Either be here tomorrow morning, or else stay the hell out of my way.”
When Jeff finally spoke again, he sounded almost cheerful. “Nine o’clock, you said?”
“See you tomorrow.”
As long as I was worked up, I went ahead and called Deb to arrange a deal with the vampires. By the time I got off the phone, it was almost two in the morning. I shut down the laptop and bundled it and the books into a plastic garbage bag for protection, crawled into the sleeping bag, and settled against the base of the oak.
Lena retained some awareness of what happened outside her tree, though I wasn’t sure how much. But she would know I was here, and that was enough.
I awoke with a stiff neck, sore back, and Lena looking down at me with a crooked smile. She showed no sign of pain or weariness from yesterday. Lucky dryad.
“I need a shower and a change of clothes,” she announced, grabbing my hand and hauling me to my feet. “And so do you.”
The shower took a bit longer than usual, but it was certainly rejuvenating. By the time we emerged and dressed, I felt almost human again. I filled her in on the call from Jeff, then checked my messages to make sure everything was set for today.
In exchange for helping us talk to Victor, the vampires wanted either a Shipstone—a battery from Heinlein’s work that would power their underground lighting needs for a century—or an official apology from Gutenberg for the incident in Detroit. A message from Nicola Pallas confirmed that the Shipstone was the more feasible choice, and authorized me to take care of it when we finished in Ohio.
My biggest concern was that the vampires would try to turn the Shipstone into some kind of weapon, but if they were foolish enough to try, they would most likely just blow themselves up. I had stressed that fact repeatedly to Deb on the phone. Even if they succeeded, Gutenberg’s automatons should be able to deal with any magic- fueled weapon.
Both Jeff and Nidhi arrived as I was restocking my books. In addition to my book bag, I had retrieved a brown leather duster from the hall closet. I had lost my old jacket during the troubles earlier this year, but in at least one respect, the new one was even better. This one was fireproof.
“How’s Jeneta doing this morning?” I asked as I shoved books into the various pockets sewn into the lining, trying to plan out the tools and toys I might need.
“Frightened and trying not to let it show. She spent the first hour curled up on the couch, teasing Akha with her braids.”
“Sounds like she was in good company.” If anyone could help Jeneta to relax, it was Nidhi’s cat. Akha was, in Lena’s words, a total attention-slut. She would curl up in your lap and purr until she drooled.
“Will she be safe at that camp?”
“Safer than she’d be with us. Her e-reader was destroyed, and as long as she doesn’t do any more magic, there’s nothing to attract attention.” I tucked my microrecorder into a front pocket to make sure we could review everything we learned. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring along a few potential weapons that would work against the undead, just in case. “She has Nicola’s number as well as mine.”
Nidhi watched me prepare. “Jeneta was exhausted, but she looked better than you do.”
“Sleeping outside isn’t as much fun as it used to be.” I double-checked the safety on the shock-gun, switched it to setting four, and slid it into an outside pocket. I also grabbed books that would allow us to avoid attention and persuade any bystanders to cooperate. The final pocket got a box of Red Hots for Smudge.
Nidhi stepped away to greet Lena, leaving me with Jeff. An old-style Bowie knife was strapped to his belt, and he had holstered a revolver on his opposite hip. I doubted either was legal. Werewolves tended not to worry overmuch about things like laws or permits.
“Nidhi filled me in on those metal bugs,” he said bluntly. “She also tells me we’re going to talk to the ghost of the guy who made them.”
“That doesn’t mean one of us is behind this.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it was your man who put the weapon in their hands.”
I transferred Smudge into his traveling cage, a thin rectangular box with steel mesh walls, which I clipped to a loop on the outside of my jacket. “If someone kills you, takes your knife, and stabs the first person they see, who’s responsible?”
Jeff tightened a fist, deliberately cracking several knuckles. “A man chooses to carry a weapon, he’d damn well better be strong enough to stop anyone from taking it away from him.”
That was when the curtain I had hung over the back door flew aside, and a rush of air passed between Jeff and myself. Jeff staggered back, and a young man in a black trench coat seemed to materialize out of nothingness, perched on the edge of the kitchen counter like a gargoyle with a predilection for goth fashion. He held Jeff’s gun in one hand, the Bowie knife in the other.
Jeff’s upper lip curled back, and he snarled, an incongruously deep-throated sound for a man his apparent age. Lena pulled both of her bokken and started forward.
“You must be Moon,” I said hastily, trying to defuse things before they wrecked my place and each other.
“Sorry, man. I heard you two talking, and I couldn’t resist.” Moon twirled the knife and grinned, black-lined lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth.
“He’s the other part of my arrangement with the vampires,” I explained. “He’s Sanguinarius Meyerii. A sparkler. He’ll be guarding the house while we’re away.”
“Moon?” Jeff’s voice remained an octave lower than usual.
Moon laughed. “Weird name, I know. My parents were old-fashioned Ann Arbor hippies. You should have met my sister, Starshine.”
“The weapons?” I said.
“Right.” He handed the knife and gun back to Jeff, then brushed off his coat. He wore a black kilt and a heavy metal T-shirt underneath. “No hard feelings, old man?”
“This is who they sent? A child half stoned out of his mind?” Jeff sniffed derisively. “I can smell the pot on his breath.”
“Only because I need ten times as much as I used to,” he complained. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to prep that stuff? First I’ve got to brew it into blood tea just so I can metabolize it, and by then you’ve boiled off half its potency. Not to mention the work I had to do to find an anticoagulant that didn’t taste like filtered diarrhea. And then the stuff barely gives me a buzz. I just drink it to take the edge off the day, you know?” He winked at Jeff. “You look like you could use a hit yourself, gramps.”
“Not today,” I said, cutting in before they could go any further. “Moon, I’m not sure how much they told you downstate, but the people we’re hunting killed a werewolf last night and sent another to the hospital.”
“Shit.” Moon sobered at once. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
“Just keep an eye on the place. Call me if anything happens.”
Moon gave me a two-fingered salute. “Cub Scout’s honor.”
Having spent six years in scouting as a kid, somehow that didn’t make me feel better.
I spent much of the drive asleep in the back of Nidhi’s car. I awoke with my mouth dry and my shoulder damp from drool. Wind swirled through Jeff’s open window, and a Hindi pop song was playing softly on the satellite radio.
I rubbed my eyes, then wiped my face on my sleeve. It was strange not being able to understand the words of the song. Normally, the telepathic fish in my head, courtesy of Douglas Adams’
“Where are we?” I asked.
“We’ll be leaving Michigan in about fifteen minutes,” said Nidhi.
According to the dashboard clock, I had slept well into the afternoon. On the bright side, I had missed crossing the Mackinac Bridge. Strange how that bridge—particularly the fear of plummeting
