anger draining against my will, and a sheen of pleasure glazed his eyes. “Oh, you’re a tasty morsel!”
A spike of terror jolted me. I willed it to feed my anger, loosing a barrage of fury I hadn’t indulged in since adolescence, and held up my rune-marked left hand. “Hel’s liaison, asshole!”
Fear flickered in his eyes, and his pupils shrank.
Cody plucked the pool cue deftly from the Walrus’s hand, a glint of phosphorescence in his own eyes. “Would that be an authority you’d respect?”
From the back of the bar came a deep chuckle. The man sitting in the shadows rose and came toward us, moving with a practiced fighter’s loose-limbed ease. “Stand down, man.” He clapped one hand on the Walrus’s shoulder. “No feeding on the unwilling, remember? They’re just doing their jobs.”
The man from the shadows had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place, something Eastern European, maybe, worn smooth by the patina of time. Definitely not a local. He was tall and broad shouldered, well built without being muscle-bound. Like the others, he wore a leather vest with an Outcast patch over a T-shirt and jeans, but somehow he made it look more of a fashion statement, less of a lifestyle choice. He had high, rugged cheekbones, black hair he wore a little too long, and pale ice-blue eyes, the kind you see on husky dogs sometimes.
Okay, that’s a terrible comparison, but the point is, he was gorgeous.
He was also a motherfucking ghoul.
I swallowed against a surge of attraction and fear, altogether losing my grip on fury. Beside me, Cody bristled. I stood, braced in numb horror, expecting the man from the shadows to drink my emotions, but he only waited with an expression of patient amusement while I wrestled myself under control.
That avid spark in his ice-blue eyes was there, no mistaking it, but this ghoul was no slave to his appetites. I had a feeling he was very, very old.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded.
He turned to Cody, looking him up and down. “Interesting. Very interesting. May I have a look at those photos, Officer?”
Cody handed over the file. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. You got a name, son?”
“Son.” The ghoul laughed deep in his chest. “Yes, Officer. My name is Stefan. Stefan Ludovic. I haven’t been in Pemkowet long, but I hope to stay here.” He scrutinized the photos. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen these boys.” He beckoned. “Loretta?”
Loretta came forward with alacrity, peering at the photos. “Yeah, them’s the ones. Them two, anyway.” She pointed at Thad Vanderhei and Mike Huizenga. “They was asking for Ray D. I don’t remember the skinny little guy.”
I whipped out my notepad, jotting notes.
“Ray D.” Cody rubbed his chin. “Is he dealing meth again?”
“Not in my territory.” Stefan the ghoul’s voice went flat, his pupils shrinking. “The nectar of chemically induced emotions is poisonous.”
Cody gave him a speculative look. “So you’re new in town, but this is already your turf?”
Stefan waved one negligent hand. “Does anyone dispute it?”
No one did, although a couple of them, like Al the Walrus, didn’t look too happy about it.
By the time Cody was through questioning Loretta, it was established that Thad and Mike had been in the bar looking for Ray D two weeks ago Saturday, but had failed to find him, because no one had seen Ray D for several months. No one knew where he was living or how to contact him, and no one knew why a couple of college kids were looking for him, or at least no one would admit to it. As far as they were concerned, no one even knew whether Ray D had a last name.
New-ghoul-in-town Stefan was adamant that Ray D wasn’t dealing on his turf, and the weird thing was, I thought he meant it. There’s a long-established connection among ghouls, biker gangs, and drug dealing, what with a lucrative illegal activity that sows misery being the perfect confluence of ghoulish interests, but Stefan
A spike of terror jolted me. I willed it to feed my anger, loosing a barrage of fury I hadn’t indulged in since adolescence, and held up my rune-marked left hand. “Hel’s liaison, asshole!”
Fear flickered in his eyes, and his pupils shrank.
Cody plucked the pool cue deftly from the Walrus’s hand, a glint of phosphorescence in his own eyes. “Would that be an authority you’d respect?”
From the back of the bar came a deep chuckle. The man sitting in the shadows rose and came toward us, moving with a practiced fighter’s loose-limbed ease. “Stand down, man.” He clapped one hand on the Walrus’s shoulder. “No feeding on the unwilling, remember? They’re just doing their jobs.”
The man from the shadows had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place, something Eastern European, maybe, worn smooth by the patina of time. Definitely not a local. He was tall and broad shouldered, well built without being muscle-bound. Like the others, he wore a leather vest with an Outcast patch over a T-shirt and jeans, but somehow he made it look more of a fashion statement, less of a lifestyle choice. He had high, rugged cheekbones, black hair he wore a little too long, and pale ice-blue eyes, the kind you see on husky dogs sometimes.
Okay, that’s a terrible comparison, but the point is, he was gorgeous.
He was also a motherfucking ghoul.
I swallowed against a surge of attraction and fear, altogether losing my grip on fury. Beside me, Cody bristled. I stood, braced in numb horror, expecting the man from the shadows to drink my emotions, but he only waited with an expression of patient amusement while I wrestled myself under control.
That avid spark in his ice-blue eyes was there, no mistaking it, but this ghoul was no slave to his appetites. I had a feeling he was very, very old.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded.
He turned to Cody, looking him up and down. “Interesting. Very interesting. May I have a look at those photos, Officer?”
Cody handed over the file. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. You got a name, son?”
“Son.” The ghoul laughed deep in his chest. “Yes, Officer. My name is Stefan. Stefan Ludovic. I haven’t been in Pemkowet long, but I hope to stay here.” He scrutinized the photos. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen these boys.” He beckoned. “Loretta?”
Loretta came forward with alacrity, peering at the photos. “Yeah, them’s the ones. Them two, anyway.” She pointed at Thad Vanderhei and Mike Huizenga. “They was asking for Ray D. I don’t remember the skinny little guy.”
I whipped out my notepad, jotting notes.
“Ray D.” Cody rubbed his chin. “Is he dealing meth again?”
“Not in my territory.” Stefan the ghoul’s voice went flat, his pupils shrinking. “The nectar of chemically induced emotions is poisonous.”
Cody gave him a speculative look. “So you’re new in town, but this is already your turf?”
Stefan waved one negligent hand. “Does anyone dispute it?”
No one did, although a couple of them, like Al the Walrus, didn’t look too happy about it.
By the time Cody was through questioning Loretta, it was established that Thad and Mike had been in the bar looking for Ray D two weeks ago Saturday, but had failed to find him, because no one had seen Ray D for several months. No one knew where he was living or how to contact him, and no one knew why a couple of college kids were looking for him, or at least no one would admit to it. As far as they were concerned, no one even knew whether Ray D had a last name.
New-ghoul-in-town Stefan was adamant that Ray D wasn’t dealing on his turf, and the weird thing was, I thought he meant it. There’s a long-established connection among ghouls, biker gangs, and drug dealing, what with a lucrative illegal activity that sows misery being the perfect confluence of ghoulish interests, but Stefan
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