the door to the Tiger’s Garden swung shut behind me. Every big city had its own haven for the occult underground, a place where the clued-in could talk shop without worrying about the wrong word landing in the wrong ear. The Garden had an extra layer of protective camouflage: the only way to get there was
not
to look for it.
The odors of the street gave way to the rich aroma of fresh-baked naan and curry wafting through the tiny restaurant. The decor was 1970s chintz, from the cigarette-burned orange carpet to the ratty paper lanterns dangling over the tiny tiki bar in the back, and heavy wooden shutters shrouded the windows. There was an unspoken agreement among the regulars that nobody should peek behind those shutters. Given that the Garden was only vaguely connected to the real world, I think we were happier not knowing what was out there.
Jennifer had already commandeered our usual table in the corner, her tattooed arm lazily draped over the back of a chair while she bit into a scarlet slice of tandoori chicken. Mama Margaux, draped in a white frock and nursing a tall glass of rum punch, sat beside her. I walked into the room and killed the conversation.
“Something I said?” I asked, wandering over.
Margaux and Jennifer shared a look.
“Just talking some business,” Jennifer said.
“Since when do you two do business?”
Margaux crossed her arms. “
Some
people respect what I’m capable of.”
Amar, the Garden’s sole employee—that we knew of—stepped up alongside me with a brass-rimmed tray. One Crown and Coke, mixed to perfection. I took the glass, nodded my thanks, and he disappeared into the kitchen again. You never had to order at the Garden; Amar already knew what you wanted, usually a few minutes before you arrived.
“You’re still mad at me about the Enclave thing.” I sagged into a chair on the far side of the table.
“You benched me, Danny.”
“I needed to make sure Bentley and Corman were safe—”
“They could have gotten here themselves,” Margaux said. “Their legs weren’t broken. You
benched
me. I could have helped in that fight.”
“The stakes were too high, Mama. Hell, I didn’t even want to bring Jennifer. I didn’t want to risk your life, any of your lives, going up against that…
thing
. Given what Lauren was capable of, I couldn’t take that chance.”
Margaux’s brows knitted as she took a long sip from her drink.
“Ain’t your decision to make,” she muttered. “We’re either family or we’re not.”
Jennifer stretched languidly and shook her head. “Nothin’ wrong with feeling protective, sugar, but it’s a matter of trust.”
I slid my fingertip around the rim of my glass.
“I’m sorry.” I looked up at Margaux. “I fucked up, okay? You’re right. It wasn’t my decision to make, and if you wanted to be on the front lines, I should have let you. It’s not…it’s not that I think you’re not capable, okay? There just aren’t a whole lot of people in my life who matter to me. When it comes to the ones who do, hanging on to that is more important to me than anything.”
Margaux studied her fingernails. “Hmph. Apology accepted.”
“I suppose Bentley and Corman are pissed at me, too?”
Jennifer flashed a smile. “Hell, they’re just glad we put Meadow Brand down like Old Yeller. That was pretty much a community service kinda killin’, any way you slice it.”
“I wish Agent Black felt that way.” I paused, something occurring to me. “Hey, Mama, let me make it up to you. I’ve got a job. One night, in-and-out kinda deal, and the mark’s a necromancer. Just your kind of problem. You want in? I’ll split my take with you.”
“Means a lot that you’d offer, but no. Jenny’s keeping me busy this week. Besides,” Margaux said, glancing up at the ceiling, “she pays better.”
“Doing what?”
“Just a little fail-safe,” Jennifer said, “in case a certain somebody gets too big for their britches.”
“And
not
to look for it.
The odors of the street gave way to the rich aroma of fresh-baked naan and curry wafting through the tiny restaurant. The decor was 1970s chintz, from the cigarette-burned orange carpet to the ratty paper lanterns dangling over the tiny tiki bar in the back, and heavy wooden shutters shrouded the windows. There was an unspoken agreement among the regulars that nobody should peek behind those shutters. Given that the Garden was only vaguely connected to the real world, I think we were happier not knowing what was out there.
Jennifer had already commandeered our usual table in the corner, her tattooed arm lazily draped over the back of a chair while she bit into a scarlet slice of tandoori chicken. Mama Margaux, draped in a white frock and nursing a tall glass of rum punch, sat beside her. I walked into the room and killed the conversation.
“Something I said?” I asked, wandering over.
Margaux and Jennifer shared a look.
“Just talking some business,” Jennifer said.
“Since when do you two do business?”
Margaux crossed her arms. “
Some
people respect what I’m capable of.”
Amar, the Garden’s sole employee—that we knew of—stepped up alongside me with a brass-rimmed tray. One Crown and Coke, mixed to perfection. I took the glass, nodded my thanks, and he disappeared into the kitchen again. You never had to order at the Garden; Amar already knew what you wanted, usually a few minutes before you arrived.
“You’re still mad at me about the Enclave thing.” I sagged into a chair on the far side of the table.
“You benched me, Danny.”
“I needed to make sure Bentley and Corman were safe—”
“They could have gotten here themselves,” Margaux said. “Their legs weren’t broken. You
benched
me. I could have helped in that fight.”
“The stakes were too high, Mama. Hell, I didn’t even want to bring Jennifer. I didn’t want to risk your life, any of your lives, going up against that…
thing
. Given what Lauren was capable of, I couldn’t take that chance.”
Margaux’s brows knitted as she took a long sip from her drink.
“Ain’t your decision to make,” she muttered. “We’re either family or we’re not.”
Jennifer stretched languidly and shook her head. “Nothin’ wrong with feeling protective, sugar, but it’s a matter of trust.”
I slid my fingertip around the rim of my glass.
“I’m sorry.” I looked up at Margaux. “I fucked up, okay? You’re right. It wasn’t my decision to make, and if you wanted to be on the front lines, I should have let you. It’s not…it’s not that I think you’re not capable, okay? There just aren’t a whole lot of people in my life who matter to me. When it comes to the ones who do, hanging on to that is more important to me than anything.”
Margaux studied her fingernails. “Hmph. Apology accepted.”
“I suppose Bentley and Corman are pissed at me, too?”
Jennifer flashed a smile. “Hell, they’re just glad we put Meadow Brand down like Old Yeller. That was pretty much a community service kinda killin’, any way you slice it.”
“I wish Agent Black felt that way.” I paused, something occurring to me. “Hey, Mama, let me make it up to you. I’ve got a job. One night, in-and-out kinda deal, and the mark’s a necromancer. Just your kind of problem. You want in? I’ll split my take with you.”
“Means a lot that you’d offer, but no. Jenny’s keeping me busy this week. Besides,” Margaux said, glancing up at the ceiling, “she pays better.”
“Doing what?”
“Just a little fail-safe,” Jennifer said, “in case a certain somebody gets too big for their britches.”
“And
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