II
That first evening after Mrs. Summers hired me didn't begin as planned. The sun had just set and I was about to head for Spellbound, the shop in which Miss Summers worked, when Doyle staggered into my office and collapsed. Someone had done quite the number on him. His face was almost unrecognizable beneath a mass of cuts and bruises, his right arm was either broken or dislocated, the rattling sound of his breathing suggested multiple broken ribs, and he was struggling to slow the bleeding of a nasty gut wound by keeping his left hand pressed over it. It was all a bit beyond my ability to treat. Miss Summers would have to wait; she had until the end of the week, but Doyle wouldn't make it through the night. I bandaged the gut wound as tightly as I could, then hoisted him to his feet, threw his uninjured left arm over my shoulders, and bore most of his weight. Luckily, the destination I had in mind was only a couple of blocks away.
"Who did this to you?" I asked as we left the building.
"Gang of demons," said Doyle. "Cornered me on my way back from seeing Cordy."
"Is she okay?"
"They were only after me. They meant to kill me. Damn near succeeded, but I don't think they knew I wasn't human."
"Why did they attack you?"
"I think...Angelus, I think they're working for Cordy's father. After they left me there bleeding, I heard them saying something about Mr. Chase's orders."
We turned down an alley, where we entered an abandoned building with sewer access. "So he finds out his daughter's boyfriend is a broke Irish immigrant and instead of forbidding her from seeing you, he tries to have you killed? With a pack of demon thugs? You should've let me run that background check on the Chase family."
Doyle mumbled something incoherent. I let the subject drop for now. A more thorough interrogation could wait until he was on the mend. The only person in town I would ever trust with my half-demon friend after he'd been beaten nearly to death worked at the Sunset Club, a speakeasy that catered to both human and demon clientele. There were two entrances. You could buy a ticket for the pictures in Starlight Cinema, a real fancy movie palace on top of the club. If you said the right phrases when you bought your ticket, the usher would take you to auditorium 3 and lead you to a staircase hidden behind the screen. That was how the humans got in. I never used that entrance. Demons accessed the club through an abandoned subway line.
Hoisting Doyle a little more securely against my shoulder, I rapped my knuckles on the steel outer door. A slat opened at eye level, and a pair of yellow eyes glared out at me. "Password?"
"Archduke Ferdinand's pocket watch," I said.
"That's last week's password," grunted the door guard. I knew the guy. Big lunk of a vampire named Harvey. I glared at him, letting my features change to match his.
"Don't make me ruin another one of your boss's doors." I ran my hand over it. "I can tell he spent a lot more on this one than the first two."
The slat closed, but a second later, the door swung open. "Don't blame me if he stakes you on sight," said Harvey. "New password's 'Edith's tea and cakes'."
I nodded and moved past him. I heaved Doyle through the little coat room and across the inner threshold (Harvey offering no assistance), and the rich environment of the Sunset Club washed over me. The orange lanterns gave it a sultry atmosphere, particularly when combined with the haze of cigar smoke. A long, polished bar stretched down one side, ending near the stage, which was occupied by a piano, a full brass band, and a lone vocalist. Tonight, the singer was Tara Maclay. I hadn't enjoyed every new style of music to emerge over the decades, but I found jazz uniquely enthralling.
Half the space in the club was taken up by round tables, but the rest was open for dancing. The joint wasn't packed tonight, but at least three-quarters of the tables and barstools were occupied, and there were a few couples on the dance floor. The dominant smells were spirits and smoke, with a smattering of different perfumes and colognes.
Two doors in the wall opposite the bar led to private rooms where patrons could play poker, and a third was the entrance to the Sunset Club's real attraction: the fighting ring. I ignored all three of these doors. The one I was after was tucked in the corner closest to the cinema entrance.
"Angelus!" came a familiar voice from my left before I'd managed to drag Doyle more than a few steps towards our destination.
"Spike," I said. Spike was the owner of the club. Ever since he'd bought the place, he'd kept his hair as black and shiny as an oil slick, dressed in suits that ran towards the finest in mobster chic, and always seemed to be halfway through a cigar. You couldn't exactly call us friends, but we had history. He was an English vampire, only a few decades old, and if you'd told me ten years ago that he'd be running an underground gin joint and boxing ring, I never would've believed it. But then the federal government decided to make alcohol illegal, and alcohol being one of Spike's favorite things, he wasn't going to take that lying down.
"Who's this sorry-looking bloke?" said Spike, blowing a lungful of smoke in Doyle's direction.
"Nice to know how much my loyal patronage is worth," Doyle muttered.
"Oh, the Irish half-breed," said Spike, earning scowls from both Doyle and myself. "Got himself in a bit of a pickle, didn't he?" He seemed more amused than sympathetic, but I wouldn't have expected anything better.
"You could say that. Is Miss Burkle in tonight?"
"Just finished up collecting a few membership fees," said Spike, jerking his head in the direction of the door.
"Thanks," I said, and I continued in that direction.
"Sorry to put you to all this trouble," said Doyle.
"You can apologize once you're not leaving a trail of blood behind you, okay?" I said, pushing the door open. On the other side was an infirmary of sorts. It was very clean and much better lit than the rest of the club, with a few cots along one wall and an assortment of neatly organized medical equipment along the other. The back wall housed not one, but two of those fancy new electric iceboxes. That was where the "membership fees" of the human patrons were stored once extracted. The room was empty except for a very thin brunette in a nurse's uniform, who had her nose buried in a copy of Scientific Monthly and was tapping her foot to the beat of the music in the main room.
"Hey, Fred," I said. "I've got a patient for you."
The brunette looked up from her magazine. On catching sight of Doyle dangling off my shoulder, she leapt up from her chair. "Good Lord, what happened to him?" It had been a few years since Winifred Burkle had left Texas, but you could still hear it in her accent.
"Jumped by demons," I said.
"Lay him down here," said Fred, indicating the nearest cot. I helped Doyle stretch out on it. She started checking his lungs with her stethoscope.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.
"That's kind of you to offer, but I'll be just fine. Just go enjoy the club. I'll come find you after I've patched him up."
"Thanks," I said.
When I reentered the main room, Spike was waiting right beside the door. "It's good to see you around here again, mate," he said. "Hell's Kitchen isn't as welcoming to blokes like you and me as it used to be. I thought you might be dust by now."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Haven't you heard what's been happening here lately?" he said, looking surprised.
"I've been focusing on a case. Why? What's up?"
His eyes lit up and he leaned closer. "The Slayer moved in. She's taken out a few of my regulars and one of my employees already." He leaned back, puffing on his cigar. "Now, I know I could take her if she came gunning for me, but seeing as how you've never killed a Slayer before, I thought I'd let you know so you could be on your guard."
I cuffed him over the head, causing him to drop the cigar. "How long are you going to keep bringing up China, Spike? It's been twenty-seven years. Don't you have anything a little more recent to brag about?"
He shoved me, picked up the cigar, and straightened his jacket and waistcoat, still grinning that grin that made me want to knock in his teeth. "Weren't you listening?" he said. "There's a Slayer right in my backyard. I'll have something new to brag about in no time."
"Darling," said a voice to our right. It was soft and feminine, but it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Come dance. They're playing our song."
"What are you on about, Dru?" said Spike, turning to face his girl. I didn't move, though my guts got busy twisting themselves into knots. "They can't be playing our song; this is a new set!"
"Nonsense," said Drusilla. "Miss Edith sang it to me last night. Her voice is nothing to Miss Maclay's, though, so we must get a good place on the dance floor before it's all full."
Spike smirked over his shoulder at me before allowing Drusilla to drag him off as the first few notes from the piano and saxophone filtered through the club. I watched them go, feeling both relieved that Drusilla hadn't spoken to me and ashamed of my cowardice. Remember when I said I had a lot to atone for? Well, Drusilla is one of the larger items on that list. If it wasn't for me, she'd probably be an old grandmother by now, happy and peaceful at the end of a long, full, pious life. Instead, she'd spent the last sixty-seven years as an insane vampire who worshipped the monster that destroyed her. I avoided her as much as possible whenever I came to the club.
On the stage, Tara Maclay stepped up to the microphone and began to sing. I let her husky voice distract me from Drusilla and my sins.
"Your eyes may be whole but the story I'm told is
Your heart is as black as night
Your lips may be sweet such that I can't compete
But your heart is as black as night."
I thought about Spike's news. A Slayer in Hell's Kitchen. That could complicate things. I'd spent most of my long life avoiding Slayers, which might still be the healthiest policy for me. She might not care that I was more interested in helping people than hurting them these days. Others certainly didn't. I was going to need more information. Fortunately, one person who might be able to provide it was very close at hand.
"I don't know why you came along
At such a perfect time
But if I let you hang around
I'm bound to lose my mind."
I made my way to the bar and took a seat. "Bourbon, neat," I told the bartender. When she turned and saw me, her face lit up. I smiled too.
"Hey, stranger!" she said. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"It's good to see you, too, Faith."
"'Cause your hands may be strong
But the feeling's all wrong
Your heart is as black as night."
"How are things here?" I asked.
"Same old, same old," she said, deftly mixing multiple drinks at once, then sliding them onto a tray, which a waiter promptly carried off. "I've been seeing Spike arguing with Ford a little more often than usual lately, but he and Drusilla have been following all your rules, as far as I can tell. The human fighters don't go up against the demons, customers don't pay the membership fee more than once a month and they only pay it through Fred, and no vamps known to hunt in Hell's Kitchen are allowed in."
"Good," I said.
"I don't know why you came along
At such a perfect time
But if I let you hang around
I'm bound to lose my mind."
I glanced around. No one was paying us any attention. Why would they, with Tara singing? "Ford," I said. "He's that cop they've been bankrolling for the last year, isn't he?"
"Yeah," said Faith. "Seems like he's been wanting a raise for his fine work keeping the heat off this place." She looked at me gravely. "How are things going with your case against Finch?"
I knew why she'd be interested in that subject. After all, she's the one who hired me for the job that ultimately led to a life sentence in prison for Richard Wilkins. Wilkins was Faith's father. Her mother had once been his mistress, and had made the mistake of attempting to blackmail him for it. It was a strategy that tended to work better against men who didn't have numerous ties to the mob and every dirty cop in town living in his pocket. Faith had grown up ignorant of her father's identity, and luckily for her, Wilkins hadn't known he had a daughter when he ordered Gretchen Lehane killed. "I caught him on film shaking hands with some of Wilkins' old friends," I said. "But he spotted me."
Faith raised her eyebrows. "How? You're like a shadow. You must be off your game."
"The man's more paranoid than a cat on its ninth life. He probably would've had the actual shadows riddled with holes too if I hadn't been there." I grimaced. "I did give myself away, though. I wasn't sure the photographs would develop without the flash, so I used it on the last one."
"Well I hope that fat cat who hired you gives you a bonus," said Faith, chuckling.
"You and me both," I said, finally downing the bourbon.
"Wanna place a bet on the fights?" said Faith. "My man's in the ring tonight, and he's undefeated. If you were really my friend, you'd show your support."
"Fine. Twenty on Wood. Who's his opponent?"
"Some new guy. War veteran. Big, blond. Looks like he can handle himself."
There was something different about Faith. Her scent was off. I looked at her more closely. Her skin had a vibrancy to it that I hadn't seen before. It certainly hadn't been there when I was working her case. I couldn't be entirely sure at this stage, but I had a pretty good idea what it meant. "Are you sure you're okay working here?" I asked. "I could see about setting you up someplace a little less infested with demons, at least for the next seven months or so."
She met my gaze, and I knew I'd guessed right. "You've already done enough for me. I'm making my own way now, and I got Robin. We've got a nice place a block away from the school he teaches at—signed a lease for it and everything, and it has a spare room that'll come in handy next summer." A small smile graced her features.
"Should I expect a wedding invitation in the mail soon?"
"I thought you couldn't go inside churches."
"I'd grit my teeth and bear it if I had a good enough reason," I said. "Does Wood need me to give him a little nudge?"
"Nah, he'd haul me off to a chapel tomorrow if I let him."
I decided not to push. With Faith, that usually resulted in her pushing back. You had to let her figure things out for herself. So I changed the subject. "Spike mentioned there was a Slayer in Hell's Kitchen. Heard anything about that?"
"A couple of the demon fighters have gone missing," said Faith. "And I haven't seen a few of my regulars lately. Could be her work."
I glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. "Then it's not you?" I asked carefully. One of the things I'd learned about Faith while working her case was that she was one of the girls in line to become the next Slayer. The only thing that really meant for her in the meantime was that a posh English scholar by the name of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce occasionally dropped by to stick his nose in her business. When he found out Faith had hired a vampire to solve her mother's murder, he first tried to convince her to change her mind, then tried to kill me, and finally petitioned his organization to take over the case. He failed on all three counts, but the third had stung him the most. The Watchers' Council of Britain didn't shell out resources like that on the behalf of murdered family members of mere potential Slayers, especially when the killer was human. The last I'd heard, Wyndam-Pryce was no longer affiliated with them and was roving the five boroughs as a "rogue demon hunter."
Faith's expression hardened a little at my question. "No. But what higher power in its right mind would want me on the front lines? I'd just make a mess of things."
"Don't sell yourself short. You survived the last year, and most of what you have now is down to you, not me. You're a hell of a dame, Faith, and you'd make a hell of a Slayer."
Her lips twitched. "Just for that, your next one's on the house."
I love the Sunset Club so much. How do you guys like '20s Tara, Spike, Dru, Doyle, Faith, and Fred? Also, the song Tara sings is "Your Heart Is as Black as Night" by Melody Gardot. It should be the third track in the playlist I linked to in the first chapter.