Publish and Perish Page 8

  “If you were watching then there isn’t much to tell,” I said. “There was an old Álfar who wanted to separate his people from the lure of the human world so he used magic to cause a couple of Álfar actors to commit brutal murders. Then he made a bunch of Álfar go crazy at the Oscars.” I shrugged. “It got sorted out. At some point I’ll have to go back to LA to testify at Qwendar’s trial.”

  Gregory chuckled. “It got sorted out because of you.”

  “I had help,” I said and remembered that help. David. Everything kept coming back to fucking David. Or the threat of actually fucking David that had created havoc in my life. Of course the fact I had a life I also owed to him. I sighed.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?” Ray asked.

  “I quit my job today. My father is furious. My boss is furious. A good friend is furious and hurt. Oh, and another friend was attacked and is lying in the hospital in a coma.” They goggled at me, which made me glad I hadn’t mentioned the female vampire. Of course not being as well versed in vampires they might not fully appreciate just how staggering this was. I shrugged. “You asked.”

  “Ice cream therapy?” Ray inquired.

  “Already done that. Didn’t help.”

  “Anything else you want to share?” Gregory asked.

  “I’m technically a queen in Elfland,” I offered, feeling this great need to just get it all out there and see if somebody else could make sense of my crazy life.

  “Yeah, and how did that happen?” Gregory asked, treating it like a joke.

  “Fought a duel with an Álfar queen. Got her territory.”

  Ray jumped up. “Okay, now you are just making shit up. You’re staying for dinner, and then I propose popcorn and trashy movies and lots and lots of booze.”

  I realized that they weren’t going to be a sounding board for me. But they were going to be my friends, support and comfort me, and right at this moment that felt like enough.

  * * *

  The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baking biscuits pulled me awake. For a moment I was disoriented, then I remembered. I was in Ray and Gregory’s guest room because somewhere around the third or fourth movie I had lost count of the number of fruit-flavored blended margaritas I had drunk. I sat up, groaned, and grabbed my head. A hot shower later I pulled my rumpled clothes back on and tottered out to the kitchen.

  Ray handed me a cup of coffee and guided me into a chair. A plate was deposited in front of me. Bacon, eggs, a biscuit, and something that looked like Cream of Wheat. I cocked an inquiring eye at Gregory.

  “Grits,” he said. “You can eat them with butter and salt and pepper or butter and sugar.”

  “They’re disgusting,” Ray offered.

  “What are you up to today?” Gregory asked as we all settled down to eat.

  “I don’t know. It’s weird. I have no place I have to be. First time since I started college that this has happened. I think I’ll start by checking with the hospital, and then…” I sighed. “I start thinking about finding a job. The bills have to be paid.” I cracked open a biscuit and breathed in the aroma of fresh-baked dough, smeared on some jam, and took a bite. “This could be problematic. I doubt I’m going to get a very good recommendation from Ishmael McGillary and Gold.”

  “So apply where people already know you. Know how good you are,” Ray said as he nibbled on a slice of bacon.

  The memory of a pugnacious face floated across my mind. I grinned. “Ray, you are a genius. It would be a real change from a White Fang firm, but it might be just what I need.”

  I jumped up and headed for the door. “What happened to taking a day off?” Gregory called after me.

  “I’ve always been terrible at goofing off.”

  I had never actually been to Syd Finkelstein’s office. On the subway ride from Wall Street back to my apartment I tried to Google the address, but I never could get a connection. It wasn’t until I was trudging up the stairs to my apartment that I got a chance to type in his name. I paused to put a key in the lock, stepped into my apartment, let out a yell, and dropped my phone.

  Once again there was an Álfar standing in the middle of my living room. It was John. Since I’d last seen him he’d cut his hair and was back to looking more like himself.

  “Feel free to walk right in,” I said acidly as I picked up my phone. I was pleased to see it hadn’t been damaged. “Did you come in through Fey?”

  “No, I picked the lock.” I opened my mouth to object that that made it even worse when he floored me by adding, “Somebody else had already picked it and come in.”

  “Somebody else?” I repeated witlessly. “And how could you know that?”

  John shrugged. “They weren’t very good. They left scratches on the lock. I let myself in to see if they were still here.”

  I raced around the apartment checking my desk for my checkbook. It was there. My jewelry box was in the bedroom. Everything was in place. I stopped in the middle of the living room and glanced around, frowning. “Nothing’s missing.”

  “Which would indicate it wasn’t a robbery,” John said.

  “So why break in … Oh.”

  He voiced my unspoken thought. “They were looking for you.”

  “Okay, officially creeped out now.”

  “You might want to stay someplace else for a while. Maybe think about a new apartment.”

  “That would really suck. I like this apartment and I’d have to break the lease.”

  “Getting kidnapped or murdered would suck too. So, any idea who might be behind this?”

  I paced and thought about who else had been kidnapped and it hit me with blinding clarity. “Oh, God, the female vampire. The one that attacked Jolly. It has to be.”

  “I could be more help if you’d stop talking in fragments and brought me up to speed.” It was delivered in a flat, unemotional tone, and his features remained still, giving away nothing.

  “Okay, but this is going to take a while. You may as well get comfortable. Coffee?” I threw back over my shoulder as I went into the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Please.”

  Once we were settled at the small dining table with our hands cupped around gently steaming mugs I gave him a speculative look. The man I’d known before his capture I would have trusted with anything, up to and including my life. But since he’d lost his emotions he was much harder to read and therefore trust. There were no expressions to clue me.

  “Where to start.”

  “At the beginning,” he suggested. I searched for humor, irony, something, but there was nothing. This, I reflected, was probably what it would be like to talk to an android.

  “I’ve got to go way back. Back to when I first went to work for IMG. There was that werewolf that killed Chip and then tried to kill me except the heel on my shoe broke, I fell down, and he took a header down an elevator shaft—”

  John interrupted. “I know that. I also know about the five werewolf mercenaries who tried to kill you except they all ended up dead in various absurd and silly ways.”

  “Well, while you were being a prince in Fairyland you probably missed the Álfar actress who shot up the movie set, so shut up and listen. Anyway, I didn’t get shot because she got flattened by a camera on a dolly that spontaneously took off and ran over her.”

  “And I watched that duel with the queen—the convenient scarf, the icicle. So what are you saying?”

  “That this is crazy, right? Nobody should have had this many narrow and improbable escapes—except I did.” I sucked in a deep breath. “And here’s the pièce de résistance. There was the old Álfar guy who tried to put a spell on me except he couldn’t. It didn’t work. He even said there was something weird about me.”

  “So what’s your explanation?” John asked.

  “I don’t have one, but I think Jolyon Bryce did—”

  “That’s the gentleman with the horse stable? I picked you up there once.”

  “Right. He loaned me the horse I ride. He even sent Vento to California w
hen I was out there, and that horse saved my life. But that’s another weird story. Anyway, Jolly seemed to know something about why I can dodge danger and survive. It’s the reason I was so sure I could rescue you—”

  “Don’t get sidetracked.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, I went out to his house to talk to him but the house had been ransacked and he’d been attacked.”

  “To keep you from talking to him?”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “So what did he tell you?”

  “Nothing. He got his skull bashed in and he’s in a coma. But that wasn’t the worst thing—Okay, that didn’t come out right. The weirdest thing was that there was a female vampire in the house. I’m sure she attacked Jolly, but she got away—”

  “Which brings us back to your belief that she’s the one who broke into your apartment,” John broke in.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Are you sure it was a woman? Female vampires—”

  “Don’t exist,” I paused. “Except this one did. And no, it wasn’t a guy in drag. David saw her too. Fought with her. You can ask him.” I ran agitated hands through my hair.

  “So which mystery do you want to tackle first?” John asked “Who broke into your apartment? Why they attacked your friend? Why you seem to have magic powers?”

  “I want to start with a simple one,” I replied. “Why did you come here?”

  Clearly the question had him puzzled. He frowned off into space. Took a few more sips of coffee before he answered. “I wanted to understand why you quit. I assumed something bad had happened or was happening and I want to help. I owe you. You got me out of Fey. Gave me back my life.”

  “You’ve got the trappings of your life back. You’re still not free. I don’t know if you can acknowledge that with that thing in your eye, but you’re not really human.” If he had been normal my harsh words would have hurt. As it was, he just blinked at me and said simply,

  “I never actually was … human.” He stood up and carried his empty cup into the kitchen.

  I followed him. “When are you going to go see your folks?”

  “Soon. Eventually.”

  “Good God, John, you need to get to Philadelphia. They haven’t seen you for months. I called to tell them it worked and I got you out of there so they’ll be expecting you. How could you not go right away and see the people who raised you?”

  He frowned down into the sink. “I had to get a haircut first.” A slim hand ran through the thick and exotic hair. “I knew Red wouldn’t approve of the long hair.” He turned to face me. “And I don’t feel anything for them. I know I ought to. I know I used to but I don’t anymore.”

  “They’re your family. They accepted a changeling and loved him as if he’d been their own. They’ll handle this too.”

  “No, they’ll get upset. Especially my mom. She’ll make a scene. Scenes exhaust me.” He gave me a sideways glance. “I’m a little surprised you’re not making a scene.”

  “I don’t make scenes.”

  “Well, that’s a lie. You made a scene at the firm when you called out Ryan for playing sex games with the female associates. And you made a scene with me in Los Angeles.”

  “Yeah, because you were being an asshole. Which you kinda still are, but you might notice I’m not making a scene.”

  He fell silent. “I remember the night we fucked.”

  “I know saying we made love might be a bridge too far, but can we at least say ‘slept together’ rather than use the F word?”

  “I remember actions of the body.”

  “But not how you felt.”

  He shook his head. “No, they seem vague, impossible to grasp.”

  “Parlan’s going to talk to mages or wizards or whatever you guys call them in the Fey. They’ll come up with something. We’ll fix this, John.”

  His lips twisted and I realized it was a sort of smile. “Never give up! Never surrender!” the Álfar said, quoting a line from a movie.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “So back to your problems. Where do you want me to start?”

  “I can’t pay you. I don’t have a job right now.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said … I owe you.”

  “Okay, start with Jolly. I’d say he’s in a way worse spot than me right now.”

  “At least until your intruders come back.”

  8

  The map function on my phone had guided me to a rather run-down business district in Queens. I was standing in front of a four-story, rather unprepossessing office building. It was small and unworthy of me, but I felt a twinge of regret for the seventy-three stories of glass and steel at the edge of Central Park where I used to work. The building that housed my old firm seemed to scratch at the clouds and it exuded power and authority. This one exuded … tired. I pushed through the front doors and found myself in a linoleum-floored lobby. No guard on duty, no signing in. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing if Syd did hire me. The guard on duty the night the werewolf killed Chip had also been murdered. And I did seem to bring trouble wherever I went, so no guard was good.

  A plastic-fronted wall plaque held a listing of offices and who rented them. Syd Finkelstein was on the third floor. I opted for the stairs over the elevator. When I reached the office door I realized I had gone about this in a really stupid way. Syd could be in court or at a deposition. I should have called and made an appointment. So why hadn’t I? Ambivalence about working for the guy? Then I remembered how Syd had stood up for two powerless women against a multimillion-dollar company. What kind of guy was Syd? A good guy. And I was being a snobby jerk.

  I pushed through the door. The assistant behind the desk surprised me. First, she was young. Second, she had studs over one eyebrow and one in her nose. Third, she had spiky electric pink hair. Fourth, she was dressed in a baggy sweater and, from what I could see beneath the desk, jeans and hiking boots. There were a few cheap chairs clustered around a coffee table loaded with old People magazines and Ladies’ Home Journals. Filing cabinets lined the walls. A coffeemaker sat on top of a small fridge, the pot half empty. Next to the fridge was a big water cooler.

  “Hi. You don’t look like somebody who’d be one of our clients,” she said. She had a bright, almost chirpy voice.

  “You’re right. I’m not.”

  “Lawyer, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Is Syd in?”

  “Yep. Who should I say is calling?”

  “Linnet Ellery.”

  She sent her chair rolling away from the desk and over to the closed office door. Grabbing the door knob, the young receptionist yanked it open and called, “Hey, Syd, there’s a Linnet Ellery here to see you.”

  An instant later Syd himself came trundling out of his office. He was short, barely taller than me, and chubby. The fluorescent lights gleamed on his bald pate, which was surrounded by a rim of graying black hair. He was in shirtsleeves. “Linnet!” He thrust out his right hand and I looked at the black and chrome prosthetic. “That’s right, you haven’t seen my Terminator arm.” He unhooked the overly large and gaudy cufflink and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the entire length of the artificial arm replacing the arm lost to a ravening werewolf. We shook, and I noted how delicately the metal and plastic hand gripped my own.

  “What brings you slumming in my part of town?” he asked.

  I glanced at the neon-haired assistant. “Maybe in your office?”

  “Oh, it’s that kind of meeting. Hope it’s as lucrative as the last time you had a tip for me.”

  I studied the round bulldog face looking for some hint of irony or snark and didn’t find it. I shook my head. “Syd, the last time I gave you a tip I inadvertently sicced a werewolf on you. You were mauled and you lost your arm.”

  “Yeah, and you also found the will and helped me win the case and a fucking big payday. Now get your ass in here, and tell me what’s going on,” he added, swinging his arm toward his office.

  “You guys want anything?” the
receptionist asked. Syd cocked an eye in my direction. I shook my head.

  “Nah, Belinda, we’re good.”

  His office was very well organized. Files neatly stacked, a few books out, his computer screen showed he was linked to FindLaw. He took his chair and gestured to the one across the desk from him.

  I sank down and fiddled with the clasp on my purse. “How’s your family?”

  “Fine. Lovely weather we’ve been having too. What’s with the small talk, Linnet?”

  “I’m nervous, okay?”

  “Because of this?” He raised the artificial arm.

  “Partly. I never really did apologize to you.”

  “What are you apologizing for? Not knowing that we had to act like fucking secret agents? No one could have predicted how nuts Deegan actually was. So, if it will make you feel better—apology accepted. Now, why are you here?”

  I lifted my chin, sucked in a deep breath, and said, “I was hoping you would hire me.”

  The dark eyes blinked at me for several seconds. “Yale Law School, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Law Review, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Magna cum laude, I believe.”

  “Your point?” I asked, starting to feel both embarrassed and irritated.

  “White Fang law firm versus…” He waved his arms, indicating the office and maybe all of Queens. “Bottom-feeding, ambulance-chasing, one-man law firm. Why the fuck would you want to work here?”

  “A, because I need a job. B, because you are a really decent person who fights for justice, and C … well, I don’t really have a C.”

  “You get canned?”

  “No, I quit.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “You can ask. I’m not going to answer. It’s private and personal.”

  Syd leaned back in his battered chair until the springs squeaked and shrugged. “Okay.”

  “So?”

  “No, I won’t hire you.” It hurt way more than I expected, and for the first time since I left IMG I started to feel a flutter of panic. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I could just hang out my shingle and hope I brought in enough work to pay the rent on an office, keep a roof over my head and food on the table. Syd was talking again and I realized I had missed the first few words.