It was midnight or thereabout. I'd stopped constantly looking at the clock some time ago. I was sitting at the kitchen table alternately blinking blearily at the cards in my hand and at Goodfellow who was sitting across from me. We were playing poker. Well, as well as we could play poker with two people, one of whom was dead on his feet. That, of course, explained the impressive pile of easily-won chips sitting in front of the ridiculously handsome puck. Most of them were red, but I couldn't remember what the wager denomination Robin had assigned to them (since we weren't actually playing for money). I just knew they had something to do with Niko—oh wait—a kiss from Nik! That's right. The stakes, as assigned by Robin Goodfellow, for each red chip was a kiss from Niko. Crap—I was in serious trouble if Robin tried to collect. I threw my cards down on the table. "I'm done."
"Ah, c'mon, Caliban. I haven't won all the red chips yet." Goodfellow pursed his lips in a full on pout and gestured to the small—very small—pile that remained in front of me. All of which were totally destined to remain unredeemed by me—at least at their current worth.
"Yeah, like you're gonna dare redeem the ones you've got."
The puck offered up a lascivious grin. "I might."
I couldn't suppress a snort. "Well, if you do, I hope you're not too attached to those lips of yours. Or maybe even a much lower body part of yours. Nik's awfully good with that katana of his." I pushed away from the table and stood, swaying on my feet just a tad and thinking longingly of the couch in the living room. Robin followed suit with a rustle of purple silk and bobbing of dark curls.
He ran his hands down his front, smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles. "I have an idea. Let's go to Hellfire."
"Hellfire?"
"That new bar for those of the supernatural persuasion. It's not far from here."
"Nah, I think I'll pass."
"Bah. Come on. It could be quite interesting."
"I said no! God, don't you ever fucking listen!" My reaction was completely over the top, and I knew it. I ground my palms into my burning eyes. "Sorry…"
"Let's at least take a walk then. The cold air might do you some good."
"You do realize it's like going on 1:00 o'clock in the morning, right? And this is New York City…"
"We won't go far. We'll be fine."
"Whatever. Let's go." I grabbed my battered leather jacket off its hook, shrugged into it, and was half way down the stairs before Goodfellow caught up.
I pushed through the door without slowing down. It was cold. Damn cold. Bitter wind bit into my cheeks and nose, coaxed excess moisture to well in my eyes. Arctic white moonlight cast an alien shine on the landscape, creating a tangle of grotesque shadows and shapes across the streets and sidewalks.
We walked in silence. I was too damn tired to really be much of a conversationalist. I shivered as a brutal gust of wind volleyed around me, tossing strands of dark hair across my pale face.
A few blocks later, I was startled from my self-induced exile by a hand on my arm. I stumbled and looked up—straight into the startlingly pretty golden eyes of a woman—a prostitute judging by both her clothes and sly, predatory expression.
"Lookin' for a little fun, sexy boy?" She licked her wine-colored lips.
I stifled a groan. What the hell? Am I suddenly reeking of some freaky weird pheromones or something?
She leaned forward and tightened her fingers on my arm. Her hot, fetid breath tickled my nose, and I sucked in a breath at its sheer wrongness. A hazy fog began to infiltrate my mind. Beneath her very human façade, I saw a ripple of otherworldliness as her mask slipped just a bit. A Batibat? Holy shit! I shivered for a completely different reason than the cold weather.
"Uh…no thanks."
"Whatsa matter, sweet lover boy? 'Fraid I'm too much for ya?" She waggled her eyebrows at her own double entendre. Her hand tightened, this time painfully, on my arm as I tried to pull away. "I just might surprise ya."
Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. I yanked my rapidly numbing arm from her grasp. "Seriously, I highly doubt it." I spun on my heel and started back toward the apartment. "Robin, let's go!"
"Asshole!"
The hooker's venomous growl followed me into the night. I stumbled forward on shaky legs as quickly as I could, shaking my head to clear it.
"Dammit all, Cal, slow down already! What's your hurry?"
I paused long enough to glance over my shoulder. "You know what that was back there? A Batibat!"
"Yeah. So?"
"They're fuckin' deadly. Or can be. Having sex with one is like playing Russian Roulette." I rubbed feeling back into my arm. "Even not having sex with one might be deadly if they…you know…"
"And?"
I couldn't help but stop and stare for a second. "Oh, God—you mean—you've cavorted with one?"
"One or two over the centuries. It took some…finesse."
I held up a hand. "Nevermind. I don't wanna know."
I'd reached the apartment building and flung open the door with a little more force than necessary. The stairs were my Mt. Everest as I trudged endlessly upward, ignoring Goodfellow's salacious accounting of certain adventuresome, if not unsavory and somewhat nauseating, exploits.
To my surprise, Nik was awake when I entered the apartment, gadfly Robin at my heels.
"Where were you?"
My brother wasn't scowling but his expression was tight, uncompromising, but I could see the worry underneath.
I all but threw myself down on the couch, dropping my head into my hands. "Loman here decided a lovely romantic stroll was in order." Sarcasm laced each syllable as I slipped out of my jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch.
"What happened?"
"Huh?" I squinted up at him. "Nothing happened."
"Cal, I can practically hear your heart racing from here."
I dismissed his statement with a casual wave of my hand. "It's the exhaustion."
"Cal."
This is why I never win an argument with my older brother. You see, he's got this certain tone. And if—okay, in all honesty, make that when—I hear that tone I suddenly feel shot full of truth serum. I call it his "truth or consequences" tone. I sighed.
"We ran into a Batibat. She…uh…she was a…a prostitute…and tried to pick me up."
"Damn. You didn't…I mean she didn't get to you, did she?"
Again I waved my hand. "No, I walked away. I'm fine."
"Okay. Good."
Grabbing the remote, I flicked on the television, hoping for some sort of distraction. I was rewarded with a repeat of the old show Dragnet. I jumped a minute or so later when a red Coca-Cola can suddenly appeared in my line of vision. An offering from Nik. "Thanks." I sipped it rather reluctantly. I loved the stuff—the first six cans had been manna from Heaven considering Niko rarely let me drink it (at least when he was around). But now…now it was just starting to taste like medicine. I drank it anyway. Otherwise Cyrano was sure to make some god-awful tasting tea and make me drink that.
The couch dipped when Nik sat down next to me, silent and troubled. The rest of the night passed in a blur. Neither of us fully acknowledging just how many times Nik had to prod me when my eyelids drifted shut.
TBC…
