Page 33 of The Undead

“What?” I asked reflexively. His lips thinned, and a bit of white showed. Teeth.

“I saw you in the parking lot with her after twilight. You looked angry, Mike.” Adam’s voice suddenly dropped several octaves. “I promise you, you haven’t seen me angry yet. Don’t fuck with me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie!” he roared, and slammed a hand into the wooden table in front of me. Glasses trembled unsteadily, nodding like bewildered old men. Patrons turned nervously to look. “Damn you, Itrustedyou!”

“I didn’t go to her! She came to me!” I shouted back, as his lips drew back from canines that gleamed in the dim lights. I was praying that no one could see—that everyone could—he controlled himself with an effort and sat down across from me. The sorority girls hurriedly picked up their purses and moved off. I struggled for sobriety. “Adam, no. She came to look me over, that’s all. I chased her out to the parking lot because I wanted to know more. Nothing else. I don’t even know where she lives.”

As I babbled it out, Adam slowly relaxed. His eyes faded to a dimly flickering maroon, then back to mild brown. He regained a little color, though not much.

“How do you know I’m telling the truth?” I asked blearily. Adam looked at me with a curiously doglike intensity, head cocked just a bit to one ride. His lips moved again, but this time in a slow faint smile.

“Because I can see your pulse beating. I’ve had a lot of experience in knowing the difference between truth and lies.” Another pause, which in another man might have been a pause for a deep breath. “I apologize. That was stupid of me.”

“You do care about her” I said. Adam’s face betrayed nothing. He straightened his head, blinked, and stood up to go. “Adam. Is she human?”

“Yes,” he said softly, not looking back. “Does that comfort you, or make you more worried?”

“Depends on whether or not she’s your next victim.”

Something happened in his face, a memory passing over it like a softening veil. He smiled sadly and shook his head.

“You have the oddest knack for hitting nerves, Michael,” he said, and reached over to put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re also drunk. Let me drive you home.”

He didn’t look surprised when I flinched.

“Okay.” Adam looked around and found the waitress; she responded to the eye contact and made her way toward us. She was no older than the sorority girls, probably a kid on her way through college. Adam pulled a twenty out of his pocket and laid it in her hand. He put another on top of it. “For my friend’s drinks. Don’t give him any more, and call him a cab.”

He put another twenty on top of the first two. Her dark blue eyes widened. She smiled.

“Keep the change,” he told her, low in his throat. She nodded, and darted toward the phones. Adam watched her. I pointed a wavering finger at him.

“You keep your damn fangs to yourself. She’s a good kid. Looksh like Maggie …” I started crying again. Adam shook his head in disgust.

“Sleep it off, Michael. And stay out of trouble.” He lowered his voice. “And stay away from me and Sylvia. If you care anything about your life, or Maggie’s, don’t push me on this. I won’t be pushed.”

His boots didn’t make any sound on the polished tile floor. I swore and lunged clumsily after him, but he faded through the crowd and was gone. The waitress thought highly enough of her tip to steer me out to the cab when it arrived. I gave her a long scholarly discourse on the origins of tequila, which she ignored with pretty good humor, and gave her another tip, a big one. She kissed me on the cheek. Sweet kid.

Prosperous kid, tonight.

I stopped my cab on impulse and bought some roses from a corner vendor; like the vendor, the flowers hadn’t borne the press of rush hour and heat well, but hell, who had. Even drunk as I was, I wanted to fight for my wife, and roses were always a nice start. But only a start.

The roses had thoroughly scented the cab by the time it turned in the driveway. Maggie’s red urban assault vehicle stood on the curb, and a sadly familiar car was parked in her spot. I sat there staring at it for some unfathomable length of time, and the cabbie turned to me and demanded something in an accent so thick I probably wouldn’t have understood him even if I hadn’t been sick-drunk. I poured myself out of the cab.

I must not have made much noise coming in the front door, because the argument didn’t pause as I swung the door shut. The TV was blaring some show that featured heavily dramatic music and sirens wailing, but it didn’t drown out the voices.

“Look, dammit, I’m warning you, you stay away from this or I’ll kick your butt, Maggie! I mean it!”

“You and who else? Get a grip, man. Stay out of my life.”

“Bullshit! Angelo’s case is dead, you got it? No more digging. No way. No fucking way.”

“Get the hell out of my house, Nick! Now!”

“You going to get tough with me?” he taunted.

Maggie’s reply burned the paneling off the walls. I stood there looking stupid, roses wilting in my fist, and staggered into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. Maggie didn’t like to be protected, and this was one man I wasn’t capable of facing off right now.

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