The phone rang, insistent.
Andrea sighed behind me.
Our latest job had come courtesy of Green Acres Home Owners' Association, who showed up at our door this morning claiming that a giant levitating jellyfish was roaming their suburb and could we please come and get it, because it was eating local cats. Apparently the translucent jellyfish was floating about with half-digested cat bodies inside it and the neighborhood children were very upset. The cops told them that it wasn't a priority, since the jellyfish hadn't eaten any humans yet, and the Mercenary Guild wouldn't get rid of it for less than a grand. The HOA offered us $200. Nobody in their right mind would do the job at that price.
It took us all damned day. And now we had to properly dispose of the cursed thing, because dealing with corpses of magical creatures was like playing Russian roulette. Sometimes nothing happened, and sometimes the corpse did fun things like meting into a puddle of sentient carnivorous protoplasm or hatching foot-long blood-sucking leeches.
The weight of the jellyfish suddenly vanished from my shoulders. I rummaged in my pocket and my fingertips slid against the cold metal. I yanked the key out, slipped it into the lock, and swung the heavy reinforced door open. Aha! Victory.
I lunged through the door and made a break for the phone. "Cutting Edge Investigations. How may I help you?"
"May I speak to Kate Daniels," a clipped female voice said into my ear.
"Speaking."
"Please hold for Mr. Meadows." The phone clicked and dissolved into hissing.
Meadows, Meadows... Who the hell was Meadows? Sounded familiar. Ah! Mark. Mark Meadows, officially the Mercenary Guild admin, and unofficially the operations manager. Mark was excellent at his job, but he suffered from the delusion that "white collar" was a noble title. Mercs hated him with undying passion and since the Guild's founder died, the Mercenary Guild had remained rudderless. Technically I was still a member of the Guild. Practically, I was never there.
So he calls me and puts me on hold, huh? Okay. I dropped the phone back in its cradle.
I turned to the door and watched Andrea walk through it. Behind her, the jellyfish squeezed through the doorway on its own.
I blinked.
The jellyfish successfully entered, turned, and I saw Curran carrying it in his hands, as if three hundred pound mass of flesh was no heavier than a plate of pancakes. It's good to be the Beast Lord.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Back room," Andrea said. "Here, I'll show you."
The phone rang. I let it wail a couple of times before I picked it up. "Cutting Edge."
Mark's voice came on the line. "Daniels? Don't hang up."
"Make it fast, Mark, I'm busy."
"Look, I need to talk to you about the meeting."
"What meeting?"
"Come on, Kate. Don't bust my balls. The mediation meeting. Do I need to make an appointment?"
Curran and Andrea emerged from the back room.
"Sure. Let me check my calendar." I rolled my eyes at Andrea, playing for time. Curran closed the distance between us. "How's tomorrow at two strike you?"
"I'll be there."
I hung up the phone and kissed the Beast Lord. He tasted like of toothpaste and Curran and the feel of his lips on mine made me forget the lousy day, the bills, the clients, the two gallons of slime covering my clothes. The kiss had lasted only a couple of seconds, but it might as well have been an hour, because when we broke apart, it felt like I had come home, leaving all my troubles far behind.
"Hey," he said, his grey eyes pale on his sun-tanned face.
"Hey."
Behind him Andrea rolled her eyes.
"What's up?" I asked him. Curran almost never came to visit my office, especially not in the evening. He hated Atlanta with all the fire of a supernova. I didn't have anything against Atlanta in theory - it was half-eroded by the magic waves that washed over it at random and it burned a lot - but I had a thing about crowds. When my workday was over, I didn't linger. I headed straight for the Keep and His Furry Majesty.
"I thought we'd go to dinner," he said. "It's been awhile since we've gone out."
Technically we had never gone out to dinner. Oh, we had eaten together in the city but usually it was accidental and most of those times involved other people and frequently ended in a violent incident.
"What's the occasion?"
Curran's blond eyebrows came together. "Does there have to be a special occasion for me to take you out to dinner?"
Yes. "No."
He leaned to me. "I missed you and I got tired of waiting for you to come home."
And he had me. "I have to wait for the Biohazard to get here to pick up the jellyfish."
"I've got it," Andrea offered. "Go, there is no use of two of us sitting here. I have some stuff I need to take care of anyway."
I hesitated.
"I can sign forms just as good as you," Andrea informed me. "And my signature doesn't look like scratches of a drunken chicken in the dirt."
"Screw you."
"Yeah, yeah. Go have some fun."
"I need a shower," I told Curran. "I'll see you in ten minutes."
*** *** ***
It was Friday, eight o'clock on a warm spring night, my hair was brushed, my clothes were clean and slime-free, and I was going out with the Beast Lord. Curran drove, while I studied the file in my lap, which Jim, the Pack's Security Chief, had given to Curran for me before his Majesty left the Keep.
The file contained a hand-written explanation with some numbers. Apparently Solomon Red, who was a closet shapeshifter and the Guild's now deceased founder, had bequeathed seventeen percent of the Guild's ownership to the Pack. The Guild had been in limbo since his death, with Mark wanting to assume leadership and veteran mercs opposing him. Apparently I had seniority and since I was the Curran's Consort, it was up to me to cast the deciding vote. Great. At least it explained the phone call.
I glanced at Curran in the driver seat. Even at rest, like he was now, relaxed and driving, he emanated a kind of coiled power. He was built to kill, his body a blend of hard, powerful muscle and supple quickness and something in the way he carried himself telegraphed a shocking potential for violence and willingness, no, entitlement, to unleash it at the slightest provocation. He seemed to occupy a much larger space than his body permitted and he was impossible to ignore. This potential for violence used to alarm me. Now I just took it as a part of him. Here is my sugar woogums: his eyes are grey, his hair is blond, and if you piss him off, he'll sprout giant claws and roar like thunder.
Curran caught me looking and flexed. Carved muscles bulged on his arms. Curran winked. "Hey baby."
I cracked up. "So where we're going?"
"Arirang," Curran said. "It's a nice Korean place, Kate. They have charcoal grills at the tables. They bring you meat and you cook it any way you want."
Figured. Left to his own devices, Curran consumed only meat, spiced with an occasional desert. "That's nice for me, but what will your vegetarian Majesty eat?"
Curran gave me a flat look. "I can always drive to a burger joint instead."
"Oh, so you'd throw a burger down my throat and expect making out in the back seat?"
He grinned. "We can do it in the front seat instead, if you prefer. Or on the hood of the car."
"I am not doing it on the hood of the car."
"Is that a dare?"
Why me?
"Kate?"
"Keep your mind on the road, your Furriness."
The city rolled by, twisted by magic, battered and bruised but still standing. The night swallowed the ruins, hiding the sad husks of once mighty, tall buildings. New houses flanked the street, constructed by hand with wood, stone and brick to withstand magic's jaws.
I rolled down the window and let the night in. It floated into the car, spring and a hint of wood smoke from a distant fire. Somewhere a lone dog barked out of boredom, each woof punctuated by a long pause, probably to see if the owners would let him in.
Ten minutes later we pulled into a long empty parking lot, flanked by old office buildings that now housed Asian shops. A typical stone building with huge store-front windows sat at the very end, marked by a sign that read Arirang.
"This is the place?"
"Mhm," Curran said.
"I thought you said it was a Korean restaurant." For some reason I had expected a hanok house with a curved tiled roof and a wide front porch.
"It is."
"It looks like Western Sizzlin."
"Will you just trust me? It's a nice place..." Curran braked, and the Pack Jeep screeched to a stop.
Two skeletally thin vampires sat at the front of the restaurant, tethered to the horse rail with chains looped over their heads. Pale, hairless, dried like leathery jerky, the undead stared at us with mad glowing eyes. Death had robbed them of their cognizance and will, leaving behind mindless body shells driven only by bloodlust. On their own, the bloodsuckers would slaughter anything alive and keep killing until nothing breathing remained. Their empty minds made a perfect vehicle for necromancers, who telepathically navigated them like remote controlled cars.
Curran glared at the vampires through the windshield. Ninety percent of the vampires belonged to the People, a weird hybrid of a corporation and a research institute. We both despised the People and everything they stood for.
I couldn't resist. "I thought you said this was a nice place."
He leaned back, gripped the steering wheel and let out a long growling, "Argh."
I chuckled.
"Who the hell stops at a restaurant while navigating?"
I shrugged. "Maybe they were hungry."
He gave me an odd look. "This far away from the Casino means they're out on patrol. What, did they suddenly get the munchies?"
"Curran, ignore the damn bloodsuckers. Let's go and have a date anyway."
He looked like he wanted to kill somebody.