Night Shift (24 page)

“Thanks,” Fiji said, her voice muffled. “Can we talk about this later? I’ve had as much as I can stand. I know there isn’t much time. But a little later.”

Everyone trailed out, except for Lemuel. Olivia went downstairs to her apartment, Bobo went upstairs to his after a long hesitation, and Fiji finally uncovered her face and turned to face Lemuel.

She was
laughing
. “Lemuel, my heart is broken,” she said, trying to sound serious. “You alone will not have sex with me? Even the gay guys would do the deed. But not you.”

Lemuel said, “Well, darn, Fiji, if you really want me . . .” But he was smiling, too.

“You know, friend, I really don’t,” she said, and laughed even harder. She sat on the nearest chair and fanned her face with the apron. “And I thought the most exciting thing that might happen this evening was finally getting the truth-and-candor spell to work. I certainly didn’t need it tonight.” She wheezed for a second more, and then sobered up.

“I am sure the prospect is daunting,” Lemuel said, feeling his way. He was not sure what to say to a woman who’d just gotten the news that the first sex she was to have would be public. And if the ritual didn’t work (for any reason), a demon would rape her and eat her. A woman who still had dried tear tracks on her face, and yet had laughed until she bent over with it. Lemuel was proud to know her.

“No shit,” she said. “‘Daunting’ is the word. And you know what my first thought was? I wondered if I could lose twenty pounds in three days.”

“You look very nice,” Lemuel said, puzzled. “You are a fine figure of a woman, Fiji.” He was quite sincere, and he was at a loss when he saw that she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Of course I am, that’s why so many men are knocking at my door,” she said.

Lemuel had no trouble understanding her this time. That voice was bitter.

“What do you expect in a town the size of Midnight? There is only one man you want at your door, Fiji, and I think he realizes that he should have been there months ago.”

“So where is he now, Lemuel?” she said, getting up.

“I think he is upstairs as you told him to be. I think he is berating himself for not having rid you of your virginity very privately and long ago.”

“Oh,” she said blankly. “Well, that would be something he should tell me. No one else. But I thank you for trying to make me feel better.”

“You are welcome,” Lemuel said. “You are a strong woman, Miss Fiji, and I respect you.”

“Ahhhhh . . . thanks,” the witch said, a little doubtfully, and with no more ado she left for her house. She was neither crying nor laughing, but she was deep in thought. Lemuel thought that might be worse.

B
ack in her own kitchen, blessedly alone, Fiji slumped at her kitchen table, the spell she’d been working on abandoned before her. Her spell bowl was full of odd ingredients, and she’d been rapt in her work until she’d gotten the phone call to go over to the pawnshop . . . and the absurdity of being a virgin in this place and at this moment had come back to bite her in the butt. Maybe literally.

Now that she’d had a little laugh at the absurdity of her situation, she was bleakly aware this was one of the worst days of her life.

After she did a quick riffle through bad-day memories, she revised her evaluation.

This was
the
worst day.

Not only to have her virginity common knowledge—but to be required to have public sex to stop the end of the world as she knew it.

“All right,” she said out loud. “Let’s pretend I don’t feel this is all about me.”

“Something you want to talk about?” Mr. Snuggly said from somewhere under the table.

“Yes,” she said simply. The cat emerged from his hiding place and jumped up onto the other kitchen chair, then to the table. He looked at her expectantly. “Get on with it,” Mr. Snuggly said. “I can’t read your mind, even if I wanted to.”

Fiji explained.

She had to go over some points a couple of times, because Mr. Snuggly did not understand why it was embarrassing for a human to have sex in front of other humans. He also did not understand why she cared who saw her body. “It’s only a vehicle,” he said, clearly puzzled. “You just ride around in it.”

“Well, true enough,” she said, “but I sure need to take my vehicle in to the shop and get some dings hammered out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” the cat said. He seemed to be digging around for something nice to say. “You’re soft and warm,” he said. “You smell pretty good. You would look nice carrying cubs.”

“Oh my goddess,” she said, letting her head fall to the table with a dramatic
thunk
. “What if I get pregnant?”

“You would have to spend a lot of time with a baby,” Mr. Snuggly said, looking much less pleased. “You might forget to feed me.”

“How could I forget?” she said, raising her head to cast a baleful eye at the cat. “You remind me often enough.”

Mr. Snuggly looked off into the distance regally. After a moment, he abandoned the pose and asked, “Will you need me for the ceremony?”

“I’d think, as my familiar, you’d definitely better be there. You boost my power.”

Mr. Snuggly looked as pleased as a cat can look. “I can’t transform into a big man,” the cat said. “So I’m afraid I can’t help with the sex thing.”

Fiji thought she’d thrown up in her mouth a little bit at the idea of Mr. Snuggly becoming a man to have sex with her. “Thanks, anyway,” she said in a strained voice. “I have some candidates.”

“Splendid,” Mr. Snuggly said. “Will they draw straws for the honor?”

Fiji glared at him. “You’re being a jerk, Snug.”

The cat looked bored.

After a second, her anger collapsed under the weight of her worry.

“What would Aunt Mildred have done?” she asked Mr. Snuggly.

He looked somewhat more interested. “Mildred would have used a spell to determine the right sperm donor,” he said, after some thought.

“What about her personal preference?” Fiji looked away as she asked.

“That would have been interesting to know. I think, though, that the spell would have been her choice. Mildred was not a hot-blooded woman. She did not think highly of humans who let their lust get the better of their judgment.”

“Not helpful,” Fiji muttered.

“Oh? Did you want me to tell you to follow your heart? In that case, just call the blond hunk across the road and tell him he’s the one.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Fiji said defensively, knowing that the words were inadequate.

“That’s what you should go for, then. A nice guy.” Mr. Snuggly’s words dripped with sarcasm. He lifted a leg and bent to clean his butt.

“There’s nothing wrong with a nice guy,” Fiji said, in a voice that was almost a snarl.

“Oh, gosh, no. Let’s skip three powerful weretigers, both the mature one and the younger one and the really young one. And the angels. And the psychic. And the half-demon hunk with the long black hair. And the vampire. Let’s go for the plain-vanilla human with the tragic life.” He turned away pointedly.

“If you weren’t a small animal I’d take you down,” Fiji said. She was so angry it took her a moment to realize how ridiculous that was. Her mouth twitched.

“You could try,” Mr. Snuggly said coldly, and turned around to give her a glare. “Oh, you think that’s humorous!”

Fiji couldn’t manage to laugh, but she smiled. “You’ll definitely have to be there,” she said. “All hands on deck. It’ll be dangerous.”

Mr. Snuggly said, “The upside of this whole situation is that Rasta has been gone. I suppose they’ll bring him back afterward.”

“Sure. If there is an ‘after.’ Joe and Chuy miss Rasta.”

The cat made a sound just like hacking up a hairball. Fiji realized he was laughing. “Manfred should have let him get run over that day,” Mr. Snuggly said. “Brainless ball of fur.”

There were many things Fiji could have said in return, but she kept her mouth shut. She decided that the next day would be dedicated to looking up a spell to help her choose her deflowerer. “And that sucks,” she said, as she brushed her teeth.

W
hat happens if this doesn’t work?” Diederik asked his father. “Nothing good,” Quinn said, after a moment. He and Diederik were taking turns spray-painting a white circle. It encompassed the entire crossroad, and to be sure it was large enough they were including corners of sidewalk, edges of buildings, and one fire hydrant by the Midnight Hotel. Quinn cast an eye along the curve of the line and decided it was good. He continued, “I guess the town will disappear, or the demon will kill all the people living here and then began to rampage, to make up for lost centuries. Diederik . . . I think it would be better if you leave town. I’d like to send you to stay with a friend of mine in Louisiana.”

“Run?” Diederik was outraged. “No, Dad, I’ll fight with you and the Rev. We are tigers!”

“I don’t think even weretigers can beat a demon, Diederik. It’s not like ordinary prey.”

“I’ve never seen a demon.” Diederik took the spray can from his father, taking his turn drawing a section of circle. As the traffic went through the stoplight, they had to wait until it was cleared either way to continue.

“I have. I fought a half-demon in the pits. Like Sylvester. And it tore me up.”

“But you won.” Diederik glanced at the center of the circle, under the stoplight. He estimated they were making the circle fairly even. Quinn had stood under the light for a moment, holding the string, and Diederik had run with it, stopping every few yards to put down a reference mark. They’d had to do it quickly, but it had worked.

“Yeah, I won. But only, I think, because she had already had a bout that day, and I was fresh.”

“Tell me about the pits.”

They’d stopped painting the circle while they talked, and Quinn glanced up at the evening sky. He was tired. It had been a busy day. “I’ll tell you if you’ll keep walking while we get this done,” he said.

“Was it like
Gladiator
?” Diederik asked. He’d just watched the movie on the hotel television.

“Yes, except real. My own blood. My own pain. My own fear. Every time I went in, I was not sure I would come out. Every fight might be my last. I didn’t like the person I became while I fought. But I had to fight.”

“To save your mom and your sister.”

Quinn nodded. “To save them.”

“Were they grateful?”

“I think they were, way down deep,” Quinn said. “But my mother, because of her ordeal at the hands of hunters, was crazy. And there are some obligations that are too painful to acknowledge. Some debts too big to be paid.”

“I hope I never owe anyone a debt like that,” Diederik said.

“I hope not, too, son.”

This circle was almost complete. Quinn thought it would have been better to allocate the painting to Lemuel, who could have done it at night. There were interested spectators in the windows of the hotel, but no one asked any questions or tried to stop them, which was one of the benefits of living in Midnight. Quinn looked up at the man on the upper floor, the one who rented the room with a great view of the pawnshop. Their eyes met. The man’s face stayed blank.

“How are we going to keep people out of the circle that night?” Diederik said, after they’d worked for a while in silence. “Regular people?”

“Considering only five cars have gone through the light while we’ve been trying to get the circle sprayed, and it’s evening now, I’m not too worried about that. I’m more concerned that some of the hotel people might look out their windows and get alarmed at seeing a couple having ritual sex in the middle of the road. If they call the police, the consequences would be really bad. But I expect defense of the circle will be up to Joe and Chuy. And maybe Sylvester can conceal us. I don’t know how good a shaman he is. I think it was a late calling of his.”

“Joe and Chuy aren’t anything like I thought they were when I met them,” Diederik said. “There’s something cold and scary about them, when you go below the surface.”

“They’re way more than they seem. And it’s a deep difference. They’re very good at acting like regular guys.” Quinn looked down at the section he’d just painted. The circle was now complete.

“I think of Joe and Chuy like they were my uncles. But they kind of scared me, at the meeting.” It cost Diederik something to confess this, Quinn could see.

“That’s a reasonable reaction, Son,” Quinn said. “You don’t mess with angels, even fallen ones.”

“The demon . . . was he a fallen angel, too?”

“Good question. And they don’t always tell you the whole story. This is . . . God stuff. But my understanding is that demons, and devils, used to be angels, too, yes. But God, whatever name he or she wears, can read hearts and minds, and know the degree of evil and rebellion in each. The lust for power can corrupt even the best. So some got banished utterly and early to a different realm, and some were thrown out to earth after the New Coming, like Joe and Chuy. But . . . maybe that’s all bullshit. I know some half-demons who are really good people.”

Diederik made a face. “Doesn’t that make you feel weird?”

“Talking about gods and demons? Yes, it does. I should spend more time thinking about it than I do.”

“I don’t like to think about a god looking at me and judging me.”

“I don’t think anyone
enjoys
that idea. The love part, yes, but the being-found-wanting part . . . we’re all worried about that.”

Diederik gave Quinn a startled look, as if he’d supposed his father wouldn’t venture into such deep waters. “Not you,” he said. “Not you, Dad.”

Quinn laughed and put his arm around Diederik’s shoulders. They’d been standing outside the hotel, and now they went in. Marina, behind the desk, smiled at Diederik in a very womanly way, and Quinn tried not to sigh. He’d had The Talk with Diederik when Diederik was a little tyke, because he’d known all too soon Diederik would need to know the facts. Diederik was good-natured and charming, and also outstandingly handsome, but there was a touch of feral about him that made the boy truly magnetic.

Quinn didn’t think he himself had ever been as attractive as his son, so he was really proud of Diederik’s lack of conceit. That was where the Rev had proved to be a good guardian. Vanity didn’t stand a chance with the Rev around.

Quinn ran up the stairs to his room, as Diederik and Marina exchanged a few words before Diederik went back to his job of dusting, vacuuming, and mopping the lobby and the bathroom off of it.

The apocalypse might be coming, but work had to go on. Quinn called up the diagram of the venue of the next wedding he was hired to produce, in this case a true production—almost a three-ring circus, he thought. Velda and Ramon, both true shapeshifters, would be tying the knot in two weeks.

He paused for a moment when he pictured the bride and groom. He wondered if he’d ever get to have his own conventional marriage. His mate, Tijgerin, hadn’t survived and his mother, too, was dead; they’d been the only two full-blooded female weretigers he’d ever known. But he had a son, which was all he could ask for. Quinn decided he’d be glad to find a woman of any heritage.

I’m a little old to be making such a resolution,
he thought. But he was smiling. It was doable.