Darklands by Nancy Holzner

came over, both junior partners in Kane’s law firm. As they greeted me, Simone had to step back. Good. Let her learn who’s part of Kane’s inner circle—and who’s not.
    “I’ll let you have your meeting,” I said. Touching Kane’s cheek with one hand, I buried the other in his hair and pulled him to me. I kissed him the way I’d planned to wake him up—deep and slow and sensual. “See you tonight.”
    Kane caught his breath, his smile full of promise. “Can’t wait.”
    He sat down again, sliding over in the booth. “I’m glad we met,” I said to Simone, stretching my lips back in a grin that I hoped would look territorial to a werewolf. I stood in front of her, smiling and blocking her way, until one of the junior partners sat beside Kane.
    Simone glanced at the booth, whose sole empty seat was now the one farthest from Kane. When she returned her gaze to me, she dropped the mask, and I could see everything in her eyes: her desire for Kane, her confidence, her utter contempt for me. I’d been wrong about Simone. There was no challenge there. She was certain she’d win.

4
    IN THE LOBBY OF MY BUILDING, I WAVED TO CLYDE, WHO stashed a bag of chips in his doorman’s desk. He swallowed and patted his mouth with a handkerchief. Nobody cares that zombies eat on the job, but Clyde’s big on propriety. I pretended not to notice his snacking.
    “I’m glad to see you’re walking better,” he called.
    Mid-stride, I realized my injured leg no longer hurt at all. I
was
walking better. Good. At least I hadn’t been limping in front of Simone. She’d interpret any sign of weakness as vulnerability—and I was not going to let that bitch-in-heat perceive me as vulnerable. My memory burned with the image of her smug face, those green eyes already lit up with triumph.
    I was going to wipe that expression right off her perfectly made-up face.
    Upstairs in my apartment, I picked up the phone to check for messages. The voice mail’s robot voice told me I had four new ones. The first was from my mother in Florida, just to say hi. A wave of guilt hit me as I listened to her describe a dinner-theater play she’d seen with friends. Mom’s tone was cheerful and chatty—nothing to suggest I’d done anything wrong—but mostlyI heard, “You should call more often,” even though she didn’t say the words.
    She was right; I should. I pressed the button to get out of voice mail and dialed Mom’s number. Her machine answered. I’d bet anything she was out having breakfast. Mom loved going out for breakfast. When I was in high school, once a week I’d grab some toast and pack my own lunch so my parents could have their breakfast date. Mom always said she’d rather go out at the beginning of the day, when she felt fresh and awake, than eat a heavy restaurant dinner at the end of a long, tiring day.
    I left her a chatty message saying I was sorry I’d missed her call and telling her I’d spent the night at the local high school lecturing a classroom of zombies on demon extermin— er, slaying. I left out the part about being attacked by a Harpy—no point in worrying her. I ended with a quick “Love you” and hung up with the hollow feeling that I hadn’t said enough.
    I went back into the voice mail menu and listened to the remaining messages, one after another. All three were cancellations.
    “You won’t believe it!” raved one client. “For three nights in a row, not a single nightmare. The first night, I thought it was a fluke. After the second, I thought maybe I was getting lucky. But after three nights of deep, wonderful sleep, I know they’re gone.
Gone!
” His voice rose to a giddy pitch. “Sorry to cancel at the last minute and all, but I no longer need your services. So, um, give me a call when you get this so we can discuss refunding my deposit. Thanks.”
    I’d give the guy a call, all right. He obviously needed a reminder of my no-refund policy.
    I checked my calendar. It showed one Drude