AN: I make no promises on how often this fic will be updated, but I do have approximately a third of the next chapter done and Anita Blake remains one of my favorite verses to play in.
Also, I'm having a LOT of fun bringing in other Marvel individuals, and am amused that it took me long enough to post this that a Runaways show has actually been filmed and begun airing. Anyways, have fun playing where's waldo with marvel cameos :D
x
Chapter Two - La Belle Dame Sans Merci
Tony stared down at the piece of paper in his hands with a grimace on his face. He'd known what he was, what he could do, for over twenty years. In that time he'd raised countless zombies, studied the preternatural academically and as a rather personal side hobby, and consulted with the police on dozens of cases.
What he hadn't done was try to become a part of the preternatural community.
He knew other animators, a psychic or two, and who to call if he needed a witch's opinion, but shifters and vampires and the other, less 'human' members of his world, he'd stayed away from. One foot in both worlds and not really a part of either. Mostly because he avoided being a part of the world at all. He only left his house for work, or if Rhodey and Maria dragged him out for forced human companionship.
Other than that he was a recluse, most definitely by choice.
Calling the number would change that. Irrevocably. He didn't need a psychic to tell him that.
He dialed anyway, better than most at accepting inevitable change, and managed to keep the grimace from his voice when a perky voice answered, "Thank you for calling Granuaile, this is Darcy, how can I help you?"
"Hello, Darcy, this is Tony Stark. I need to make an appointment to talk to your boss."
There was a giddy sound that might have been a squeal before it was quickly cut off. "Sorry about that, I'm kind of an animating dork; the whole zombie raising thing is ridiculously awesome and fucked up." There was a pause as she cleared her throat before continuing, words spilling out rapidly. "Don't tell Pepper I said any of the preceding sentences. Okay, anyways, she's been expecting your call and has an hour cleared at six tomorrow tonight if you are available."
Tony laughed, unexpectedly charmed out of his foul mood. "I had no idea there were animating groupies. You're my new favorite person. And, since I'm choosing to ignore my irritation with other people's expectations at the moment, yes, I am available at six tomorrow."
"Does being your favorite person come with autograph privileges?" the girl asked quickly, the faint clack of a keyboard being abused audible in the background. "Cause I have six back issues of The Animator here that would definitely benefit from your John Hancock."
Tony snorted. "The editors must be thrilled that there are more than a few hundred animators, and the occasional hate group, subscribing to that rag."
"Are you kidding? It beats out Marie Claire any day. Your articles are always particularly sassy. I have a little wall of photocopies of my favorite quotes."
"Well, that little bit of flattery has earned you six copies of my mostly illegible scrawl," he promised. "Is there anything I need to know before this meeting? A secret handshake? A list of supplies for the mandatory ritual sacrifice? A particular knock so the guards know not to kill me before I get in?"
"Oh no, a knock won't save you. The proper dance, however, might spare your pretty head," Darcy assured him. "Just bring your wits and may I recommend the tram over the subway; the view is lovely and your resulting odor is less likely to offend my delicate senses."
"Duly noted. I will be there at six, in my dancing shoes."
"See you then, Mr. Stark," Darcy replied with cheery efficiency.
Tony hung up, smile fading. Excellent conversation aside, it wasn't his new best friend Darcy he was going to be seeing in less than twenty-four hours and he was much less confident in his ability to charm, and be charmed by, the Master of the City. Unless said charm involved being rolled right out of his mind until he was at her beck and call.
He hadn't met a vampire yet who could roll him, but given that he avoided vampires on principle, he didn't think that counted for much.
Rhodey owed him big.
With cheerful thoughts of the next night's plans to keep him company, it was time for his usual evening activities—raising the other kind of dead.
New York had a space problem. This wasn't news to anyone who lived there, but few who weren't either animators or funeral home owners were aware that it wasn't the living who were suffering the worst of the space crunch. New York was running out of places to put its dead. Which resulted in an increase in cremations, and some job insecurity stress for those who needed bodies to raise.
His first two appointments of the night were conveniently in the same cemetery, one that no longer had room for new dead. The first involved your standard will reading, if a little more interesting due to the age of the will. The second was for a historian writing a book, one of the many clients Coulson had begun to recruit in an attempt to diversify their business. That particular client had paid for triple time, which meant a whole lot of sitting around and thinking. Not exactly Tony's favorite activity.
The will reading went fairly quickly once the dead man understood the problem and the language barrier had been dealt with, and the historian had shown up early, far too eager to talk to a zombie in Tony's decidedly expert opinion.
Once she and her somewhat willing subject were settled in for their nice, long, expensive chat, Tony leaned against the side of the closest mausoleum and pulled his obnoxiously hot pink 3DS out of his coat pocket. He slipped his headphones into his ears, not remotely interested in the history of one random dead dude's family, and waited for his game to load. It was time for Batman and co to confront Brainiac on his spaceship.
Tony had just finished rebuilding the Eiffel Tower to look like Batman when the historian waved him over, her face glowing with excitement. "Thank you so much!" she gushed, bobbing in an almost bow to him and the zombie. "This has been so helpful for my book."
The zombie didn't look inclined to further speech so Tony favored her with his best professional smile. "You're welcome, Ms. Casas. If you're done, I'm going to go ahead and lay Mr. Blanchard back to rest." She nodded again, still grinning, and then started packing her notebooks, recorders, and various other paraphernalia back into her bag.
Tony turned to the zombie. "Are you ready, Mr. Blanchard?" The dead man looked back at him, brown eyes clouded with decay, and nodded. Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of salt, then threw it at the zombie's chest, the granules catching in the faded suit the man had been buried in. "With salt I bind you to your grave." He reached up with the knife that had been tucked into his belt and wiped the now congealed blood from the sacrifice across the man's lips. "With blood and steel I bind you to your grave, Andrew Blanchard. Be at peace and walk no more."
The zombie laid on the ground, Tony's magic no longer animating him, and the dirt flowed back over him until the grave looked undisturbed. Tony wiped the knife off on a cloth he kept in his other pocket before tucking it back into his belt. Ms. Casas was still watching him, eyes bright with fascination, so he raised an eyebrow at her. She flushed. "I'm sorry, I'll go now. Good night!"
He waved, biting back a sarcastic comment, and waited until she was out of the cemetery gates before gathering up the rest of his supplies and sauntering toward where he'd parked. Only one more appointment, thanks to Ms. Triple Time, and then he could go home for a nice liquid dinner before sunrise and his bedtime.
Two hours later, after another cemetery and a decidedly unpleasant scene between a widower and his dead wife, and he was home with a drink in his hand as he stared at his phone and once again willed it disappear.
It failed to comply, so he sighed, picked it up, and dialed a number he was almost surprised he still remembered. To his actual surprise, someone answered.
"Why on earth are you awake this early?" he asked, blunter even than usual thanks to exhaustion and stress.
"Because some of us start our days with the sun instead of ending them, Tony," a woman's voice replied, her tone entirely too smug and perky for his taste. "Now what have I done to deserve a call from the reclusive, infamous, Mr. Five Zombies a Night or Your Money Back Stark?"
"Oh hush, Ms. Queen Witch of New York Herself Van Dyne. It's not like I'm on the top of your speed dial either," he sniped, mouth curving down into a grumpy pout.
"One point for you," Janet said, warm amusement in her voice as her words brought back their college days and a friendship that had once been quite close. "Now answer my question, Tony. What has you breaking radio silence?"
He grimaced, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to go back to that silence after this. Which might not be a bad thing; he liked Janet, even if she had always been entirely too fond of rubbing his nose in it when he was wrong or needed help. "I need your help," he admitted, and then couldn't help his smile when there was no answer other than silence. "You can gloat, it's fine. My fragile ego can handle it."
Janet laughed. "No need for gloating, can't scare you off until we've at least scheduled a lunch date. What do you need my help with? Is James still having you help with his police work?"
"Yes, and I need your help with a case. And something else," Tony paused and took another fortifying drink of his whiskey, then continued. "Do you know anything that can suck out a soul? There's a body, all shriveled up and empty, and I have no idea what could have done that. I just know I don't ever want to meet it."
The silence was heavier this time, finally broken by a sigh. "No you don't. And neither do I. Off the top of my head, we're looking at something fae, or something even older. And it won't be easy to find. The fae aren't allowed in this country, so if it's one of them it won't be talking about it. And if it's something else, something even further from human, well, then we're probably all fucked."
Tony chuckled darkly. "You always did have a way with words. Any good news?"
"There's magic I can do, to help you find the fae, if that's what it is. And I can tell you how to protect against their power. Schedule that lunch date with me, and I'll give you everything I can."
Tony glanced at the clock. "How about an early dinner today. I'm meeting the Master of the City tonight at six, and I hoped I could ask for the witchy low down on her too."
There was a brief pause and then Janet started laughing again. "Oh my goddess, Tony, you are in so over your head. Yes, I will meet you. If only to see you one last time before she eats you alive."
"It's nice to know you have so much confidence in my abilities," Tony said dryly, hoping his voice didn't reflect the sudden spike in his nerves.
"Oh honey. You are incredibly competent, more even than you and your decidedly not fragile ego give yourself credit for, but Pepper is in a class of her own and your hermit like approach to the preternatural world has done you no favors." Janet laughed again. "Luckily for you, I'm far less worried about her killing you than whatever's going around sucking out souls. Meet me at Le Bernadin at 4. You are going to buy me an expensive dinner, and I'm going to do my best to educate you on the world you've been ignoring."
She hung up before he could argue, and Tony stared at the phone for a long moment before draining his glass and standing up to get a refill. He needed a lot more liquor before he was going to be able to tune out her words enough to sleep.
x
Steve took another drink of coffee, enjoying the electric warmth of the caffeine. Sharon was next to him, devouring a short stack, bacon, sausage, and three egg breakfast. Nico and Alex, the Regina and Rex of the New York lion pride, were sitting in the middle curve of the booth. Alex was equally engrossed in his food, while Nico was chatting with Xavin, the Oba of the Hyena clan that shared their territory in the Bronx. They were still waiting for Luke and Jessica, the King and Queen of the rats, and Sue, who ran the small pard of leopards who lived in Manhattan and also represented the other smaller groups of shifters whenever they had one of these unofficial council meetings.
Sam had been happy to continue working on finding Ian rather than coming along, just in case Sue brought her brother and second in command. Johnny's favorite pastime was flirting, and Sam was his favorite target. Steve honestly wasn't sure if the flirting was serious, or how Johnny would react if Sam suddenly reciprocated, but he and Sue both enjoyed watching his Allectus squirm when her handsome and easily excitable brother turned the charm on.
Sue arrived first, ordering a black coffee and a breakfast burrito before turning to smile at Steve, her dark eyes twinkling. "No Sam today?"
Steve grinned and shook his head. "Although it seems he needn't have bothered, unless your brother is arriving later."
Sue grinned back. "Nah, he's in the middle of a shift. Won't be off work for another twelve hours. Your Allectus is safe, for now." She cocked an eyebrow at Steve. "You know, if Sam ever told Johnny to back off, he would."
"I know," Steve said with an acknowledging nod. "But I have chosen not to press him on why he does not."
Sue smiled and dipped her head, then looked back up at the waitress as she dropped off another mug and topped up everyone's coffees. Before any conversation could resume, Jessica and Luke arrived and the cheerful mood of the table disappeared. Luke looked furious and Jessica's face was tight with carefully repressed anger and worry.
Steve waved the waitress off as they sat down, and everyone waited. "Willis is dead. The police found his body in the park," Luke ground out, his voice low enough that no one without their hearing and proximity could hear him. "They don't know who or what did it, but his body." Luke stopped, apparently too angry to continue, and Jessica finished for him.
"It was shriveled, like a husk, and it smelled wrong. Empty," her voice was cold, and it shook on the last word with the barest hint of a hiss.
Steve felt his own beast rise as Sharon stiffened next to him. "I smelled something similar, while investigating one of our wolves who has gone missing," Sharon said, her eyes shining gold. "It appears that whatever it is, it has an appetite for lycanthropes."
Steve could picture Ian's face, entirely too young and usually prone to smiles, and hoped he wasn't called in to make a similar identification. He didn't want to picture that face gone, turned into an empty shell. He wanted Ian back with his pack.
"We need to go on lockdown," he said firmly, meeting everyone's gaze in turn. "No one goes out alone, everyone has regular check-ins. And no shifting alone. We don't know how this person is finding victims, better safe than sorry."
They all nodded, Luke's hands curled into fists on the table and the skin around Jessica's eyes lined with pain and rage.
"Let us know when the service is," Nico said, her voice gentle even though her eyes were as cold and hard as everyone else's at the table. "
Jessica flashed her a brief, sharp smile, and Luke nodded. "We will."
The meeting didn't last long after that, even shifter appetites could be spoiled by bad news, and none of their other concerns were serious enough to be brought up.
"Everyone has a buddy, and we've established regular call-ins," Sharon told him before they parted, then smirked. "And Sam's taken your on-call night so your little date won't be interrupted."
Steve ignored the taunting tone of her voice. There would be worse, from her and the rest of the pack, as things between him and Pepper progressed, and showing weakness now would not end well for him. "Tell Sam I appreciate it. I'm going to check in with Darcy, and her doctor friend."
Sharon nodded, then headed for her car as Steve swung his leg over his motorcycle. He drove it rarely since becoming a shifter, too many memories and too many risks in New York's hostile traffic, but he didn't have the ability to sit still on the subway today.
Darcy's day job involved working as an intern for her best friend, a human professor at her university who specialized in scientific research of the preternatural. They were a rare breed, and most willing to participate in unethical practices like the so-called shifter halfway houses. But Jane was alright, and Darcy provided her an invaluable link to the preternatural community. Steve was hoping that Jane might know something about whatever was preying on shifters, or at least know where to start looking. And Darcy deserved to hear it from him that Ian, whom Darcy had brought into the pack, was missing and quite possibly worse.
"Hey, Bossman!" Darcy said with a cheerful grin when he walked into Dr. Foster's lab. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm not your boss," Steve told her, amused, and she rolled her eyes at him.
"Yeah, but if I call you my alpha, all the furries on campus will spontaneously combust and I don't need to deal with that nonsense." She jerked her chin at Jane, who was staring intently into a microscope that had definitely cost more than Steve's motorcycle. "I've already got a twitterpated bosslady to deal with. She's got a new secret boyfriend," Darcy said in a stage whisper and Jane looked up from the machine with a glare, her cheeks stained with the faintest brush of pink.
"It's not a secret, I'm just not talking about it."
"That's called a secret," Darcy said dryly, then waved dismissively before Jane could argue any further. "You still haven't answered my question, bossman, what's up?" Some of the humor had faded from her voice and Steve knew she suspected it was about Ian.
"Ian's missing. And one of Luke and Jessica's is dead. We believe the incidents are connected."
Darcy's jaw tightened, but she didn't otherwise react. "I assume all the texts I've been ignoring are about a pack lockdown."
Steve nodded, then gave into the instincts of the alpha Darcy had decried and pulled her in for a hug. Humans needed physical comfort, no matter how much they pretended otherwise. Shifters didn't have that luxury. If they ignored their needs, they weren't the only ones who suffered.
Darcy hugged him back just as tight, then pushed him away with a smile to bely the redness of her eyes. "Going to order a pack sleepover next?"
"Only if you plan the games," he told her with a grin. "Peter's are always too exotic and Kate's too vicious."
"Deal," she said with a decisive nod.
Steve smiled at her, wishing the rest of his pack would be so easy to care for during this crisis, then turned to her boss. The sooner they could find whoever or whatever was doing this, the better they would all sleep at night.
"We're trying to figure out what could leave a scent that's not a scent, an emptiness. And that can suck someone dry; not blood, everything."
Darcy made a small sound, but it was the wide-eyed look on Jane's face that had captured all of Steve's attention, something off about her total surprise.
"Um, well. Definitely something powerful. Could be a human, but something older seems more likely. If it's random, it could be one of things most humans hope are extinct. Preternatural predator, intelligent but not sapient. If it's not random…" she trailed off for a moment, then gave him a tight smile. "Probably fae."
Steve digested that, not sure which was worse. Lack of sapience might make it easier to find, if not to kill, but also harder to track with no guiding intelligence behind the attacks. On the other hand, someone intentionally hunting shifters for an unknown purpose was far from a comforting thought. "Have you come into contact with any fae during your research?"
There was the barest flicker in her expression, her heart beating rapidly for a brief second before she got it under control and gave him her best manic scientist smile. "You mean am I in contact with someone living in this country illegally, Steve? Of course not, that would lose me my job and probably cost me some prison time."
Steve returned her smile, letting her think him fooled. He hoped she was trying to protect an innocent scientific source and not a murderer, or Darcy was going to be losing a lot more than one friend.
x
Pepper was already dressed for her evening at the Blood Rose, further maintaining the facade that this interview was about the club's opening and not the newest proposed regulation from the anti-preternatural faction of congress.
The top of her dress was matte black, plunging in the front with wide sleeves that appeared to be mere moments from sliding down her shoulders. The back was nonexistent, bare skin until the full skirt began, just above the curve of her ass. The skirt was sheer, layers upon layers of black fabric that shimmered in the light with tantalizing flashes of the white skin beneath.
A large uncut ruby dangled from a golden chain around her neck, the uneven bottom edge of the stone resting just between the top of her breasts. Her hair was down, loose and long, the color magnified by the stone around her neck and the darkness of her dress. She was already taller than the interviewer, but the heels ensured she would be eye to eye with Steve. Black silk, with delicate gold metal work up the heel and spreading down both sides of the shoe, framing her feet.
"So tell me, Pepper, how exactly do high fashion and a dance club come together?" the reporter asked, his charming smile just a little too wide for Pepper's taste.
"Who doesn't love to dress to impress when they go out for a night on the town, Mr. Brock?" Pepper asked, then let out a sparkling laugh that had the reporter smiling involuntarily. "I wanted to bring something new to the nightlife, that embraced one of my passions."
"You are known for your impeccable fashion choices, as the most visible Master of the City in the States," Mr. Brock flattered and Pepper preened in response, her fingers idling resting on the stone on her chest.
"I'm not the only preternatural with a fondness for personal decor, Mr. Brock, and my position allows me the freedom to help others in the community less visible than myself. On Friday and Saturday nights there will be models showcasing the work of preternatural designers on the large runway that extends through the main room of the club. On the other nights the club is open, the runway will be open to patrons to use however they wish—as a private fashion show or a dance floor."
"I'm sure it will be a popular attraction," Mr. Brock murmured. "Another successful business to add to your growing collection. You have a gallery opening up in May, correct?"
"April, actually," Pepper corrected him, a flash of perfect white teeth on red lips, enjoying the way his eyes widened in expectation and then disappointment at the lack of fang. "We're ahead of schedule. I look forward to sharing pieces from my private collection, as well as showcasing works owned and created by others in the community. Mr. Rogers' paintings are a particular favorite of mine, so visceral."
Mr. Brock shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Pepper's demure smile sharpened ever so slightly. Mr. Brock had written a fairly scathing review of Steve's last show, decrying the 'flash in the pan' popularity of buying art from a werewolf. She loathed hypocrisy.
"Was construction pushed forward in order to open before the potential passage of Senator Stern's new financial status bill?" he asked with seeming innocence, the twist of his lips betraying his need to put himself back on an even playing field.
Pepper leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "You mean the bill targeted explicitly at shifters and vampires, with the goal of preventing them from accumulating or holding assets the way 'human' citizens are allowed to?"
He flinched back in his seat, then shook his head with a pained frown. "I wouldn't characterize Mr. Stern's efforts-"
Pepper raised a hand, cutting him off. "No. The opening was not pushed forward on account of that bigoted piece of legislation." She smiled winsomely. "That was just a happy coincidence. Although an unnecessary one, as I have every faith that less prejudiced factions will prevail and the bill will be defeated."
His answering smile was tight and Pepper relaxed into her chair, utterly at ease. They had never been on an even playing field and he was a fool to think otherwise.
Before he could compose himself to ask another question, Natasha stepped into the room. She flashed a predatory smile at Mr. Brock before turning to Pepper. "Mr. Stark is here."
Pepper turned her head to hide her grin, then rose to her feet. Time would tell if Mr. Brock was smart enough to pick up on that anvil sized hint, and foolish enough to bring it to Senator Stern for comment. "I apologize, Mr. Brock. We'll have to end the interview there. I have other business to attend to before I leave for Blood Rose." She offered him her best smile, charming and enigmatic. "I do hope we'll see you there. Your name is on the list."
"I look forward to it," he promised, his eyes calculating and his smile as false as hers though far less charming.
Pepper turned and swept out of the room, Natasha at her heels. Her evening had already been enormously productive and satisfactory and she still had a meeting with the reclusive Anthony Stark, and her date with the delectable Vindex to look forward to. She did hope Mr. Brock accepted her invitation; his part in her good mood deserved to be rewarded, and there were all sorts of delights at the Blood Rose just waiting to take a bite out of someone like the cynical reporter.
She caught a glimpse of Anthony waiting in her office, the lines of his body tight with discomfort while the scent of his power made her mouth water. With any luck she, too, would have someone delightful to sink her teeth into.