Raven's Moon Read online

  Not rabid doxie owners, but the rest of the world? Yeah, she was right.

  “And how long should we be gone?”

  “As long as the dog thinks you should be,” she said.

  Well, I knew where I ranked on this scale.

  “Before you leave, is there anything you need?” Calie asked.

  Oh, so tempting to say “My head examined?” or something equally glib and clichéd, but I had given this some thought.

  “Cash.”

  “Of course.”

  Calie had changed from the fluttery silk robe and gown of the evening before into sensible slacks and a sweater that on a younger woman I’d have taken a chance and stroked; it looked that soft. Textures were calling to me. Naw, that’s too tame. Everything around me was yelling to be touched, felt, tasted. The sheen of a tabletop, the petals of the flowers in a vase on the sideboard.

  And, because whether I was human or not, I was male, P. T. was on the list as well. Even if she was more inclined at the moment to rub hellhound tummies than mine.

  As though he knew I was sending decidedly unfriendly thoughts his way, the beast returned with a leash in his mouth. Practiced little monster that he was, he didn’t even trip on the dragging ends of the thing.

  Calie had turned to a cabinet. Unlocking a drawer with a whispered word, she extricated several greenbacks. Another soft murmur relocked the drawer.

  “Here. Five hundred should take care of any desires you develop along the way this afternoon. If you need more in the future, help yourself from the drawer,” she offered.

  “No security protocol?”

  “Of course there is, dearest. Whisper your name to the lock.”

  “My name,” I repeated. “Which name?”

  Calie smiled, though she was the only one who found anything amusing about the situation. “Whichever you feel is most likely to do the trick.”

  And if I picked the wrong one, would I go up in an impressive plume of smoke?

  But I knew Calie. Knew how she thought. How she thought about me. What she always called to me when she was ready to begin writing.

  Raven it was, then. Still, I did wonder what happened to anyone who hadn’t been programmed into the system. And what security firm used spell technology rather than depend on things shot from Silicon Valley schematics. How long had Calie been using spells, not merely writing about them? Spells were a part of my fictional world, though I didn’t personally use them. I’m not a wizard, just an adept, you see. If I thought I could manifest something, it usually happened. One of the wonders of the fictional world, no doubt. But I hadn’t associated spells with her world until she’d turned me into a corporeal being.

  She handed me the greenbacks then stooped to attach the leash to Beelzebub’s collar. I shoved the bills into my pocket. The idea of a dog protecting me grated. I was supposed to be a predator. The predator who preyed on predators, as a pseudo glib reviewer once remarked. Not today, though. Unsure of whether I had arrived with the regular arsenal of power at hand, I was the man being taken for a walk by an animated sausage.

  Beelzebub cranked up his low-pitched growl again. Great! The hell-cast mutt could read minds. Just my luck.

  “Be back before dark,” Calie said.

  “Yes, Mom,” I snarled.

  “I was talking to the dog, Bram,” she said. “Both of you keep a sharp eye out, though.”

  Nice hierarchy we had in the “family.” I really was royally screwed.

  My new pseudo cousin Delia waved me off from the porch. She was a predator, too, though I figured cougar applied to her brand, since she gave me another thorough once-over with sultry eyes before the hound tugged at my leash. He was supposed to be walking me, after all.

  Considering the pace Beelzebub set, the beast had an itinerary in mind. We were soon out of the lush, open grounds of Calie’s ample estate and headed for the bright lights of the city. I recognized this when the dog barked at a taxi parked curbside. The driver got out, opened the back door, and the hellhound hopped in like he owned the banquette seat. In fact, the pampered little demon lolled with royal grace across the entire seat, ensuring that there was no place for me.

  “Interesting,” I murmured.

  The driver grinned. “Yeah, there aren’t many mutts with the ability to cadge a ride, but Beelzie here has the power.”

  “Calista keeps you on retainer, I take it?”

  “You got it. You’re new on the job, though. Usually it’s the cute blonde who takes him to the groomer,” the cabby said as he circled around the rear of his vehicle. Left to my own devices, I pulled open the door and slid into the shotgun position, merely grateful that there would be no tussle with the cur of Hades in the back seat for it.

  “In some circles, I’d be considered the wiener’s cousin,” I told the driver as he swung his own door closed.

  The Mighty Mutt, lolling in comfort, took exception to my term and amped up his sinister growl, tossing in an extra portion of teeth baring.

  “Get over it,” I told the beast. “You are what you are.”

  “Ms. Amberson’s nephew, then?” the human behind the wheel queried as the cab leapt forward.

  “Yup. Arrived last night.”

  “Nice lady,” the man said.

  “She has her moments, and she has her moments,” I replied.

  The fellow chuckled. “While His Majesty is with the groomer, is there anywhere I can drop you? Ms. Kosmas usually heads for the organic market.”

  Of course she does. I needed something different.

  “Is there a part of town where... hmm, how shall I put this... companionship can be acquired?”

  “You mean like hookers?” He didn’t seem in the least fazed.

  “Something like that.”

  “Yeah, I know a few corners, but it might be a bit early for the girls to be working.”

  Not the kind I had in mind. They usually didn’t take time off from hunting food. Of course, perhaps the beings I was looking for didn’t exist beyond the pages of a book. This was a research trip, nothing more.

  In the back seat, the hellhound’s growl dissipated. When I twisted in my seat to glance back at him, he met me eye to eye in a silent stare. Then I swear the damned creature gave me a nod.

  Twenty minutes later, when the cab pulled up before the door of Damian’s Sublime Pet Spa, rather than exit the vehicle as the door was held invitingly open, Beelzebub raised a regal snout and looked the other way rather than bound forth.

  “Really?” I said. “You’re going to turn down a sublime pet experience?”

  I got what I was beginning to consider the look for my trouble.

  “Apparently, the pompous pooch is with me,” I told the driver. “Can’t blame him. The sublime spa doesn’t sound all that butch. Onward to the vice district, then?”

  The dog agreed with a quick yip, the cabby with a chuckle. It was barely another twenty-minute drive as we crossed from posh to pulverized neighborhood.

  I spotted the ladies in question easily and will admit it was a relief to recognize their true nature.

  “You can stop here,” I told the driver when we were a block away.

  “And you can give me a call at this number when you’re ready to be picked up,” he said, handing me a business card. “Not many fares in this neighborhood.”

  “But plenty of prospective carjackers who wouldn’t care if you were in current possession or not,” I added.

  “You got it,” he agreed.

  Beelzebub and I were barely on the pavement before the cabby peeled off. This time the hound didn’t strain at the leash, eager to be on his way. If the beast could be said to have a mind capable of the action, his mind was sizing up the situation before making a move.

  “Know what they are?” I asked in an undertone.

  Beelzie gave that odd imitation of a nod again.

  “Let’s get to it, then. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  In unison, the hound and I went into motion. Was rather like having a partner to back me up. Whether the Mighty Hot Dog would truly watch my back was still debatable, though.

  The Detroit of the real world was even more of a city of contrasts than the city painted by Calie in The Raven Tales. In Calie’s neighborhood, folks had money. Here, they were slipping ever closer to the icy waters of poverty or were already submerged in them.

  The boarded-up buildings were few but had failed the test of history: no one famous had built them, lived in them, or died in them. Plenty of nobodies had, but that wasn’t going to pass muster with a preservation committee. Those buildings that weren’t boarded up catered to whatever clientele was brave enough to set foot through the sagging portals.

  The businesses taking their chances in such quarters tended to be hole-in-the-wall bars, tattoo parlors, pawnshops, and a few places featuring scanty female attire and sexual enhancements for sale.

  The people out making hasty trips to deceptively safe destinations looked as worked over as the buildings. They probably thought the apocalypse was near. Or had already arrived. No one would have been surprised if the Four Horsemen had roared up on vintage 1524cc Harley Davidson Shovelheads.

  The only bright spots in the neighborhood were the bits of brightly colored plumage twittering together on the corner I ambled toward. Whether by choice or by instinct, the locals altered their steps, circling the startlingly made-up femmes. To those cruising for a good time—and there were still some unlucky fools doing so even this early in the day—no margin of safety was in place.

  Up ahead, one of the Sukis—succubus, if you want to be formal—leaned toward the open window of a Lexus pulled up curbside.

  Thanks to some quality internet time with color swatches at a paint company’s website, I was up to speed when it came to identifying the vividness of the world I now inhabited. Streaks of pink and yellow were painted through the strands of this particular Suki’s cropped midnight locks. A bodice of silver lamé hugged a boyishly slim body. A short skirt flared over a host of stiff net petticoats, their shades as variegated as a color wheel. When she moved, the whole getup sparkled and shivered, drawing attention to her and to the long stretch of leg on display above tall, white doeskin boots. The tall wedge heels of her footwear were a clever concealment for her hooved feet.

  Calie had never painted Deer Woman to look quite so fetching in print.

  Her sisters were as cleverly made up, one enhancing the catlike features of her face, another boldly incorporating her long, bushy red tails into part of a pseudo bustle of fur that swayed when she moved.

  The Sukis were shopping for their next meal and doing it in broad daylight.

  Even legends have to evolve. No longer could these ladies find a lone warrior, shepherd, charcoal burner, or lost traveler in the woods to snack on. The woods had been converted into paper products, and in place of trunks and branches that reached for the sky, buildings now attempted to scrape the underbellies of clouds. Demons had changed in The Raven Tales. It was comforting to find they were evolving in the outside world as well.

  Right now, discovering what sort of Otherworld community existed in this world sat at the top of my mental to-do list.

  On the corner, Deer Woman ran a teasing finger along the jaw of the man straining against his seatbelt as he leaned toward the passenger window.

  And five tough guys stepped out of the alley ahead of me, blocking the way.

  “You da Raven?” the lead guy said.

  “You talking to me or the pooch?” I asked. Beelzie flipped his growl switch into the on position again. At least this time the teeth were bared for the benefit of the muscle-bound barricade.

  “He don’t look like his picture,” one of the muscles behind the point man said. Incredibly, the dude had a book in his hand. A paperback, well thumbed. He didn’t look like a reader to me.

  “That you?” the head honcho asked, gesturing to the cover.

  “That’s an artist’s rendition of a fictional character. Do I look fictional to you?”

  “It’s him,” a third guy announced. “I read the book and he’s the guy.”

  His friends were startled enough to forget both Beelzebub and my unworthy self. They stared at the man.

  “You read the book?”

  The Mensa candidate frowned at them. “How the hell else were we going to get a decent description of him?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. Let’s face it, I’m used to being the center of attention. I’m the hero in the series, if you recall. “What’s it say? This Raven guy is so handsome women melt at his feet?”

  “Naw. It says you got black hair, weird green eyes—”

  I doubted Calie had ever described them as weird. “There are hundreds of shades of green. Would that be tequila lime, Douglas fir, clover, peppermint leaf, or another shade?”

  Paint chips do come in handy.

  “Shut up, smart-ass,” the lead guy snapped.

  “More olive green, I guess,” the reader said. He took the paperback away from his compadre and leafed through it. “It also says you got a lean athlete’s body—”

  “I hope he’s a good sport and doesn’t mind me borrowing it, then,” I said.

  “—a square jaw, a long pointy nose, and that if you stand up straight, you’re close to six-two.”

  I immediately stooped to appear shorter.

  “Yeah, it’s him, Ham,” the reader said. “The smart mouth gives him away.”

  Who’da thought?

  “You want my autograph?” I asked.

  “We want you should come with us,” Ham countered.

  “I’m on sorta a tight schedule. You could make an appointment with my associate here,” I suggested, indicating the short-statured hellhound on alert at my feet. He’d stationed himself directly in front of me, insanely expecting to be a canine barrier between me and... well, these idiots.

  “That won’t suit the guys we work with, Raven,” he said.

  I’d seen the puncture marks each of them had on the jugular. They weren’t vampires themselves, but they were all Renfields. Handy snacks when required.

  “It’s not even noon, fellas. The guys won’t be awake for hours yet. Why don’t we all go about our business and meet back here at, oh, let’s say moonrise?” I suggested. No intention of turning up, of course. I’m not entirely stupid.

  “Then we don’t gotta be polite no more,” Ham announced.

  This was polite?

  “Get him, boys.”

  Damned if they didn’t make an attempt. Even the reader, who really should have known better, having read one of Calista’s books.

  Unless, of course, I was no longer the man I was within the pages of that book.

  Beelzie wasn’t hampered by such thoughts. The sleek black demon took one guy down with a bounding attack to the crotch. That was the last I saw of the hound for a while, though I could hear his snarls and the snap of his teeth, the howls of his victim. I was busy enough blocking, dodging, and avoiding the sharp blade of a knife when it materialized in the hand of one of the goons. A quick twist of his wrist, hitting the pressure point just right, and I was the possessor of the blade. Ha! No magic needed!

  The battle moved within the close confines of the alleyway, and the scents that attacked my virgin sense of smell nearly brought me to my knees. Still, to survive the current confrontation, I plunged deeper into the disgusting essence. My sort of magic needed at least a few paces between me and whoever was going to receive the benefit of high-grade prestidigitation.

  Three of Ham’s horde followed me in, grins of confidence on their ugly phizes. My back against the crumbling brick building, I planted a foot in the nearest guy’s gut. He flew back against the adjacent edifice and bounded off, smacking face-first into the dumpster. As two others closed on me, he crumbled into a heap in the muck.

  The next dudes decided on using a pincer maneuver. I threw up a shield, or at least I tried. There wasn’t even a fizzle of power in the air. No shimmer from an invisible force field. I tried to pull a thought-produced rug from beneath the nearest thug’s feet. He plowed forward without even a temporary wobble.

  I was royally screwed! Definitely up Battle Creek without an outboard motor.

  Fortunately, good old dirty street fighting was more effective and satisfying. I’d worry about where my freaking trump card was hiding later.

  A quick duck of one blow had the guy to my left swearing as his fist kissed the wall, but he wasn’t down, and the other bonehead was closing in. Ham was waiting patiently for his turn, in the event a miracle happened and Beelzie and I kicked four men’s asses between us.

  I still held the knife. It felt right in my hand, which meant I still remembered how to use it. But did I really want to prick any of these pricks with it?

  While the guy with the brick-bitten hand swore, his partner scooped up the battered remains of a tailpipe and swung it like a baseball bat at my head. I threw up an arm to deflect it. If magic had followed me across from the printed page, the dude’d slam back against solid brick at a crippling speed. If the magic hadn’t come along as part of my package deal... well, then, this was going to hurt like hell.

  No magic sparkled into being, but the strike never came. The guy froze in mid-swing, and his mouth opened in a snarled war cry that warbled strangely, strung out in time.

  It wasn’t just the one attacker suspended in motion. Beelzebub was hanging in the air, having finished savaging one hood and turned to chew up the Ham himself. The man with the newly crushed hand had his other out, ready to claw my face, and the fellow I’d attempted to slam dunk into the dumpster had been caught awkwardly scrambling to his feet. Even the few people hustling by on the opposite side of the street were caught in mid-motion.

  The only things moving were the three garishly dressed Sukis and me.

  I swear, in twenty volumes of The Raven Tales, I’ve never been able to manipulate space and time, much less do it selectively.

  The fox-tailed Suki reached the alley first. She yanked the tailpipe from the goon’s hand and smashed it up the side of his unmoving head, then in a smooth motion spun it around and rammed its end into the guy on my left. Deer Woman swept Beelzie out of the air, rammed an elbow hard into Ham’s midriff, then stomped on his foot for good measure. The man on the ground got a kick in the ribs. Meanwhile, the Suki with catlike features grabbed the hair of the guy next to the dumpster and rang his chimes against it again.