rush about on all fours like some kind of ungainly, horrible insect.
I checked behind me. Ennui was already out, and Thomas was beginning to stir, maybe roused by the snow now falling on him. I turned back to the blinded, pain-maddened vampire. We were the only ones left in that wing of the mall.
'Second,' I spat, 'never touch my brother on his fucking birthday.'
I reached for my will, lifted my hand, and snarled, 'Fuego!'
Fire roared out to eagerly engulf the vampire.
What the hell. The building was burning down, anyway. 'FREAKING AMATEUR VILLAINS,' I muttered, glowering down at the splatters on my car.
Thomas leaned against it with one hand pressed to his head, a grimace of pain on his face. 'You okay?'
I waved my left arm a little. 'Feeling's coming back. I'll have Butters check me out later. Thanks for loaning Molly your car.'
'Least I could do. Let her drive Sarah and Ennui to the hospital.' He squinted at the rising smoke from the mall. 'Think the whole thing will go?'
'Nah,' I said. 'This wing, maybe. They'll get here before too much more goes up. Keef and his folk should be all right.'
My brother grunted. 'How are they going to explain this one?'
'Who knows,' I said. 'Meteor, maybe. Smashed holes in the roof, crushed some poor security guard, set the place on fire.'
'My vote is for terrorists,' Thomas said. 'Terrorists are real popular these days.' He shook his head. 'But I meant the larpers, not the cops.'
'Oh,' I said. 'Probably, they won't talk to anyone about what they saw. Afraid people would think they were crazy.'
'And they would,' Thomas said.
'And they would,' I agreed. 'Come tomorrow, it will seem very unreal. A few months from now, they'll wonder if they didn't imagine some of it or if there wasn't some kind of gas leak or something that made them hallucinate. Give it a few more years, and they'll remember that Drulinda and some rough-looking types showed up to give them a hard time. They drove a car through the front of the mall. Maybe they were crazy people dressed in costumes who had been to a few too many larps themselves.' I shook my head. 'It's human nature to try to understand and explain everything. The world is less scary that way. But I don't think they'll be in any danger, really. No more so than anyone else.'
'That's good,' Thomas said quietly. 'I guess.'
'It's the way it is.' In the distance, sirens were starting up and coming closer. I grunted and said, 'We'd better go.'
'Yeah.'
We got into the Beetle. I started it up, and we headed out. I left the lights off-no sense attracting attention.
'You going to be all right?' I asked him.
He nodded. 'Take me a few days to get enough back into me to feel normal, but'-he shrugged-'I'll make it.'
'Thanks for the backup,' I said.
'Kicked their freaky asses,' he said, and held out his fist.
I rapped my knuckles lightly against it.
'Nice signal. The birthday present.'
'I figured you'd get it,' I said. Then I frowned. 'Crap,' I said. 'Your present.'
'You didn't remember to bring it?'
'I was a little busy,' I said.
He was quiet for a minute. Then he asked, 'What was it?'
'Rock'em Sock'em Robots,' I said.
He blinked at me. 'What?'
I repeated myself. 'The little plastic robots you make fight.'
'I know what they are, Harry,' he responded. 'I'm trying to figure out why you'd give me them.'
I pursed my lips for a minute. Then I said, 'Right after my dad died, they put me in an orphanage. It was Christmastime. On television, they had commercials for Rock'em Sock'em Robots. Two kids playing with them, you know? Two brothers.' I shrugged. 'That was a year when I really, really wanted to give those stupid plastic robots to my brother.'
'Because it would mean you weren't alone,' Thomas said quietly.
'Yeah,' I said. 'Sorry I forgot them. And happy birthday.'
He glanced back at the burning mall. 'Well,' my brother said, 'I suppose it's the thought that counts.'
HEOROT
– from My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon, edited by P. N. Elrod Takes place between White Night and Small Favor
Once more, Pat invited me to come play at her literary club-house, and once more, I cheerfully agreed.
What can I say? I fear change.
The last anthology's theme had been weddings, and this one was the logical sequel-honeymoons. Research into the etymology of 'honeymoon' led me back to its roots in Scandinavia and in the British Isles, where a newly wed bride and groom would depart their village and remain in solitude for a lunar month, while being well provided with mead (which is made from honey).
I think the idea was to establish beyond a reasonable doubt that any child conceived in that time was the legitimate heir of the groom. Or maybe it was just to get a pretty young bride liquored up and wild for a month- Viking Girls Gone Wild, as it were.
I have no idea if the information I found, mostly on the Internet, was academically accurate. For my purposes, that wasn't nearly as important as finding a solid inspiration. So, from newlyweds, mead, and Norse-Scandinavian backgrounds, I developed a story using everything from the Dresden Files' story line that had the flimsiest of connections to those base ideas.
I put them all together, plopped Harry down in the middle of it, and gleefully watched as it caught fire. I was sitting in my office, sorting through my bills, when Mac called and said, 'I need your help.' It was the first time I'd heard him use four whole words all together like that.
'Okay,' I said. 'Where?' I'd out-tersed him-another first.
'Loon Island Pub,' Mac said. 'Wrigleyville.'
'On the way.' I hung up, stood up, put on my black leather duster, and said to my dog, 'We're on the job.'
My dog, Mouse, who outweighs most European cars, bounced up eagerly from where he had been dozing near my office's single heating vent. He shook out his thick grey fur, especially the shaggy, almost leonine ruff growing heavy on his neck and shoulders, and we set out to help a friend.
October had brought in more rain and more cold than usual, and that day we had both, plus wind. I found parking for my battered old Volkswagen Bug, hunched my shoulders under my leather duster, and walked north along Clark, into the wind, Mouse keeping pace at my side.
Loon Island Pub was in sight of Wrigley Field, and a popular hang-out before and after games. Bigger than most such businesses, it could host several hundred people throughout its various rooms and levels. Outside, large posters had been plastered to the brick siding of the building. Though the posters were soaked with rain, you could still read CHICAGO BEER ASSOCIATION and NIGHT OF THE LIVING BREWS, followed by an announcement of a home-brewed beer festival and competition, with today's date on it. There was a lot of foot traffic in and out.
'Aha,' I told Mouse. 'Explains why Mac is here, instead of at his own place. He's finally unleashed the new dark on the unsuspecting public.'
