Autumn Bones

Four

As soon as the satyr consented to his containment, I called Stefan.

The head ghoul and his posse entered the nightclub with si- lent efficiency, spreading out to circle the perimeter just as the orgiasts were emerging from their collective stupor.

From a ghoulish perspective, it must have been a freaking smorgasbord of emotions: lust, chagrin, confusion, shock, outrage . . . I couldn’t even begin to imagine. Okay, that’s another lie. Actually, I could. It was just better if I didn’t.

The ghouls’ glittering eyes were half-closed in the dim light as they siphoned off a measure of every emotion, rendering the balance bearable.

As for the satyr, his eyes were half-lidded, too, and there was a faint smile on his lips as he stood in the ring of lime-green salt and continued to stroke himself with lazy pleasure. I’d always thought satyrs were sort of half goat, half man, but this guy was more or less human in form, the less being the tufted ears that poked out of his hair and the long, luxuriant horsehair tail that jutted out above his buttocks.

Beneath my skirt, my far more modest tail gave a sympathetic twitch. You had to give the guy credit for just putting it out there. Like, literally out there. In a way, I envied him. His urge to rut was tied to the natural world. Oh sure, giving in to it might touch off an inadvertent orgy, but at least it didn’t threaten to blow a hole in the Inviolate Wall.

I guess there might be something ironic in the idea of a prime mover in the drive toward life ending up in a gay nightclub, but I suspect that the satyr was simply drawn toward the biggest locus of desire in town. I’d felt the effect of the funk, and although fertility and procreation might be by-products, that wasn’t what it was about. Even in containment, the satyr radiated a joyful vitality, a vibrant celebration of sex for the sake of sex, for the sheer, unmitigated, nasty, down-and-dirty pleasure of it.

Which I had been very close to experiencing with Cody Fairfax.

Now that I was no longer in crisis mode, that particular fact struck home forcefully, along with a very vivid physical memory of the encounter. Damn. I could feel the bow I’d tied around my mental box of lust loosening.

“Daisy.” Stefan appeared before me, his expression neutral. “If you wish, I can assist you.”

“No.” Wrapping my arms around myself, I shook my head. “I mean, thanks, I appreciate it. But I don’t want you rummaging around in my mind right now.”

Stefan inclined his head. “As you will.” He hesitated. “Do you expect the lamia to arrive soon? I fear that neither the control of my men nor the patience of the satyr is limitless.”

“She should be here any minute. And maybe you shouldn’t hire teenaged boys,” I added pointedly, glancing at the blond kid I’d spotted earlier. “Or induct them into your posse or whatever you call it.”

“Ah.” He followed my gaze. “You took notice of my new lieutenant. Cooper is more than two hundred years old,” he continued conversationally. “He was hanged in the Irish Rebellion of 1798.”

I swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“Yes. On the scaffold, he dared God to send him to hell so that he might continue fighting.”

“I take it God declined?” I said.

“No.” Stefan arched one eyebrow. “The Lord accepted his offer. Hell declined to honor it. Since then, Cooper has been Outcast.”

Okay, see what I mean about ghouls? It’s just hard to get your head around the circumstances of their existence. And no, for the record, I had no idea why Stefan was numbered among the Outcast. Whatever he’d done to get himself cast out by heaven and hell alike, I hadn’t the faintest idea.

Thankfully, I was spared the need for further speculation, not to mention the threat of ravening ghouls and a released satyr, by Lurine’s arrival.

I’d assumed that for the sake of discretion, she would wait outside in her Town Car while we brought the satyr to her—although exactly how that was to be accomplished, I hadn’t thought through.

Anyway, I was wrong. Lurine sauntered into the nightclub, pausing to survey the aftermath of the orgy and its shell-shocked participants. She’d pulled out all the stops, wearing a shiny black latex dress that clung to her curves, stretching and undulating with every movement. Tacky, yes, but so magnificently tacky that it wasn’t. And it was offset by a classic chignon, oversize sunglasses, and crimson lipstick.

There was a collective indrawn breath as Lurine sashayed across the floor, followed by a murmur of speculation. As you might guess, Lurine Hollister was a huge icon in the gay community.

“Hey, cupcake,” she greeted me absently, adjusting her sunglasses to peer over them at the satyr. “Ooh, he’s quite the specimen, isn’t he?”

I gestured feebly around the nightclub, indicating the audience. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, here?”

Lurine gave me an affectionate look. “Oh, don’t worry, they’ll think half of what they saw and did tonight was a hallucination. Including me.” Her eyes widened slightly as she considered me. “You’re all riled up, aren’t you, baby girl?” She smiled. “Want to come home and watch?”

“No!”

She laughed.

Okay, see, here’s the thing. I would trust Lurine with my life, but she is a predator, and seduction is her method. Well, one of her methods. For her, flirting is just a way of keeping her hunting instincts honed. Which I wouldn’t mind, except I actually do find Lurine in her true form incredibly hot, which she knows. I like to think of my tastes as pretty conventional, but thanks to my infernal heritage, there’s a perverse streak in there that crops up in unexpected ways.

“My lady Hollister,” Stefan interjected, his voice tense, “it would be best for all involved if you do not dally here.”

They exchanged glances. Fraught, fraught glances. Stefan’s pupils zoomed and glittered. Lurine pursed her crimson lips. “Hmm, you’re close to losing control, aren’t you? That could be interesting.”

He looked involuntarily in my direction; and yep, definitely close. His irises were an icy rim around his pupils and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his ghoul-pale brow. When I’d let Stefan drain my anger in an emergency situation, he’d been in perfect control and I’d felt a deep well of stillness within him. This was the flip side of the coin, a profound, avid, and complex hunger.

And it was directed at me and my beribboned-and-bowed box of desire.

“Or maybe not.” All the teasing went out of Lurine’s voice, giving way to protective pragmatism. “Let’s get down to business. You’re coming home with me,” she said to the satyr. “Got it?”

A wide grin spread across the satyr’s face. Placing his hands on his hips, he nodded enthusiastically, giving his pelvis a little thrust for emphasis. Kind of like he was offering up the world’s most startling door prize. And now that I thought about it, he did look like some of the figures I’d seen cavorting on Greek pottery in my favorite teacher Mr. Leary’s Myth & Lit class back in high school.

Another, more alarming thought struck me. “Ah . . . Lurine?” My fingers tightened on dauda-dagr’s hilt as I glanced around the club where the stunned orgiasts were just beginning to retrieve their scattered clothing. “What happens when the circle’s broken? Is it going to start all over again?”

“No, honey,” she said complacently. “Not as long as I keep a firm grip on him. Are you ready?”

The satyr nodded even more vigorously, his shaggy pointed beard bobbing.

With the expertise of an Indy 500 race-car driver maneuvering a gearshift, Lurine reached out to grasp his ginormous shaft with one hand, tugging him out of the salt circle. “All right, then. Let’s get you home, Mr. Happy.”

I held my breath, but Lurine was telling the truth. Nothing happened as she led the satyr out of the nightclub. He trotted happily behind her, his horse-tail switching with anticipation.

I followed them to the door. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Of course.” Lurine shot me an amused look before settling her sunglasses into place with her free hand. “I can absorb a lot of vitality, cupcake. Just get those goddamn ghouls out of here before they start ravening. And stay out of trouble for a few days, will you?” She glanced down at her throbbing door prize. “I’m going to be busy.”

“Deal,” I said gratefully. “Thanks, Lurine.”

She blew me a kiss. “Go home and take a cold shower.”

I watched Lurine lead the satyr into the parking lot, where her unflappable driver stood waiting to open the door to the Town Car. They disappeared into its depths. I couldn’t help but think about it, at least a little bit. Lurine would wait to get him home before she shifted, probably into the swimming pool, wrapping him in those shimmering, rainbow-hued serpent coils. . . .

“Daisy.” Stefan’s taut voice made me jump. “The situation appears to be under control. Your intervention was timely, and I do not sense that anyone here sustained great harm tonight. But I think it best we leave now.”

Oh, right. I took one look at him and made a shooing gesture. “Go, go! And, Stefan . . . um, thanks. I appreciate it.”

With an obvious effort, he gave me one of his courtly nods. “You did well, Hel’s liaison. I thank you for your trust.”

Stefan beckoned, and one by one, his ghouls trooped past me and out the door, clad in denim and leather. His two-hundred-year-old teenaged lieutenant, the one he’d called Cooper, was the last to pass. He gave me a broad wink with one glittering eye, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction with an engaging, crooked grin. He had a narrow face with a spray of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

Hell, I hadn’t even known there was an Irish Rebellion of 1798.

For the next forty-five minutes or so, Cody and I dealt with the aftermath, Cody having sent a shell-shocked Bart Mallick back out on patrol, which may or may not have been a good idea.

An EMS vehicle sat in the parking lot. A few of the participants got themselves checked out for minor cuts and bruises, but as Stefan had said, no one seemed to have been seriously injured. Most were content to gather their clothes and slink into the darkness. No one was especially eager to give a statement, which was fine, since we weren’t especially eager to take one. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t like we were going to be charging anyone with public indecency. Obviously, Rainbow’s End would be closing early this Friday.

Okay, so, crisis averted.

That left the unspoken.

After the last patron had departed, I glanced sidelong at Cody. “So . . . about what happened between us?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Nothing happened, Daisy.”

“About what almost happened?”

He lifted his head, phosphorescent green flashing behind his eyes. “What about it?”

I looked away. “Nothing. It’s just . . . you know genuine desire can’t be compelled, right?”

Cody was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Daisy, I never said I didn’t find you attractive. But attraction’s easy.” He gestured toward the nightclub. “You saw what happened in there. Most of those people were strangers. And I have an obligation to my own clan, to my own people. You . . . you’re not a potential mate. You know that. And I care about you too much to mislead you, okay?”

My eyes stung. Goddamn werewolves.

“Daise?”

My phone rang. I fished it out of the pocket of my skirt. It was Sinclair. I let the call go to voice mail and then listened to it. “Hey, girl!” He sounded affectionate, only a little worried. “Hope everything’s okay. Stop by, all right?”

Cody may have wanted me, but he didn’t want to want me. And that made all the difference in the world.

“The fake Jamaican?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. Well, too bad.

“Ha ha.” I put my phone away. “Look, if we’re done here, I have a date to get back to.”

“After this?” Cody raised his brows. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

No, of course it wasn’t. I’d just been dowsed with satyr-funk and had a brief, intense make-out session with my lifelong crush, who was standing in the parking lot eyeing me skeptically, his uniform shirt half undone because I’d torn off buttons when I ripped it open. “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” I said, walking past him. “I’ll let the manager know we’re leaving.”

“Daisy!”

“What?” I turned around to glare at Cody.

“Just . . . be careful, okay?” He gave me a wry smile, resting his hands on his utility belt. “Because I know when I get off duty, I’m going to go home and kill something.”

Sure, that’s healthy. And yet the thought of Cody hunting in wolf form gave me a shiver. Go figure. “Duly noted.”

Inside the nightclub, the staff were making a cursory effort to clean up. Now that the place was empty, you could see how trashed it was. There were spilled drinks, crushed cups, and broken glass everywhere, abandoned flip-flops, discarded boxers, briefs, and panties that no one had wanted to reclaim.

The manager, Terry Miller, was still in a state of shock. He nodded absently when I told him we were leaving. “I just don’t understand what happened,” he murmured. “What am I going to tell the owners?”

I patted his arm. “Tell them the truth. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could do about it.”

He turned his stricken gaze to me. “But what was it?”

“A satyr in rut,” I said patiently. I’d already explained it to him twice, but apparently Lurine was right. Most mundane humans’ memories were sketchy about the events of the night. “Big naked guy?”

“Right.” He sounded uncertain. “What if there are lawsuits? Are we liable?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I doubt it. You can’t insure against eldritch influence, can you?”

“Nooo . . .”

See, that’s the problem with paranormal tourism. Tourists flock to Pemkowet expecting sparkly fairies and frolicking naiads, or maybe the covert thrill of glimpsing a vampire or a ghoul, but the fact is it can be downright dangerous here. And there’s no way to anticipate or control a wild card like a rutting satyr. Although I bet I was going to get an earful about it from Amanda Brooks at the Pemkowet Visitors Bureau anyway once the story—or at least the rumors about the story—got around.

I gave Terry the manager another pat on the arm. “Look, I’ve got to go. Good luck. Officer Fairfax and I will give Chief Bryant a full report. If the owners give you a hard time, have them call the chief.”

“Okay.” That seemed to make him feel a bit better.

I ducked into the ladies’ room to wash up before I left, scrubbing my hands and face and basically as much bare skin as I could reach with soap and cold water. I felt a lot cleaner when I was done, but the effects of the funk lingered. In the mirror, my eyes looked dilated and fever-bright.

Outside, the parking lot was mostly empty. I got into my Honda Civic, knowing I should go home.

Go home, and take a cold shower like Lurine had told me. Pour myself a drink, feed the cat, curl up on the couch, and listen to someone like Billie Holiday singing plaintive songs of heartbreak, not down-and-dirty blues.

My phone buzzed. Glancing at it, I saw it was a text from Sinclair. WHERE U AT GIRL? :)

It was the smiley face that got me. I really, really didn’t want to go home alone right now.

So I drove to Sinclair’s.