Page 30

“Okay, how did I miss this?” I asked, after Louis-Cesare helped me out of the limo.

It looked like there was already stratification taking place in the new, floating city. The rusted-out buses we’d passed earlier were nowhere to be seen, nor were there any tire buffer zones. Instead, the limo pulled smoothly into a berth beside what reminded me of a dockside village, only there was no water. It floated on air instead, high above the ruined cityscape, like a manmade island complete with greenery and a central fountain.

The buildings were wood, I guessed because it was lighter and quicker to build, but they weren’t houses. The ones I could see from the outskirts looked like nightclubs, bars and restaurants, with a few shops littered in between. There was a movie theatre, a couple of dueling karaoke bars blasting waves of sound back and forth, and even a miniature night market down the center.

It was a floating entertainment complex, I realized, and appeared to have a large clientele.

The limo was secured by a little gate in back of the berth, and we exited straight onto one of the wooden sidewalks that connected the buildings. They were broad and a little bouncy, but perfectly walkable. On either side, there were shrubs in pots and squares of grass in planters, on what, now that I looked at it more closely, did seem to be a base of old tires. But they were covered by the sidewalks and greenery and thus almost invisible.

“How do you keep from floating off?” I asked our guide, whose name—I shit you not—was Elvis.

“Engines underneath. Enough to move us about, when we need to.”

“Why would you need to do that?”

“Hot spots,” he said, which didn’t tell me anything, and he strode away toward a large building before I could ask.

It was nothing special on the outside, not that any of the buildings were. There hadn’t been a lot of time for decoration, I guessed, or even painting. The bare wood had mostly been left the way it was, except for a few signs and some ads rippling across the surface of the boards.

In this case, the ads had gotten an upgrade, with the two scantily clad, cartoon cuties who hedged the door encased in large gold frames with solid backgrounds, giving them the look of paintings. Except that these paintings moved: dancing, gyrating and blowing kisses, I guess to entice visitors. Fun, I thought—right before one spotted Louis-Cesare.

A 2-D leg immediately emerged from the wall, stepping down onto the sidewalk in a six-inch, bright red, platform heel. A wiggle and a grunt later, and the rest of the body followed, clad in a red, floral pattered cheongsam, which barely managed to contain the unlikely curves within. The body was still 2-D for a second, but then she shivered all over and fluffed out to full size.

And full-size was no joke, because she was wasn’t Chinese, but rather a svelte blonde Valkyrie type who latched onto Louis-Cesare’s arm with a hand tipped in two-inch long, bright red nails.

“Back on the wall, Svetlana,” Elvis said, sounding annoyed.

Svetlana ignored him. “Aren’t you a handsome one?” she purred at my hubby. “And so tall. I love a tall man—”

“Did I stutter?” Elvis demanded.

She pouted at him. “I’m bored! All I ever get to do out here is wave at people. I want to go back inside—”

“You can go back inside when it’s your turn.”

“Hey, cutie.” A pair of jet-black nails latched onto Louis-Cesare’s other arm. “Well, aren’t you the one?”

I did a double take, both because the voice was low and husky enough to be a man’s, and because—

“Shit!” I said, stepping back a pace. The newbie was a Betty Boop clone, which was not fun in person. Not at all.

She’d looked kind of adorable on the wall, where I’d have assumed, if I’d had time to assume anything, that she was advertising some sort of cosplay. But no. The head was hugely oversized, and the eyes were massive and glassy and staring. The body was tiny by comparison, ludicrously so, and completely black and white except for a little gray shading here and there.

“You can ask for me at the desk,” she told Louis-Cesare huskily, who was just standing there, appearing vaguely stunned. “They put me out here, but if you ask—”

“Back on the wall!” Elvis said, sounding pissed.

And then he said something else, but I didn’t hear him.

“Auuuggghhhh!” I screamed, when something jumped down from the roof and knocked me to the ground. I was back on my feet in a second, and pulling a gun—

On a giant pair of tits.

I stared at them for a moment, speechless. The tits had legs, encased in black fishnets and ending in red stilettos. They did not have anything else. They were just a fully realistic, hugely oversized, pair of boobs that had just pushed me back to the ground and were now trying to motorboat me.

Or maybe that was the other way around. I didn’t know, because it’s kind of hard to think straight when you’re about to be crushed by the Grand Tetons up there. Louis-Cesare pulled me out from under before my brain completely broke, and all of us ran into the vestibule of the building, with Elvis slamming the door behind us and calling for back up on a radio.

I didn’t know what he was saying, but a couple of mages hauled ass past us a moment later, one of them throwing a spell before the door was even fully open. I hugged the wall and stared at Louis-Cesare, who stared back. After a moment, I cleared my throat.

“Gonna ask for her at the desk?”

“You think you’re funny . . .” he said, looking shaken.

“Not at the moment,” I said fervently. “What the f—”

“Sorry about that,” Elvis said, as what sounded like a battle started up outside. “They get like that sometimes. Too much magic floating about.”

He waved a hand around his head.

I just looked at him.

“This way,” he said, after an awkward silence.

We went that way. And discovered that the vestibule let out into a smoky club with a split personality. Like, really split.

On the one hand, the club’s basic features were surprisingly upscale. There were discreet, red leather booths around dimly lit tables, a modernistic chandelier, and an extensive bar, where tuxedo clad waiters were getting drinks for the well-dressed clientele. It looked like a cross between an upscale gentleman’s club and an expensive restaurant.

On the other hand, there was the artwork, in big, golden frames stuck anywhere that had enough wall space. The cuties in here were as active as the ones outside, dancing, gyrating and posing inside their frames, until somebody expressed an interest. And then the “art” stepped out of its painting, and walked off with a customer.

But at least, other than for a few anime types, they looked pretty much like real women, if real women had been designed by the Mattel Company. But that did not make it any better. If anything, it was somehow worse, only I wasn’t exactly sure how. But I was feeling less than comfortable as we were led across the room to a booth in the far corner, where a friend was waiting.

“Hey, short stuff.” A Chinese vamp who threatened to make Louis-Cesare look petite grinned up at me with a cutie pie on either knee. “I’d rise, but as you can see . . .”

What I could see that the girls were either more fakes, or else they’d gotten extensive plastic surgery with Jessica Rabbit in mind. Or maybe one of the anime girls, since they were both Chinese. They could have been twins, except that one had a blue cheongsam and a short, blonde bob, and the other a slinky silver cocktail dress that Radu would have loved and a fall of long, straight black hair.

“Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?” Zheng asked, apparently reading my mind.

I looked down to see that I was still clutching my .44. I put it away but didn’t apologize. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot the tits,” I told him.

“That would be a shame,” he agreed. “They’re our mascot.”

And then he did get up, dumping the cuties and hugging me. “How the fuck you been, anyway?”

“Weird.”

He pulled back and grinned. “Know the feeling.” His eyes went to my receding hair line. “New style?”

“Decided to punk out.”

“It suits you.” He shook Louis-Cesare’s hand, and gestured at the booth. “Sit down, sit down. These two were just leaving.”

The girls took the hint, slinking off to charm some other table, and we slid into their place. “What the hell?” I asked, looking after them.

Zheng grinned at me some more. He was looking prosperous, in a dark gray suit that managed to camouflage most of the muscles, and was jazzed up by a discreet, paler gray pinstripe. He had a gold watch on one wrist, a matching ring on the other hand, and a tie tack with a ruby the size of my thumbnail.

Unlike his city, he seemed to be doing okay these days.

His attire, which matched the swanky clothing of the rest of the room, made me feel slightly out of place in my black jeans, matching T-shirt and leather jacket. But at least Louis-Cesare looked nice. He wasn’t dressed up—he rarely was if not at court—and only had on a dark blue button up with equally dark jeans. But, somehow, on him it matched any suit in the room, bringing out the red in his hair and the sapphire in his eyes.

Or maybe that was just me.

“Got a nice set up, Lily does,” Zheng was saying, when I tore my attention away from my husband. “And she thought it up all by herself, I’m ashamed to say. Can’t believe I missed that one.”

“Lily?”

“The proprietor. She’ll be along eventually.”

“And what set up, exactly, does she have?” Louis-Cesare asked, because he seemed as confused as me.

“Exactly what it looks like.” Zheng took a drink from the heavy crystal glass in front of him, then waved it around. “A lot of people vacated the area after the big boom, including most of the girls. Lily, who is—or was—a working girl herself, soon had too much work to handle. So, she got this idea . . .”

“To make herself some help?” Louis-Cesare asked, checking out the completely unbelievable proportions on the cigarette girl who’d just wiggled by.

Zheng nodded. “It started with these cards she had made up, business type things. Used to put them in the phone booths around the city, in shops, anywhere they’d let her. For advertising, you know.”

I kicked my husband, who was still watching the cigarette girl. She had a black spangled, Playboy-Club-without-the-ears outfit that did tend to draw the eye, especially from the back. Which was no excuse, damn it!

“I didn’t think you were the jealous type,” Louis-Cesare murmured, as a waiter came by to take our order.

“I’m not. And I was, if wouldn’t be here. They’re not real.”

“Oh, they’re real enough,” Zheng said. “That’s the beauty of it.”

I eyed the figure on a voluptuous redhead in a glittery gold gown who was slinking our way. “No way in hell.”

He laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean flesh and blood real. I meant personality wise. Well, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

He nodded. “Those business cards contained a photo of Lily in a provocative pose, to lure in customers. It was animated so it’d gyrate around and catch your eye. But the mage she got to enchant them was a friend, and wanted hers to stand out. When he did the spell for the ‘toon, he added a bit more oopmf than strictly necessary, and some of her personality got imbedded along with her looks.”

“Fascinating,” Louis-Cesare said, now also watching the redhead.

“Oh, that wasn’t the fascinating part. One of her cards was caught in the cross fire during the battle, and somehow got transferred to a mage as a temporary tattoo. He and I ended up joining forces—you remember him,” he added, looking at me, because I’d crossed paths with the man briefly.

“Typical war mage; completely nuts,” I told Louis-Cesare, which wasn’t entirely true—the typical part, not the crazy—but I didn’t want to get into all of that now.

“He was that,” Zheng agreed. “And—well, let’s just say that the tattooed version of Lily turned out to be a true asset. Enough that I decided to meet the real woman, and we joined forces.”

“Joined forces as in . . .”

He grinned. He seemed to be in a good mood today. “That, too. But mainly, the family needed a new line of work now that we’re legit, and she needed protection in these difficult times. And the magic to try out the idea she came up with after I told her how we ‘met’.”

“And the personalities?” I asked, as the redhead paused by a nearby table to light a man’s cigarette.

Zheng shrugged. “She talked a few of her friends into lending their characteristics to the new scheme, in return for a cut of the take. So far, it’s been very lucrative.”

“How?” Louis-Cesare asked, still watching the redhead.

I really couldn’t blame him, this time. The others we’d met had been well into uncanny valley territory, with even the more realistic having improbable curves and weird, glassy eyes. They looked like what they were: sex dolls that could walk around. But this one . . . could have fooled me.

That probably wasn’t true for Louis-Cesare, because there was no blood flowing in the veins she didn’t have and no heart beating in that ample chest, something that a vampire would detect immediately. But there was a dewy freshness to the skin and a glossiness to the hair, which wasn’t the flat, dyed red of several others in the room, but a rich flow with hints of brown and gold. And her eyes—her eyes were perfect.

“Would you like some company?” she asked me, smiling, and bending down enough that I was able to see the striations of yellow and a dot of brown in the otherwise clear blue of her iris. She had a tiny mole on her left temple, like a beauty mark. And thick, dark eyelashes that were a little uneven, like a real person’s.

And, suddenly, I wasn’t sure anymore.

“Is she?” I asked Louis-Cesare, who was looking at her with concern.

He shook his head.

“No, thanks,” I said, and she gracefully moved on to the next table.

“You cannot be making a profit,” Louis-Cesare said to Zheng. “The amount of magic such realism must require—the cost would be prohibitive. Especially for so many . . .”

His eyes went around the place, and I could see him getting more and more puzzled, as he did the mental math.

Zheng saw it, too, and his expression changed. “You asking as a friend or . . .”

“Or what?”

“A senator. You are one—”

“As are you.”

“—and maybe you’d like to be one after the war, too.”

It was Louis-Cesare’s expression that changed this time. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that our dear consul is going to want a reason to flush those of us she doesn’t like, but needs for the war, once the fighting is done. Especially ones like me, who she doesn’t trust anyway.”

“You think I would betray you?”

“How should I know?” Zheng sat back, and spread his long arms along the top of the booth. “I don’t know you that well. Short stuff here, well, that’s a different story. Assuming she’s vouching for you?”

“He’s not going to say anything,” I said, impatiently. “You can trust him like you would me.”

“Oh, well, that’s different then.” Zheng paused. “And as long as we’re all friends, I was thinking—”

“Here it comes,” I said, and took the glass the waiter brought me. I hadn’t ordered anything, but Louis-Cesare knew what I liked, and it was a fine old scotch that went down so smoothly that you barely noticed how much it burned.

“—that we all got something in common.”

“Such as?” I asked.

“Such as the fact that the consul doesn’t like any of us. You’re a dhampir, he screwed up, and I’m an outsider who she thinks may be a spy for the East Asian Court.”

“Are you?” Louis-Cesare asked.

It was a little too abrupt for somebody like Zheng, who came from a culture who valued dignity, aka “face”, above all. And who was also a master vamp, none of whom like being challenged, even indirectly. But he didn’t take offense.

A suspiciously good mood, I thought, and drank whiskey.

“I was approached,” he said. “Too bad our dear empress spent hundreds of years knocking me down to size and treating me like a pariah that wasn’t good enough to kiss her little feet—”

“Big feet, according to your old boss,” I put in. Lord Cheung was the other would-be member of the East Asian Court who had ended up on ours instead. He was Zheng-zi’s old master, although they were equals now, both being senators.

“He would know better than me,” Zheng agreed. “At least he got a few trips to court. I was never good enough. And now she’s not good enough for me—unless I need to start kissing up?”

“And why would you do that?” Louis-Cesare asked.

He shrugged. “What you think. We work our tails off, risk our necks, and after the war, when we’ve made plenty of enemies on our dear consul’s behalf . . .”

“She cuts us off,” I said. It was what I’d been assuming, too.

He nodded. “Possibly literally. Call me paranoid, but I’ve been feeling the need for some reassurance, lately.”

“What kind of reassurance?”

“An alliance with clan Basarab.” He shivered suddenly in apparent delight. “Ooh, just the thought makes me all tingly.”

“What kind of alliance—” Louis-Cesare began, before I set down my glass—hard.

“No.”

“No?” Zheng raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even want to hear my proposal?”

“No. Not now, not today. I get my sister back, I get Ray back, then maybe—”

Zheng tilted his head. “Where’d they go?”

I told him.