Publish and Perish Read online

  “Opening an Álfar restaurant?” Parlan asked. I nodded. “I’ve begun looking into cooking schools,” he said, and it didn’t sound like it had been a good experience.

  The wind was moaning around the eaves of the house, and snow began pecking at the window like nervous fingers. I hoped I was going to be able to get back to New York and my apartment tonight. If I didn’t, John’s cat, which I had adopted, was going to be really pissed.

  “I thought you’d made a hobby of cooking in Fey,” I said.

  “I did, but you humans make everything complicated. I can’t just open a restaurant. There are permits and leases and liquor licenses, all of which require money, which, since I have none, means I must find investors. I have no idea how one accomplishes such a thing.”

  “The firm I work for represents a lot of very wealthy people. I can ask around.” I paused then added gently, “And you’re human too.”

  His fingers convulsed on his thigh, closing into a fist. “My body maybe, but my mind…” He shook his head. “As for the cooking school, I realized having a few credentials would probably help me find these investors, and I wanted to know something about human cooking and how I could meld the two styles. Most important, it gets me out of Philly.”

  The slang name for the city set an odd, almost charming contrast with his very formal speech patterns.

  “And away from Meg and Big Red,” I said softly.

  “Yes. They seem like nice people, but I don’t know them and they’re not my parents. And I’m certainly not the son Big Red would have wanted.”

  “How does he feel about the restaurant, the cooking thing?”

  “He doesn’t understand. And it just adds to his sense that I’m not … manly.” He reached back and flipped his long hair over his shoulder. He gave me a rueful smile. “I could tell him how many females I have bedded, but I’m not certain that would redound to my credit or mollify him.”

  Meg and Red came into the den carrying a bottle of red wine and four glasses. Wine was poured. Red offered a toast.

  “To absent friends.”

  The tension was back in the room, and Meg stared down at her tightly clasped hands. I hurried into speech.

  “Well, that’s why I’m here.” I gave both Red and Parlan a smile. “And I need something from both of you O’Shea men. Red opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. Meg gave me a grateful smile. “What I’m going to say here has to be kept in absolute confidence, okay?” They all nodded.

  I drew in a deep breath and began. “I seem to be a somewhat indestructible human. When any of the Powers attack me, weird things happen.”

  Red was frowning. “What do you mean, weird things?”

  “A jar of marbles falls off a shelf, breaks on the stairs. The werewolf slips on the marbles, falls through the bannister, and impales himself. An Álfar tries to shoot me and a giant movie camera on a track goes nuts and runs over her.”

  “It’s true,” Parlan said. “I witnessed it at the Academy Awards. When that Álfar actress attacked you the Oscar statue fell so you could escape and while it held your weight she fell through.”

  Red’s frown deepened. “I don’t buy it.”

  I took another deep breath. “There’s more. When I was in LA that old Álfar who got arrested … well, he tried to put a whammy on me and make me commit suicide.” Meg gave a gasp and Parlan uttered an Álfar oath. “Obviously it didn’t work. Which got me to thinking. If no Power can touch me then I could conceivably go into Fey and bring John back out.”

  “You’re human. You can’t cross without Álfar help,” Parlan said bluntly.

  “Which is why I’m here. I need you to talk to your friends and former bodyguards who helped us in LA. See if any of them would be willing to go up against an Álfar queen and commit a bit of sedition.”

  Parlan sank back against the sofa and tugged at his upper lip. His expression was very thoughtful.

  “Would they do that?” Meg asked her stranger/son.

  I waited, but Parlan didn’t respond so I spoke up. “John had made it pretty clear that the Álfar tend to live as if they’re all starring in their own private operas. The bigger and more dramatic they can make an event the better, so it just might work.”

  Parlan stirred. “While insulting, that is an essentially accurate statement. We all like to preen, but there is a vast distance between attacking an Álfar traitor and going up against a powerful queen in her own stronghold.”

  “So, you’re saying no one will help me?”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” He tipped a bit more wine into his glass. “There is significant restlessness among the young. I think there will be some Álfar who would help us. Unfortunately most of them stayed in California,” Parlan concluded.

  I noted the use of the plural, but didn’t remark on it. Just took a moment to feel the glow that comes from knowing you have an ally.

  “What about Ladlaw?” I asked. “He came back to New York with us to report to Queenie.”

  “And the very fact of his reporting to my mother probably means he would not be sympathetic to your goals.”

  I darted a surreptitious glance at Meg to see how she reacted to her son discussing his mother while his actual mother sat not three feet away from him. I saw the slight flinch and the tightening of the lines around her mouth, and I supposed that the bonds of biology and labor were stronger than years.

  Red jumped into the conversation. “You’re talking about kidnapping here.” His frown was Jovian in its intensity.

  “Which is why I need you and Meg to hire me and my new company, which specializes in freeing people from cults, to go in and rescue John.”

  “And does this company actually exist?” Red asked, but he was starting to smile.

  “I’m a lawyer. You think I couldn’t whip up a corporation in a flash?” I said with a grin. “And yes, the company will exist by the end of the day tomorrow. I prepared all the paperwork on the train down.”

  “I will get a message to Tulan, Aalet, Cildar, Donnal, and Zevra,” Parlan said.

  Meg suddenly spoke up. “This could be dangerous. You say you can’t be hurt, but what about John?” Her eyes slid toward Parlan. “Or anyone else who helps you? I don’t want either of my boys hurt.”

  A sudden memory returned. Of a werewolf literally tearing my boss, Chip Westin, in half. My strange power had saved me via a broken high heel, a weakened elevator door, and a long plunge down an elevator shaft for the werewolf, but it had done jack shit to protect Chip. I considered lying, but I couldn’t, not to these people.

  “There is a risk—”

  “I’ll take the risk,” Parlan interrupted.

  Red cranked around to stare at him. “It’s clear you’re signing up for this crazy scheme, but why? You don’t know John from the pope. He doesn’t mean a damn thing to you,” he grated.

  Parlan stood and looked down into his father’s red and irate face. “He was loved by you, you are proud of him, you miss him, and I’m clearly a poor substitute. I’d like to not always be compared and found wanting.”

  Red looked away, and his cheeks turned an even deeper shade of brick red. Meg gave Parlan a pitying look, then stood, crossed to him, and gave him a brief hug. For a moment he looked like a vulnerable little boy, then the Álfar mask was back in place. Parlan studied his nails.

  “And if she wants him it would give me infinite pleasure to take him away from her,” he added, and his tone was ugly.

  * * *

  I caught a late train back to New York City after accepting a retainer check from the O’Sheas in the amount of one hundred dollars, dated the day after tomorrow. During the journey I called the kid who was subletting John’s apartment and told him he needed to be out in the next two days. He wasn’t happy and I felt a bit like a jerk. If this didn’t work I’d have to find someone else to move in. Or maybe I should just give up at that point and assume that John was lost for good. I also called the hospital. There had been no change
in Jolly’s condition, but the police had placed a guard on the ICU. That made me feel a bit better.

  I was beyond exhausted by the time I got home, and Gadzooks, John’s big orange tabby cat, was indignant over our brief reunion after my long absence in California. It was past midnight and he hadn’t had his customary evening snack. Food reduced the piercing yowls to twerting grumbles, and he deigned to join me in bed. I stood for a moment contemplating the foot of my pretty four-poster bed, remembering how a few days after John had stayed behind in his mother’s realm I had awakened to find a small branch from a flowering tree resting on the comforter and filling the air with floral perfume. That hadn’t been the last contact I had with John, but I didn’t like to remember the last time. He had been cruel.

  So why, exactly, are you doing this?

  Since I didn’t have an answer I went to bed.

  3

  I came padding out of the bedroom at eight a.m. the next morning. I needed coffee and instead I found an Álfar standing in my living room. He was tall and willowy with long black hair that held a tinge of green and deep green eyes. His features were preternaturally perfect, chiseled and refined, and he was dressed like a prince from a Viennese operetta, all braid and lace and knee-high boots and very tight pants.

  “Oh, holy shit!” I yelled. “Jesus, Ladlaw! What if I slept in the nude?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Then you would have been embarrassed.” He gave me a suggestive smile. “And I would have enjoyed the view.”

  “Jerk. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please, and by the way, that is a singularly ugly nightgown. It would be better if you did sleep nude.”

  I looked down at the faded-yellow-flannel, floor-length nightie with the pink roses and gave him an exasperated look. “It’s cold, okay? And not only do I have to put up with strange Álfar in my apartment, I also get shit from the Álfar fashion police too?”

  “Yes, because it is exceedingly ugly.”

  I gave up, made a disgusted noise, and marched into the kitchen to pour out two cups of coffee. As expected, Ladlaw loaded his down with sugar. I had recently learned that Álfar all had a weakness for sweets. And yet I had never seen a fat Álfar, which made everything about the unnaturally beautiful creatures even more unfair.

  “You want some breakfast?”

  He looked surprised by the question, glanced around my small apartment as if looking for something, and finally nodded. I realized what he was looking for, and laughed.

  “No, I don’t have a cook, a maid, a butler, or any other kind of help.”

  “Is it difficult to live so … roughly?” he asked as he leaned against the counter and watched me pull bacon, eggs, and bread out of the fridge.

  “No. You adjust. When I was growing up I was fostered in a vampire household, and Mr. Bainbridge had servants, but then I went away to college and learned how to fend for myself. Basically it’s a tradeoff—time versus money.” Ladlaw cocked his head questioningly. “You either spend the money to hire help or you spend the time to do it yourself.” I laid out bacon on a jelly-roll pan. “Each person has to figure out which is more valuable for them.”

  “I had never thought of time as money.”

  “That’s actually a human saying, but you Álfar live a long, long time so time is probably less meaningful to you.”

  “Interesting. I should talk more with humans.”

  “Speaking of which—why are you talking to this one right now?” The bacon went into the oven and I asked, “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Scrambled.” I started cracking eggs into a bowl. Ladlaw studied the backs of his hands for a moment then said, “Cildar was contacted by Parlan, and then he contacted me.”

  My stomach filled with lead and I dropped the whisk into the bowl. “And you told the queen,” I said dully.

  “No.” Surprised, I whirled to face him. “Zevra has a theory that perhaps senility is not solely a condition which afflicts humans. Certainly her majesty’s behavior toward me was … most uncivil when I returned from California.”

  “So, she was pissed that you all helped me stop Qwendar from killing humans at the Oscars, and you were the only one she could get her hands on because the others stayed out West.”

  “You have apprehended the situation most accurately.”

  “So, what? Why are you here?”

  “I have come to offer you my services. I will accompany you and Parlan when you assault Fey.”

  “Assault? Ugh, that makes it sound so … I was more picturing The Matrix. You know, me walking serenely through the guards while they struggle to touch me.”

  “I am unfamiliar with this Matrix, and while I have seen your unusual ability at work, the building is large. Having a guide to lead you to the Prince’s quarters will be of help to you. If you take too long they may move him.”

  “Good point. A question. Is it smart for us to enter Fey right where she lives? Would it be better if we went in someplace else? Made our way to the Fey version of the Dakota?”

  “No. While we can enter our realm from anywhere, our presence will not go unnoticed and that will give them more time to prepare their defenses.”

  “Last question. Any ideas on how to get that ice sliver out of John’s eye?”

  “I am not a magic wielder, and that’s deep magic.”

  “Well, we’ll figure it out. One problem at a time, right?” I stuck out my hand. “So, welcome to the Scooby Gang, Ladlaw.” He looked confused. “You don’t know Scooby-Doo?” He shook his head. “Well, after breakfast we have to fix that,” I said.

  After breakfast I dumped Ladlaw in front of the TV and downloaded a number of episodes of Scooby-Doo. While he stared, rapt, at the screen I took a quick shower, then called Parlan and told him to get up to New York and over to my apartment as soon as possible.

  I waved a hand in front of Ladlaw’s face. “Look, I’ve got to go to work. When Parlan gets here tell him to call me.” I scribbled down my office number on a notepad, and just to be sure I pointed out the phone. You never knew how much an Álfar knew about human technology.

  Returning to the bedroom I dressed in my Professional Woman Uniform. A glance out the window had shown me a gray day that was trying to spit snow at the long-suffering commuters who, with turned-up collars, were rushing toward subway and bus stops. I dressed in a white wool knee-length skirt, a rolled-neck sweater in twinning shades of gray and lavender, and knee-high black boots.

  I stepped back into the living room and Ladlaw gave me an approving look. “Much better,” he said.

  “’Cause your approval is so important to me,” I snarked.

  He looked startled and I realized that they weren’t used to getting any kind of push back from humans. The Álfar threw out attraction without consideration or effort. Humans went weak-kneed over them. But not me. I really did need to figure out why, but that was yet another problem for another day.

  * * *

  Once at the office I asked Norma to see if Mr. Ishmael had time for a brief meeting. Since Shade was a senior partner and had his name on the firm’s letterhead, I could only hope that the fact I was sort of his protégé would actually get me in to see him.

  I closed the door to my office and worked for several hours drafting a particularly knotty brief for the Federal court. Norma stuck her head in the door.

  “Mr. Ishmael will see you now.”

  I saved my work and headed for the stairs. Two steps and my cracked ribs decided to make themselves known. I made a U-turn and headed to the elevator instead.

  The seventy-third floor was the preserve of the partners. The only humans on that floor were assistants and the very handsome receptionist, Bruce. I stepped out of the stairwell and into a hushed vision of teak, marble, and the heavily glazed windows that protected the vampires from direct sunlight. I actually got a friendly smile from Bruce because I had managed to get through to him that just being gorgeous wasn’t going to be enough to get him Made by a vam
pire. In fact, he waved me over, looked around in a furtive fashion, and whispered.

  “I’m almost done with my novel. Would you be willing to read it for me, Linnet?”

  I was surprised and a bit dubious. I wondered what a rather self-centered twenty-year-old might have to say, but I nodded.

  “Sure. I didn’t know you wrote.”

  “I’ve been scribbling since I was a kid. I put it aside, but what you said to me about accomplishing something made me realize I really missed it.”

  “Good for you, Bruce. But I better go before Shade takes a call or something.”

  I went down a hallway to my mentor’s office. It was elegant and rather austere and it even sported a prie-dieu. Whenever Shade had been Made and whoever he might have been, one thing was clear—Shade had been devout. The senior partner, his hands clasped behind his back, was gazing out the window at the thickening snow.

  “I find myself trying to remember the touch of snow,” he said thoughtfully.

  I was surprised. “You can’t feel it?”

  Shade turned to face me. He had chiseled features and silver-flecked dark hair. The bespoke suit accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips. “It’s too subtle a touch.”

  As usual my unruly tongue took control and I said exactly what I was thinking. “I think that’s sad.”

  “So do I. The feel of a baby’s skin, the soft flutter of a lover’s sleeping breaths.” He broke off. “I’m sorry, Linnet, I am being maudlin.” He moved to his desk and indicated the chair across the polished wood expanse. “So, I understand you have formed a company.”

  “Can I never put anything past you?” I complained as I sat down.

  His lips quirked in a small, closed-lip smile. “No, it’s how we vampires keep our mystique.”

  “Then you know what I’m planning.”

  “I can suspect. And I suppose you wouldn’t listen if I asked you not to?”

  I shook my head. “John deserves a chance to actually decide who he wants to be and where he wants to be.”

  Shade drummed his nails on the desk and frowned into the distance. “I suppose since he was an employee of the firm we do have some responsibility. So IMG will also pay to undertake this endeavor, but we insist on having one of our own along to observe.”