The Good, The Bad, And The Undead

stone steps and pulled open the right side of the twin wooden doors for him. He said nothing, and I added, 'Really. Thanks.'

Hesitating on the stoop, he stared at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. 'You're welcome,' he finally said, his voice giving me no clue, either.

I led the way through the empty foyer into the even more empty sanctuary. Before we rented out the church, it had been used as a daycare. The pews and altar had been removed to make a large play area. Now all that remained were the stained-glass windows and a slightly raised stage. The shadow of a huge, long-gone cross spread across the wall in a poignant reminder. I glanced at the tall ceiling, seeing the familiar room in a new way as Glenn looked it over. It was quiet. I'd forgotten how peaceful it was.

Ivy had spread tumbling mats over half of it, leaving a narrow walkway running from the foyer to the back rooms. At least once a week we'd spar to keep fresh, now that we were both independents and not on the streets every night. It invariably ended with me a sweating mass of bruises and her not even breathing hard. Ivy was a living vamp—as alive as I was and in possession of a soul, infected by the vamp virus by way of her, at the time, still-living mother.

Not having to wait until she was dead before the virus began molding her, Ivy had been born possessing a little of both worlds, the living and dead, caught in the middle ground until she died and became a true undead. From the living she retained a soul, allowing her to walk under the sun, worship without pain, and live on holy ground if she wanted, which she did to tick her mother off. From the dead came her small but sharp canines, her ability to pull an aura and scare the crap out of me, and her power to hold spellbound those who allowed it. Her unearthly strength and speed were decidedly less than a true undead, but still far beyond mine. And though she didn't need blood to remain sane, as undead vampires did, she had an unsettling hunger for it, which she was continually fighting to suppress, since she was one of the few living vamps who had sworn off blood. I imagine Ivy must have had an interesting childhood, but I was afraid to ask.

'Come on in to the kitchen,' I said as I went through the archway at the back of the sanctuary. I took off my shades as I passed my bathroom. It had once been the men's bathroom, the traditional fixtures replaced with a washer and dryer, a small sink, and a shower. This one was mine. The women's bathroom across the hall had been converted into a more conventional bathroom with a tub. That one was Ivy's. Separate bathrooms made things a heck of a lot easier.

Not liking the way Glenn was making silent judgments, I closed the doors to both Ivy's and my bedrooms as I passed them. They had once been clergy offices. He shuffled into the kitchen behind me, spending a moment or two taking it all in. Most people did.

The kitchen was huge, and part of the reason I had agreed to live in a church with a vampire. It had two stoves, an institutional-size fridge, and a large center island overhung with a rack of gleaming utensils and pots. The stainless steel shone, and the counter space was expansive. With the exception of my Beta in the brandy snifter on the windowsill, and the massive antique wooden table Ivy used for a computer desk, it looked like the set of a cooking show. It was the last thing one would expect attached to the back of church—and I loved it.

I set the canister of fish on the table. 'Why don't you sit down,' I said, wanting to call the Howlers. 'I'll be right back.' I hesitated as my manners clawed their way up to the forefront of my mind. 'Do you want a drink…or something?' I asked.

Glenn's brown eyes were unreadable. 'No, ma'am.' His voice was stiff, with more than a hint of sarcasm, making me want to smack him a good one and tell him to lighten up. I'd deal with his attitude later. Right now I had to call the Howlers.

'Have a seat, then,' I said, letting some of my own bother show. 'I'll be right back.'

The living room was just off the kitchen on the other side of the hallway. As I searched for the coach's number in my bag, I hit the message button on the answering machine.

'Hey, Ray-ray. It's me,' came Nick's voice, sounding tinny through the recording. Shooting a glance at the hallway, I turned it down so Glenn couldn't hear. 'I've got 'em. Third row back on the far right. Now you'll have to make good on your claim and get us backstage passes.' There was a pause, then, 'I still don't believe you've met him. Talk to you later.'

My breath came in anticipation as it clicked off. I had met Takata four years ago when he spotted me in the balcony at a solstice concert. I had thought I was going to be kicked out when a thick Were in a staff shirt escorted me backstage while the warm-up band played.

Turned out Takata had seen my frizzy hair and wanted to know if it was spelled or natural, and if natural, did I have a charm to get something that wild to lie flat? Starstuck and repeatedly embarrassing myself, I admitted it was natural, though I had encouraged it that night, then gave him one of the charms my mother and I spent my entire high school career perfecting to tame it. He laughed then, unwinding one of his blond dreadlocks to show me his hair was worse than mine, static making it float and stick to everything. I hadn't straightened my hair since.

My friends and I had watched the show from backstage, and afterward, Takata and I led his bodyguards on a merry chase through Cincinnati the whole night. I was sure he would remember me, but I hadn't a clue as to how to get in touch with him. It wasn't as if I could call him up and say, 'Remember me? We had coffee on the solstice four years ago and discussed how to straighten curls.'

A smile twitched the corner of my mouth as I fingered the answering machine. He was all right for an old guy. 'Course, anyone over the age of thirty had seemed old to me at the time.

Nick's was the only message, and I found myself pacing as I picked up the phone and punched in the Howlers' number. I plucked at my shirt as the number rang. After running from those Weres, I had to take a shower.

There was a click, and a low voice nearly growled, ' 'Ello. Ya got the Howlers.'

'Coach!' I exclaimed, recognizing the Were's voice. 'Good news.'

There was a slight pause. 'Who is this?' he asked. 'How did you get this number?'

I started. 'This is Rachel Morgan,' I said slowly. 'Of Vampiric Charms?'

There was a half-heard shout directed off the phone, 'Which one of you dogs called the escort service? You're athletes, for God's sake. Can't you pin your own bitches without having to buy them?'

'Wait!' I said before he could hang up. 'You hired me to find your mascot.'

'Oh!' There was a pause, and I heard several war whoops in the background. 'Right.'

I briefly weighed the trouble of changing our name against the fuss Ivy would raise: a thousand glossy black business cards, the page ad in the phone book, the matched oversized mugs she had imprinted our name on in gold foil. It wasn't going to happen.

'I recovered your fish,' I said, bringing myself back. 'When can someone pick it up?'

'Uh,' the coach muttered. 'Didn't anyone call you?'

My face went slack. 'No.'

'One of the guys moved her while they cleaned her tank and didn't tell anyone,' he said. 'She was never gone.'

Her? I thought. The fish was a her? How could they tell? Then I got angry. I had broken into a Were's office for nothing? 'No,' I said coldly. 'No one called me.'

'Mmmm. Sorry about that. Thanks for your help, though.'

'Whoa! Wait a moment,' I cried, hearing the brush-off in his voice. 'I spent three days planning this. I risked my life!'

'And we appreciate that—' the coach started.

I spun in an angry circle and stared out at the garden through the shoulder-high windows. The sun glinted on the tombstones beyond. 'I don't think you do, Coach. We're talking bullets!'

'But she was never lost,' the coach insisted. 'You don't have our fish. I'm sorry.'

'Sorry won't keep those Weres off my tail.' Furious, I paced around the coffee table.

'Look,' he said. 'I'll send you some tickets to the exhibition game coming up.'

'Tickets!' I exclaimed, astounded. 'For breaking into Mr. Ray's office?'

'Simon Ray?' the coach said. 'You broke into Simon's office? Damn, that's rough. 'Bye now.'

'No, wait!' I shouted, but the phone clicked off. I stared at the humming receiver. Didn't they know who I was? Didn't they know I could curse their bats to crack and their pop flies to land foul? Did they think I would sit back and do nothing when they owed me my rent!