Games Immortals Play
Oakland
Jake's Gym
March, 2003
This story is dedicated to Dr. Robert Stallone.
"Care for a drink?" Njal asked. "There must be some place around here open."
"This is the rough part of town," Raoul said. He draped his long silk scarf around his neck and shrugged into his slim cut Armani denim jacket
"Who would bother us?" Njal demanded. He was wearing Earth clothing that still had a flavor of his home: black boots, matching legging jeans, a pale gray mandarin collared raw silk shirt that suggested a doublet, and a long black trench coat with the belt tied in back.
"Anyone who's in a bad mood and doesn't know us, but I was really thinking of the quality of the liquor."
The old Oakland waterfront was not a planned neighborhood. Streets were at right angles, like a normal grid, but frequently offset and not straight across an intersection; some were very wide, to accommodate tractor-trailers or locomotives; others were just wide enough for forklifts. Old Oakland suffered from the wide spread use of shipping containers loaded directly onto the trailers. These needed the famous cranes that clustered around the northern part of the waterfront.
South of the cranes, there were still a few bars; a few cafés; one strange shop where one could sell recently imported items that had never appeared on any ship's manifest, get a loan or make an offering at the shrine to á¼γιος ΝικÏŒλαος, patron saint of sailors, merchants and pawnbrokers; and Jake's Gym, which, unless you knew what to look for, looked like any abandoned warehouse, at least on the outside. In recent years, a few other abandoned warehouses had been reused as rave sites or classic movie theaters. There were no sidewalks; refuse service was irregular, removing pallets and emptying dumpsters frequently but ignoring smaller discards until the bi-monthly street-sweeping; train rails ran down the centers of several streets, both wide and narrow; and walking itself was an adventure, even in daylight. None the less, Raoul, with his vampire sight and Njal with his Alv senses, easily negotiated a variety of streets from Jake's to the nearest bar.
The bar originally had had a large flashing sign, which was broken. 'BAR', in neon, had been installed over the broken original and a cheap ready made OPEN sign in a different font and color, was tacked up in front of 'BAR' and blinking a welcome.
o
Inside the Open Bar, the floor was stickier than the street had been and the ambiance was darker, with fewer and dimmer lights. After the first glance from the patrons as they walked in the door, no one looked at Raoul or Njal. They ordered, then carried their drinks over to a table.
The Alv took a sip of his drink, then put the glass down. "You were right. I don't think that was rum and I seriously doubt those cola nuts ever grew on trees."
"It's a dive. Don't try the cachaça either. The sign should have told us."
"What?"
"'Bar' and missing neon," Raoul said.
"It's a code?"
"Forget it."
"Let's go somewhere else," Njal said, rising and heading for the entrance.
"Sure. Where?"
"My place."
"My car's back at Jake's," Raoul said, stepping out into the street.
"It'll be safe there," Njal said. "Just a second." The Alv stopped, glanced around.
Raoul also stopped and turned to face Njal, who moved again, this time headed for the shadow of a smelly dumpster.
From beside a wide loading dock on the far side of the dive, a silent figure stirred, stepping forward and raising a hand. The movements startled a fleeing rat that dodged around its feet; the cat in pursuit leaped after the rat, avoiding contact with the figure, but knocking some cans loose from a pile of trash.
At the clatter, Raoul glanced back over his shoulder. He saw a human figure where there had been no one a moment before. Not human. Stealthy. Why? He was turning back to follow Njal when a gun fired. The bullet plowed through Raoul's shoulder and into Njal's torso.
"Agg," Njal said, falling to the ground.
Raoul staggered, then turned back: the figure was gone.
The bar's customers were discreetly exiting the area with practiced alacrity. None of them looked at the fallen Alv and Raoul.
"Where are you hit?" Raoul dropped to the ground beside Njal and flipped opened his coat.
"Right side."
"Shit, you're bleeding." Raoul stuffed his scarf onto the wound in Njal's side. Now I know: Alves bleed red.
"Don't sound so damn surprised. Oh," the Alv said, "vampires don't?"
"Not exactly. No heartbeat, no spurting, just messy but undramatic oozing. Press here. I'll be right back with the car." Where he would take the wounded Alv could be decided when he'd gotten Njal into the back seat. With one arm, that alone would be a major problem even for him.
"No." Njal started to reach across his chest, but grunted and stopped. "In my pocket," he said. "Cardkey."
"This?" Raoul asked.
"Right." Njal wrapped his hand around Raoul's so he was touching both Raoul and the plastic, then said, "Lobby."
The Alley
Rissa watched the two men vanish.
"Let's go," the man beside her said. "That wasn't him."
Raoul looked around. Telly charm, just as smooth as Hexe's. Lobby, right. Complete with marble floors, potted palms, and those two men hurrying over who are either security guards or bellhops.
He lowered Njal to the floor and stood up, his hands at his sides. He spoke calmly: "Gentlemen, we need some medical attention here."
The two men stopped, looked at Raoul, inspected Njal, noticed the key-card Njal held up. Security, not bellhops, Raoul decided. Earbuds, with an inline microphone on the cord; berets in the single epaulette flap and something that may be a tazer, or possibly a magic wand, on that white belt.
The guard with three rows of brass buttons on his mess jacket spoke into his microphone and waited.
"You've been here before?" Njal asked.
"No, but this looks as if it rates four stars in le Guide Rouge and probably has medical attendants on tap."
Behind the security personnel, four more people, accompanied by bright yellow luggage and minor furniture, teleported into the lobby. A slender gray-haired man, shorter than Raoul, with a mess jacket like the guards' but completely in black, including the buttons appeared behind them. He nodded to the guards, who quietly absented themselves.
"Step back, please," one of the new arrivals said.
"See?" Raoul said to Njal. He looked at the newcomers' identical dress. Is that ethnic or occupational? he wondered, taking in the emerald plus-twos and the matching raglan sleeved shirts. The three men and the woman wore pink gloves that clashed with their green clothes. They opened the satchels and removed surprisingly normal medical equipment.
"Sit here, please," the woman said. She indicated a cushioned invalid chair that had popped in with the medics. Raoul sat, the woman slit the sleeves on his right arm.
Another medic dropped the chair's left arm out of his way, then carefully cut away the rest of Raoul's jacket and Saint Laurent T- shirt and eyed the unbleeding wound. "Ah..." The man looked over at the woman, who was frowning and tapping her stethoscope. "Leela?"
"I'm a vampire. Just align the bones and tape everything together. I don't get infections and I heal quickly."
"Do we need a necromancer for you?" Leela asked. She draped the stethoscope around her neck and unwrapped the useless blood pressure cuff from Raoul's unwounded arm.
"I doubt it."
"The Shaman's coming," the medic working on stripping Njal said.
Raoul noticed the Shaman's arrival. It was hard not to: he popped silently between him and Njal. The Shaman wore an Italian-cut gray flannel suit, a cream silk shirt and a flamboyant seven-fold tie; had turquoise skin, royal blue hair and six fingers on each hand. If he thinks that suit lets him pass as human, he's overly optimistic. It's nice, but it's not that nice.
The Shaman was accompanied by another medic in green and a small cart. "Triage!" he demanded.
"Simon's," Raoul's medic said.
"Mine," Njal's medic said.
"Alv?" the Shaman asked Njal.
"Yes; from Arduinna out of Brassile."
"Never heard of it. Basic stock?"
"Yes."
The Shaman's assistant had a bowl, a ewer and a towel ready. The Shaman washed his hands and knelt beside Njal as Simon lifted him to a sitting position. "This will hurt." The Shaman removed Raoul's scarf, covered the wound with one hand, and put the other hand over the exit wound. He chanted rapidly in a monotone which ended in a sudden shout as he pushed in with both his hands.
"Ullg," Njal said. "Thanks."
"You, however," the Shaman said, rising and turning to Raoul, "are earth human, but not a simple human."
"Vampire," Raoul said.
"Fascinating. I've read Galen papers on vampires(1), of course, but you're the first I've seen. Are you willing to let me try to heal you?"
Why not? Raoul thought. It can't kill me, after all, and from the looks of it, this will take at least ten days or two weeks to heal... "Go ahead."
The Shaman's assistant produced another bowl and a glass that fizzed quietly. The Shaman drank the fizzy contents, washed his hands again and turned back to the vampire.
"This will be simpler if you remove that," the Shaman said, pointing to Raoul's sunblock amulet. "And that," he added pointing to the telly ring.
Raoul's good hand closed over the amulet.
The Shaman waited.
"They are gifts and I treasure them," Raoul said.
"They'll be quite safe."
He removed the ring and the amulet. The Shaman took them on his pocket square. "Sunstone? Heliolite?" He rolled the tiny copper colored cube around on his handkerchief with his forefinger.
"Vampires are allergic to sunlight," Raoul said.
The Shaman nodded. "Excellent spellcraft, not human, very powerful and very subtle. Probably unnoticeable by humans. Very well crafted, both of them." He started to set the ring and chain aside but halted, frowning at Raoul.
"What else?" the Shaman asked.
"My key ring. Just a second," Raoul said. He added the other telly charm.
"When I look with my third eye, you still have magic dancing all around you; some very old, some more recent and a very powerful bit, apparently not related to either of the earlier bits, very recent. Hmm." He poked Raoul's stomach. "And what's this?" He didn't wait for an answer but said, "Interesting, very interesting. Galen doesn't mention any of this. I'll have to pose a question in my next review. This will probably hurt." He moved around Raoul, took the wrist of the broken arm in one hand and placed his other hand on the vampire's back
The Shaman's second procedure was very much like the first, save that during the shout he yanked the vampire's arm straight and punched Raoul's shoulder.
It did hurt. Raoul felt as if his arm was being pulled from the socket, then as if his entire left side was dipped in flames. When he looked at his shoulder the skin was whole. He started to flex his arm.
The Shaman stopped him. "You're hard to heal. I think at best you're patched, but not yet whole. A shoulder splint," he said, "left, with a sling."
The assistant quickly searched within the lower shelf of the cart.
"May I speak with them, Dr. Stallone?" a new voice asked.
Raoul glanced up at the speaker. The newcomer was about his own height, with black skin, a shaven head, a narrow nose and a pattern of raised scars on both cheeks: symmetrical double spirals. He wore the full informal evening suit, complete with braid on the trousers, peaked grosgrain lapels on the tuxedo jacket, a white piqué waistcoat and a white linen pocket square.
Where do these guys get their suits? Raoul wondered. I haven't seen tailoring this good since BA back in the teens. He glanced down at his ruined shirt and jacket. Probably Milan or maybe London, but probably not any place local. He shook his head. I liked that jacket.
"Certainly, Innkeeper," the Shaman said. "I will be done in a moment." He took from his assistant something resembling a combination of a retiarius's manica and galerus, but in Star Wars Storm Trouper white. He strapped Raoul into the complex shoulder/upper arm cast and forearm sling. It was surprisingly comfortable.
Not bad, except that I can't fence. Or dress myself. Or drive. Or open Cambells.
"See me tomorrow," the Shaman said.
Raoul began to rise. Or even stand up, verdammt. Aloud, he said: "My rings and chain, please."
The assistant handed them to him. He slipped the chain over his neck, the ring on his finger and the key fob back into his pants pocket.
"Instantaneous healing requires good after-care. Don't stress that arm. Have small frequent meals for the next 48 hours; if you experience difficulties, growing weakness, fever ..."
"Not usually a problem," Raoul said.
"...or decreased appetite, see the nurse. One more point." The Shaman was now holding a lump of metal: "You were shot with silver."
"What? Nonsense!" Njal said. "Why?"
"I have no idea. The bullet shattered when it hit the vampire; two major shards went through, exiting his arm, and entered the Alv, where I found them," the Shaman said. "I retrieved the entire bullet and assembled it as you see." He handed the reconstructed bullet to Raoul.
"Thank you," the Innkeeper said to the Shaman, who bowed and departed with his assistant. The medics and security were also thanked and dismissed, then the Innkeeper said, "Come with me."
Njal started to rise, but failed.
"Oh," the Innkeeper said. He looked over at Raoul, still seated on the stool. Raoul just shook his head; the Innkeeper nodded his. "Two float chairs to me." Two angular plain wood dining chairs, complete with arms, came around the registration desk and skimmed across the marble floor to halt in front of him. The Innkeeper picked up Njal and set him in a chair, while the man in black, who had failed to say a word so far, did the same to Raoul.
The chair was comfortable, and there was a small flat footrest attached to the front legs. "Thanks," he told the man in black, settling back. He got the barest nod in acknowledgment.
"Follow me," the Innkeeper said, apparently to the chairs. He led the small convoy out of the lobby, down a corridor and into a small room. He took the only chair already there and the float chairs settled to the floor in front of him. The man in black remained by the door, still silent.
The Innkeeper turned to Njal: "What happened?"
Raoul kept quiet during Njal's report, which was long on personal reactions, short on actions and included a quick introduction of him.
"Did anyone notice the teleport?"
"I couldn't tell."
"Mr di Costa: what happened?" the Innkeeper asked him when Njal was finished.
"As Njal said. Beyond that, the shooter was very quiet. I couldn't scent anything about him, we were close to the Bay and that neighborhood is full of weird and strong covering smells. That alley was dark, even for me. He had a black shirt or coat and either dark hair or a snug black cap. He was still, unmoving. I didn't notice him when I looked around as we left the bar; if there hadn't been that noise I wouldn't have turned again."
"Did he follow you from Jake's?"
"He could have. We walked. If he kept well back, he could have. The moon was full, the rain had cleared and there was enough foot traffic, not a lot, but enough, all human as far as I could tell, to confuse matters. No one exiting the bar looked at us after the shooting, no one came past us either way on the street, so I assume no one noticed the teleport."
"He?"
"Maybe."
"Was he alone?"
"As far as I could tell," Raoul said. "Doesn't mean he was. Two of them could more easily follow the two of us, changing off."
The Innkeeper nodded. "Was your shooter human, Alv, vampire or other?"
"I couldn't really tell; my first impression was 'not human' but I don't know why I thought that. If he'd moved more, I could make a better guess, but he just stood there."
"What did you hear?"
"First cans falling; then a cat's yowl."
"He shot only once?"
"That I heard; normal gunfire, with no brass landing on the pavement, so it probably was a revolver. Again, I didn't hear him leaving, just the humans hurrying out of the bar."
"So who's shooting at you, Raoul?" Njal asked.
"Why assume it's me? We don't have metal allergies," the vampire said. He handed the silver bullet to the Innkeeper. "Don't you burst into flames if you touch silver?"
"No, we don't: true Alves aren't troubled by silver. Anyway, he shot you first."
"I was in the way. So if he were after you, why silver? If he were after me, why silver?"
"You both are immortal," the Innkeeper interrupted the crosstalk. "The shooter, to use Mr. di Costa's term, may know only that about either of you and not any specific weaknesses. However, Njal, you can die from a bullet, lead, copper, steel or silver, if it hits you in the heart or head."
"Oh," Njal said. "Right."
"So we have three possibles," Raoul said. "Someone who thinks silver will kill a vampire, someone who thinks silver will kill an Alv and someone who wants to kill Njal and just happens to use silver bullets."
"You're still over-thinking this," the Innkeeper said. He rolled the bullet between his strong fingers. "Someone tried to kill one or both of you; by now he may know he failed; he may try again, possibly with a more effective weapon. Act accordingly."
"Yeah," Njal said. "That may be a good idea."
"And if the unknown succeeds in killing you, what should we do with your prisoners?"
"The rules don't mention 'death of tagger'," Njal said. "Toss them out, I guess. Let's get something to eat," he said to Raoul. "Stallone was right: I am hungry."
The Inn: The Room
"Observant," said the man in black.
"Vampires are predators that can think, at least some of them," the Innkeeper said. "Mr di Costa is just over a century old and has survived two bloody gang wars: one in Buenos Aires and that last one over in Oakland, rather impressive for a newly immortal human. His alertness is not surprising, his friendship with young Njal is."
"Disguised."
"Oh?"
"Contacts and dye, both brown."
"Interesting," the Innkeeper said.
The Inn: The Roof Garden Restaurant
"Let me guess: you're a bounty hunter?" Raoul said. They were on the Inn's roof garden. Raoul was finishing plain Cambells while Njal had had seaweed salad and lamb, followed by a dozen oysters.
"I'm playing Grand Tag," Njal said.
"And you keep score by the number of captives you have?"
"Sort of. It also depends on their ranking and where they're caught."
"Would any of them kill you to get free?"
"No, it's not that sort of game," Njal said. "Another plate of oysters," he told the waitress.
Raoul lifted his empty glass: "Another, please, and the small plate of oysters. I never asked, but why are you here? On Earth?"
"It seemed like a good idea: big population to hide in, wide cosmetic differences in the natives, indoor plumbing, easy to learn languages, and a money economy. Also, several Inns, where I could stash Øjvindr, Klœngr, and Úlfa."
"And who knew you were coming here?"
"I didn't know myself until I tagged Úlfa and had to decide what to do with her while I went after Klœngr and then Øjvindr. A trio pays more. I'm going after Mógils for a quartet as soon as the gates line up... ."
"Does anyone know what you know about Earth?" Raoul interrupted. "The good points that made it your destination?"
"Anyone who's been here before and has his wits about him; I didn't announce any specific destination when I set out with the other Hunters."
"Like who? How many?"
"The number changes over the years. Two hundred Earth years ago ... ."
"More recently."
"I don't know. I left when it became too popular; I started coming back after everyone else had moved on. I've dropped in every now and then, just to keep in form, but this is the first time I've been here in a quarter of a local century."
"Thank you," Raoul said to the waitress as she put down his order before sliding Njal's oysters in front of him.
"Excellent," the Alv said.
"And who knows you do that?" Raoul returned to the subject.
"I don't talk about it," Njal said. "I keep my time here private. Or I did, at any rate. Damn, I didn't think of that."
"Hide in the large population," Raoul said. "Let's take it from another angle: whom have you annoyed recently?"
"Nobody, except Øjvindr, Klœngr, and Úlfa, and they're here. What about you? Whom have you annoyed recently?"
"Most of them are dead, and the ones I left alive wouldn't use a gun." Raoul was silent a moment. "No. No, that may not be completely true. Some who might use a gun may be alive. Damn, I didn't think of that. Just a second." He opened his cell phone. "Hexe?"
o
The elevator chimed.
"Is this her?" Njal asked.
Raoul turned around carefully, then rose to his feet. "Yes." She looks good. She was wearing an evening suit of black and green silk shantung with a wide portrait neckline and a just below the knee pencil skirt. Around her throat was a strand of grape sized black pearls with an emerald enhancer, in her ears were matching pearl studs with tiny emeralds in the settings, and on her feet were black satin sandals. That's not an insipid pearl set. Those pearls make her neck look vulnerable, almost fragile. He swallowed.
"That's a new look," Ann Grove said.
"I'm supposed to wear it for another couple of days," Raoul said. Where is she going tonight? And with whom? That's not a stay-at-home dress; but it's not a No Mirrors dress either.
"Who?" A nod indicated his shoulder.
She wasn't asking about his doctor. "I don't know. Short story: Njal, this is Njal... ."
Njal bowed gracefully. "Njal ti Beaivi ti Ärlig sa Kalidon."
"Please call me Ann," she said, sitting.
"Someone took a shot at us, him and me. We don't know which of us was the target, we don't know who was shooting, we don't know why, and I don't know that it wasn't about what happened with Mandor. I don't know if you might also be a target."
"No human is stalking me at the moment," Ann said. "Is he a vampire?"
"I don't know what he is," Raoul said. "My first impression was not human. I can't say why."
"He may be an Alv," Njal said.
"I include Alves in category human," Ann said. "I can tell who's watching me, and this past week, there have been no repeats and no murderous intent detectable."
"All right," Raoul said. "Look, Hexe, can you take a message to Bernardo? I usually tell him when I won't be around for a while, and I sure as hell can't go out with this on."
"You do look like a half-dressed Imperial Storm Trooper," Ann said.
"I noticed."
"You can tell him yourself; give me your phone."
He handed her his phone, then watched as she produced another by turning over her other hand. She touched the two phones together. "Call him in about thirty minutes." The second phone vanished as she handed Raoul's back to him.
"Don't scare him," Raoul said.
Ann smiled, and vanished.
"Is she free?" Njal asked.
"In what sense?"
"Some humans here are monogamous. Has she a lover?""
"Yes."
"But not you?"
"No."
"Good," Njal said.
Before Raoul could contradict him, the elevator chimed and opened: "Njal! Darling! I heard. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. This is Úlfa," Njal told Raoul.
"Úlfa tun Grollá tun Ruri tun Sirgerix sal Niruth sa Kalidon," the newcomer said.
"This is Raoul."
"I'm so delighted to meet you," Úlfa said.
"He's wounded," Njal pointed out. "Back off until the cast comes off."
Úlfa was the same height as Njal and Raoul, with pale ivory skin, beautiful brown eyes and long black hair, worn with a central part under a plain coronet. Not Hexe, but lovely enough and apparently available. If she's as strong as Njal it could be interesting. I need to get this cast off!
o
"Innkeepers need to know what their guests can expect outside the Inn. If he decides to issue a general warning, that will probably cut into the Inn's trade. If he doesn't, and someone else gets hurt, that may also reduce the number of guests; besides, if someone does get hurt, he may owe bloodgeld," Njal said.
He and Raoul were walking in a hallway on the second floor where, according to Njal, various public meeting rooms were, 'this time'; he had not explained further. They had been summoned by the Innkeeper for a progress report.
The hallway was carpeted. At least it's not red or royal blue, Raoul thought. The brown carpet didn't look or feel that thick, but their footsteps made no noise. The corridor was wide and decorated in the luxurious clichéd fashion the Inn favored. Bust, Raoul thought, painting, bust. The paintings between busts alternated with statues between tall bronze urns holding cascading vines; behind the urns were large gilt-framed mirrors. He showed up in the mirrors, just as he had in the mirrors at Jake's and Ann's. If God had money... Raoul thought. So where's the cleaning staff? I haven't seen anyone with a broom or a dustcloth or towels or those chocolate blood oranges I found on my pillow. "We've been here for the past 18 hours, most of the time asleep. So who found the something new? Hotel security?"
"We may find that out," Njal said, and nodded to the security staff member opening the door for them.
The room had a long table with five chairs clustered around one end and a large video screen at the other. Seated at the table were the Innkeeper, the man in black from yesterday--still in black--, Ann Grove and Alice Kearny. Njal sat next to the Innkeeper; Raoul took the chair next to Njal, which allowed extra space for his cast.
"Good afternoon," the Innkeeper said. "I asked Zuri, Anna and Miss Kearny to survey the area around the bar on Fourth Street."
"By the time we got there only a few police were still wandering around. We dodged them," Alice said, "and tracked a fading trace back from where the shot was fired to a spot of greater magical residue. What we could tell about what went on there leads us to believe the shooter used a telly charm, rather than simple ability, which would have left no trace at all, or a full spell, which would have left a much stronger trace than the one we found there."
"Nothing in the traces we followed or found," Ann said, "identify the shooter more specifically than human or Alv or vampire. The presence of a telly charm probably rules out other classifications."
"Speculate," the Innkeeper ordered.
Ann shrugged. "There was one shot. Was the gun a single shot? Was the shooter otherwise unable to fire again? If so, why? Where did he go? How complex and powerful was the telly charm? Where is the shooter now? Is Raoul correct when he suggests that he was the target? I could go on; I have more questions than answers."
The Innkeeper nodded.
"We did manage photos of the scene," Alice said. "After the police left, we attempted a situational reconstruct." She lifted a laptop from the chair beside her. The video screen lit up, and three images appeared on it: the empty street, showing the alley between the dive and the dock, Ann in the alley and Alice in the alley. "Ann and I are here for height reference," she continued.
"Hold it," Raoul said. "Where was the camera?"
"On top of the blood stain," Alice said.
"How tall, how far off the ground was it?"
"Your eye height, according to Ann."
"Then he's taller than you are," Raoul said. "He was blocking a marker, the tail end of that graffito I can see above your head. I saw the rest of the tag, the main graffito across the roller door, as we went in and it's still there in the empty picture."
"Is he taller than I am?" Ann asked.
"Can't tell: that was the only marker I noticed. You and the shooter both block it, that metallic silver looped swirl trailing off the 'd'. That's the best I can do."
The Innkeeper nodded. He continued to look at the video screen. Raoul didn't think he was seeing it. After an unhurried time, the Innkeeper shook his head: "No, there's not enough data to issue an advisory. You two should be alert for anything, but I won't warn the guests beyond the normal cautions. Report anything else of this nature, Njal. I would appreciate any similar news from you, Mr di Costa." The Innkeeper rose. "Njal, you have a lesson scheduled later today. Are you up to it?"
"Sure."
"Miss Kearny, Anna: your accounts will reflect your help; thank you, Mr di Costa, Dr. Stallone wants you to stop by his office at your convenience. "
"One more question," Ann said.
The Innkeeper waited.
"Who, beyond the fabled werewolf, is killed by silver bullets?" Ann asked.
"Werewolf?" Njal repeated.
"Fictional shapeshifters," Ann said.
"Silver does kill real shapeshifters," Njal said.
"Such as?" Ann said.
"I haven't seen this myself," Njal said. "I mean, I don't know anybody who is a shapeshifter, but the rumors are that out beyond Thyïlea, where the time flow gets weird, some Alves, well, they still call themselves Alves, but they're not, not really, not anymore, started interbreeding a couple, ten, maybe twenty, thousand years ago with some local shapeshifters. Like I said, the time flow out there is weird. It didn't work out that well, they can shift, but since the original shifters were mortal, they're all now short lived; also, stodgy, serious and generally no fun."
Zuri spoke: "No shifting here."
"We would notice," the Innkeeper said.
Ann sighed. "Innkeeper, I have additional data."
"Go ahead, Anna."
"I have met two shapeshifting Alves in the recent past. Neither can have fired the shot. However, what complicates matters is that today, as I walked into the Inn from Union Square, I recognized one of your guests as the witch who is at least tangentially associated with them. She is also connected with the Quest of the Egg."
"Oh, hell." The Innkeeper sat again and rubbed his jaw. "Njal, are you on the Quest of the Egg?"
"No: I'm playing Grand Tag."
"Mr di Costa, are you on the Quest of the Egg?"
"Never heard of it. No."
"Miss Kearny?"
"No."
"But the witch is?" the Innkeeper asked Ann.
"She and her vampire companion were collecting Pieces of the Egg."
"Pieces?"
"According to the first shapeshifter, they had a list. I have not seen it. My conclusion is based on our conversations after I took him prisoner and before I sent him out of the country. My sense of his presence is that he has been and still is where I sent him."
"And the second shifter?" the Innkeeper asked.
"Is also totally unavailable," Ann said, "and also was involved in the Quest of the Egg."
"Well, I can't do anything about that, the Quest of the Egg is a sanctioned activity and beyond my ability to control or interrupt. However, I will not have guests attacking one another within my curtilage: is that understood, Njal?"
"Oh, yes; certainly."
"Mr di Costa?"
"Yes," Raoul said.
"While I don't know Njal well enough to speculate, certainly there reasons other than the Quest for shooting Raoul," Ann said, "but in any case, her presence here does not fix her at the scene of the shooting."
Raoul grinned at her: "You're not sure about that."
"I am by nature suspicious; sometimes my suspicions are groundless. At the moment, I have no grounds for anything but speculations."
"Yes, you're naturally suspicious, but you're not wrong that often," the Innkeeper said. "Njal, I'm invoking the Inn's security clause: don't mention this meeting, what was said here or who was present."
"Really?"
"Do you agree?" the Innkeeper asked.
"Oh, sure."
"Then be bound to keep these secrets," the Innkeeper said formally. "Mr di Costa," he continued, "you are not subject to my rulings or my geas, but please don't mention Miss Kearny or Anna's use name or what was just discussed here."
I suppose I shouldn't bother pointing out the damn woman has her name and address in the phone book and she is photogenic and attends high-profile society events. I'll mention it later. Privately.
(1)"Classic Vampirism: An introductory study of an infectious syndrome encompassing certain permanent and abrupt physical, metabolic and mental aberrations"; The Cauldron: The Journal of the New World Healers' Association, Summer 2001; Claire Galen et al.
"An examination of Modified Vampirism; detailing how societal, historical and cultural expectations can be modified by initial mind-set, rituals, family support, autosuggestion, bio-feedback methods and dietary supplements"; The Cauldron: The Journal of the New World Healers' Association, Spring 2002; Claire Galen et al.
2: Games Immortals Play: II
Raoul opened the door of Njal's suite. "What'd you forget...," he started to demand. He fell silent as he recognized Ann. I'm barefoot, I'm wearing a towel. At least I'm out of the shower. Always at a disadvantage with her. Verdammt!
"May I come in? The witch has left the Inn, but I'd like to get out of this hallway."
Raoul gave a quick look up and down the corridor. "Right. Come in. Njal isn't here."
"No, he's down at the gym. The witch has an Alv in tow, who is in the gym watching him. Apparently watching is permitted. No cast? Officially?"
Raoul nodded. "The Shaman said I could do without it."
"No scars. How does it feel?"
"Adequate for everything so far," Raoul said, thinking of Úlfa and their recent vigorous activities.
"We should talk."
"Does this require alcohol or more coffee?"
"I'd like some eau de vie," Ann said, sitting in one of the chairs.
"I don't think we have any."
"Look in the liquor cabinet."
"This wasn't here yesterday." He eyed the new crystal decanter with a frown.
"I didn't visit yesterday. The Inn knows me."
"Right." Raoul found two balloon glasses and half filled them; the scent of ripe peaches rose as he poured. Handing a glass to Ann, he said, "Njal's being watched?"
Ann took the glass and put her feet up on an ottoman, relaxing back in her chair. "He is right now."
"Who is watching him?" Raoul sat in a chair facing hers and set his glass on the round table between them.
"He's a visitor, an Alv. Not part of this set of Grand Taggers, according to Øjvindr and Klœngr, who say they know all the other Runners. He wasn't watching them, just Njal. He's about my height, with pale cream skin and dark blond hair, worn in two knobs on the back of his rather round head. He's muscular but graceful and was wearing local office worker style: A suit from one of the Inn's tailors, shoes from one of the shoemakers —"
"The Inn has tailors?"
"Yes. Down on the lobby level in the arcade of shops, just beyond Wayfinder's Messenger Service. They all take money or barter system. I don't know the Alv's name, and I can't ask the Innkeeper. Since the Alv has Inn-style clothes, there are no obvious cultural clues that might have hinted at his home world. The witch is also dressed in local fashions. That's all I know at the moment."
"What does the witch look like?"
"About your height; very pale skin with no freckles; long dark red hair; high, firm, large breasts with prominent dark brown nipples; slender waist and legs; a projecting navel above a flat stomach; no body hair..."
"Ouch."
"...amber eyes; straight but slender dark brown brows, and long narrow feet and hands. She wears a snake tattoo, mostly green, climbing up her right leg."
"You seem to have had a really good look at her."
"Some witches work naked. They call it 'sky clad'."
"Do you know her name?"
"The vampire she was with when I first saw her called her Rissa. It's probably just a use name. You cannot attack her here without incurring the Innkeeper's wrath. That's to be avoided whenever possible."
"I believe you. I believe him, for that matter."
"The simplest action would be to meet her outside the Inn and kill her," Ann said. "But that wouldn't help me understand what's going on. Of course, she may not know a lot, but she probably knows more than I do, so I'm not really considering killing her out of hand."
Raoul picked up on her pronouns: I, me. "I'm not involved?" he asked.
"You may not be, at least in the shooting: it seems most likely Njal was the target. He has direct access to Jake's and of course the keycard delivers him to the lobby. So he doesn't need to go wandering around the Oakland warehouse district and has been advised not to do that again. That leaves you."
"I'm leaving this evening."
"That may be safe." She sipped her eau de vie, then said, "On the other hand, you may be involved with the witch."
"Why?"
"Because you're involved with me and I have some history with her."
"How? Why?"
"Rissa has several reasons to be annoyed with me. She and her vampire lover, or possibly patron, Adan, I'm not sure of their relationship, were keeping the first shapeshifter prisoner in the trunk of one of their cars. Adan believed that drinking the shifter's blood would make him a shifter."
"He's an idiot."
"Yes," Ann agreed, "he was. While the two of them were busy searching a Berkeley warehouse, the shifter escaped from the trunk and started running toward Emeryville."
"Why Emeryville? He wanted a quick hand of Hold'em(1)?"
"There were other vampires to the north and east; the bay was to the west, but the south was empty so he ran toward Emeryville. His guards were about to recapture him when I grabbed him and installed him in my basement."
"When was this?"
"Before you and I met."
"And he's still there?"
"No, he's in Canada, or possibly Maine or Vermont or New Hampshire: somewhere east and north of us. The second shifter is his son. We'll get to him. Rissa and Adan were looking for a Piece of the Egg. I found it first and moved it beyond the world. I replaced it with a decoy, which seemed to satisfy her."
"You stole her shapeshifter and her Egg?"
"And killed her lover; or possibly patron."
"No wonder she's pissed. How'd that happen?"
"Adan ended up with the second shapeshifter, who came searching for his father. No, I don't know how they met, but they were each searching for the escaped shifter and possibly ran into each other then. The son held my attention while Adan and half a dozen other vampires arrived. At least one escaped, but I killed Adan and later captured the younger shifter. I froze him, which he still is. I really must do something with him." She sighed, and took another sip of the eau de vie. "Sooner than not; even with equinox coming up. I'm telling you all this because the first shifter ..."
"Who's now in Canada," Raoul said. "And doesn't really come into this."
Ann nodded and continued: "Except as a reporter: he said Rissa was a finder, a specific sort of seer. I didn't worry if she could track me after I removed the Piece of the Egg, which may have been an error. After the ambush, I took precautions. I don't think she can find me now."
"It's always after the ambush," Raoul muttered.
"You prepare for what you know your opponents can do, so, yes, up-grades are frequently after something. She may not be able to find me directly, but she may have learned or seen or dreamt that you know me. Seers are unpredictable."
"Ah, I was going to mention that removing your listing in the phone book might be wise, but now that seems a little pointless."
"It depends on how good a seer and witch she is. So far it appears she does not know my name or yours. I have no idea how long that will last, for either of us."
"She'll have a harder time finding me than you. Even if she knows my name, I don't appear in the society photo pages. You do."
"Until today, she had never seen me. Now that she has seen me, the question is does she know I am the one who killed Adan and all the rest. I just don't know. And in any case, who knows how a seer works. How did you find me?"
"I looked you up."
"You or Bernardo?"
"Actually, it was Bernardo."
She smiled. "She may not have someone to look us up for her; but then again, she may or she may have her own computer. Give me your telly charms. Seeing the minimal security around your apartment I think an up-grade is in order. There is no point to 'porting away from one ambush to land in the center of another. I'll add a second fall-back, some tell-tales so you'll if someone is near the disc in your apartment and increased sensitivity. You'll need a new word; this one will move you to my foyer. My house is defended nearly as well as the Inn."
"She's more likely to find you through Stevenson."
"Martin is quite capable, alerted and well armed. I'm more worried about Julia. Don't leave the Inn before I get back with the charms."
"I wasn't planning on it. Here."
When she had left, he gave some thought to choosing a word. Not one that comes up frequently, not one I'll forget. Um... Poetry won't help. Two or at the most three syllables... Not something from my past. Habakkuk? An allusion to angelic transport, so I won't forget, that's good. How often do I discuss minor prophets or even the sculpture of Bernini?(2) Not often.
He dressed in his pants and shoes and headed for the lobby via a quick look at the gallery in the salle d'armes. He took a discreet but careful survey of one of the watchers, noting that Ann's description seemed accurate in all details, and continued on to the lobby. He asked the clerk the way to Wayfinder's and followed the directions. The legend 'Bond Street' was over the next door. He entered, and found the sign was more descriptive than boastful: he was in another wide corridor, this one stretching far ahead of him. Shops housing shirtmakers, haberdashers, tailors, tie makers, shoemakers and jewelers opened on either side. All right, the Inn is much bigger inside than outside. I'll consider that later. First things first, he thought, looking at a shirtmaker's window. He entered. "I need a shirt," he told the clerk.
The clerk eyed his bare chest and smiled. "I can see that."
(1) 'Games of chance' are illegal in California. It is only in the few tribal casinos games of chance, such as roulette and slot machines, are permitted; however, the California Supreme Court has ruled poker a game of skill and therefore legal and under local option. Emeryville allows poker.
(2) Bernini (1598-1680) Habakkuk and the Angel, marble, over-life size; 1655-61; The Chigi Chapel.
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