I smiled. “We’re going to touch base with the local freaks.”
4
Now, I don’t necessarily consider the word “freak” a pejorative, not when it was something that bound so many of us in the arcane underground together. The supernatural species are numerous and terrifying, but there’s a certain mutual understanding there, a kind of secret handshake that comes with having to live a life that’s hidden from humanity.
I had the privilege of passing for human, and so did Gil, but even we had huge aspects of our existence that simply could not be witnessed by the normals. I couldn’t imagine how much harder things could be for a troll. Barring some specific instances, we freaks stuck together because we knew how different it was to be different. One of those instances is vampires and werewolves not totally getting along all that well, but let’s not get into that just now.
Here’s something slightly more interesting. Confession time. This wasn’t our first trip to Silveropolis. Gil and I, at least, had visited once before. It was also for business, mind you, and it involved a full moon, which meant that I was left with an incredibly unenviable task.
“Remember?” I said, nudging him in the ribs as we walked up to a frankly adorable little building, just a stone’s throw from the town’s plaza. “Remember when I had to chain you to some furniture before you tried to bite my head off?”
He scratched the back of his head, sulking. “I said I was sorry.”
Asher looked between us, frowning, confused. “Wait up. I thought you could control when you transformed. It’s like your thing. It’s what makes you different.”
Gil scoffed. “Different? Try unnatural, at least in the eyes of other werewolves. Yeah, I’ve trained that part up. But a full moon comes and you don’t have a choice but to go full dog.”
Ah, yes. Going full dog was how Gil liked to describe his transformation, when his skin sprouted fur as black and glossy as his beard and hair, when his nails transformed into horrible talons. But that’s not the visual you want just now. The bed and breakfast? Cute as all hell. Two stories of adorable. The swing on the porch with its weathered wood and peeling paint, the flowers under the windows with their overgrown foliage and untrimmed curlicues of tendrils, and a wooden sign that swung gently in the breeze. A single crescent moon was carved into it, the emblem of the Twilight Tavern.
I stepped in first, followed by Gil, and then Asher. A tingling sensation passed over me, which oddly reminded me of walking through one of those airport scanners, or even weirder, a rotating glass door. I made sure to check for Asher’s reaction. He wrinkled his nose, staring down at his hands. He curled his fingers, then looked panicked.
“What the hell was that?” he said.
“Relax. It’s normal.” I gestured at the doorway. “There’s a dampening field starting from the entrance. No magic works in here.”
That was part of the point of the Twilight Tavern, after all. It was designated as neutral ground for supernaturals to meet, reducing, if not eliminating the possibility of arcane foul play. Werewolf transformations, however, being nonmagical, could not be nullified, which meant a huge honking bill for room damages when we finally checked out that one time.
Inside, the Twilight Tavern was just as rustic and charming. Stray knick-knacks festooned the shelves lining the walls, potted plants dotting the entrance hallway. It was so cozy that I very nearly forgot how we were there to ask about some dead bodies who had their faces eaten off.
An enormous woman stood behind the front desk, evidently alerted and excited by the appearance of actual guests. Enormous isn’t meant as a pejorative here, either – there was a reason she was a giantess, larger than life in every sense. Her blonde hair was coiled into perfect braids, her blouse and skirt making her look right at home in a beer garden, or Oktoberfest. She craned her neck to get a better look at us, her eyes going wide. I gave her a wave.
“Helga,” I said, smiling. “Lovely to see you again, sweetheart.”
Helga vaulted over the counter, a frightening yet thoroughly impressive feat, considering she could have punched a hole in the ceiling with her head. The ground faintly rumbled when she landed, then again when she stampeded towards me. Thundered. In my peripheral vision, Gil and Asher were moving well enough away from me. Helga opened her arms, and I decided that the sight of her ample bosom would be my final delight before she crushed me to death. She lifted me off my feet, pressing the air out of me in a bear-like embrace.
“Sterling,” she cooed. “Oh, our lovely little vampire, returned to visit his dear Helga.”
I gasped, struggling to get a word out, and struggling to look pleased to see her while simultaneously hoping not to have my bones splintered into tiny pieces. She set me down gently, then backed away, abashed. I choked down a gulp of air. Ah. The breath of unlife.
“Oh, oh my goodness. I do forget my own strength.”
“It’s okay,” I wheezed. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Helga was a very attractive woman, and while things never really quite worked out for us, she did end up becoming a good friend. A cool chick, and certainly someone we could count on for information, if not for backup in a bareknuckle fistfight.
“And I remember you as well,” she said, nodding at Gil. “It’s good to see you, Gilberto.”
He smiled, happy to be recognized. Asher kept his distance, but charm came naturally to him anyway. “And I’m Asher.”
“Wonderful to meet you. How can Helga help you boys tonight?”
“We’ve got a few questions about some recent developments in town,” Gil said.
She nodded gravely. “Yes, yes. We’ve heard much of this. I really shouldn’t speak too much on the matter. I can’t imagine how my employer might react to me discussing the – the incidents.”
“Except that he’s not around, is he?” I rubbed my chin, stroking a nonexistent beard and grinning. “How is the old coot, anyway?”
She drew herself up, bristling, which is impressive to see on a seven-foot woman. “My employer is currently away on business. He is attending to many very important things.”