. “A human officer of the law. Do you know what that means?”

Everyone in the bar knew what it meant. Norden could blast a hole the size of the Sumner Tunnel through T.J., with no repercussions. I glanced around the bar. All of the human customers had gone, so no one here counted as a witness. T.J. looked sick with fear.

No one moved.

I put down the tray and stood in front of T.J., getting between him and Norden’s gun. “He said it was an accident, Norden. No harm done.”

Norden could kill me with impunity as easily as he could shoot T.J., but I was hoping he’d find it harder to pull the trigger when the target was unarmed and hadn’t done anything. From the look in Norden’s eyes, I couldn’t count on that. He didn’t lower the gun.

Then, suddenly, Axel loomed between us. I didn’t know he could move that fast, almost as fast as a vampire. A second ago, he’d been behind the bar.

“No guns,” Axel growled, his quiet monotone more menacing than a shout.

I wasn’t going to hide behind Axel, even though there was room for three of me back there. I stepped out and stood beside him.

Norden’s eyes shone with an ugly light. He lifted the gun and pressed it against Axel’s chest, right over his heart. Axel stood stonelike. The gun’s barrel made an indentation in his shirt.

I gauged the distance from where we stood to the front door. Sykes was outside, waiting for his partner. But if I ran out to get him—hell, if I did so much as blink—Norden would squeeze the trigger and blow a hole through Axel. The gleam in his eyes said he’d do it.

I held my breath. I didn’t dare do anything else.

Then Norden laughed. He stepped back, angling the gun away from Axel and toward the floor. My breath came in a rush, and time started again.

“Came back to use the men’s room,” Norden said, reholstering his gun. He walked down the short hallway at the back and stopped in front of the restrooms. He shook his head. “Boos and Ghouls. Jesus.”

5

DAWN WAS AN HOUR AWAY, SO THE LINES AT THE CHECKPOINT into Deadtown were short. I waited only a minute to go through one of the walk-up booths. The guard, a zombie in a tan uniform, had no nose and sported a ragged hole in his right cheek. The Council always chose the scariest-looking zombies for checkpoint duty, probably to keep curious norms off the monsters’ turf. This one took my ID card, swiped it, and glanced at the name. “Thank you, Ms. Vaughn. Have a nice morning.” He smiled as he handed the card back to me, as pleasantly as it’s possible to smile when you’re missing half your face.

I jogged the few blocks home. It was the coldest hour of a cloudless, starlit night, enough degrees below freezing that I didn’t want to think about how many. My breath steamed like a locomotive by the time I pulled open the door to my building.