Eleanor brushed past me as she launched herself out of the booth and put herself between me and Ramon. I heard her yelling at him and at others I couldn’t see yet. The accustomed authority in her voice was holding them back, but I didn’t know for how long. I knuckled savagely at my tearing eyes, and finally my sight returned. My face still stung painfully, but I ignored it. All the bodyguards had left their tables to form a pack behind Ramon. They scented blood in the water and a chance to bring down the infamous John Taylor. And, of course, a chance to look like real men in front of their women. If they could take down John Taylor, they could name their own prices in the future.
They were jostling each other uneasily for position, all eager for the chance to get a crack at me, but not that eager to be the first. They had no weapons, but they all looked happy at the chance of a little excitement, of handing out a vicious beating to an upstart who didn’t know his place. I straightened up and glared at them, and a few actually fell back rather than face my gaze. Ramon flinched, bloody tear marks still drying on his face. Then he quickly got his confidence back as he realised I couldn’t stare him down again. Eleanor was still standing between me and the pack, hands on hips and head held high as she berated them all impartially.
“This man is my guest! He has my protection and my father’s! And I will talk with whoever I damn well feel like, Ramon!”
“He shouldn’t be here,” said Ramon, his voice thick with the anticipation of violence. “He doesn’t belong here.”
“Neither do you,” Eleanor said coldly. “But I brought you in anyway. Though God knows what I ever thought I saw in you. Get out, Ramon. It’s over. And don’t you dare make a fuss, or I won’t write you a reference.”
“Just like that?” said Ramon. “Just like all the others? No…I don’t think so. I think I’ll leave you a little something to remember me by.” He slapped her hard across the face. Eleanor stumbled backwards, one hand pressed to her reddened cheek. Ramon smiled. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Now stay out of my way. You don’t want to get blood on your new dress.” He turned his cold gaze back to me. “Come on, boys, it’s fun time.”
While he was still talking, I stepped forward and kneed him in the groin. He made a sick, breathless sound and folded over, so I rabbit-punched him on the back of the neck to help him on his way to the floor. The pack of bodyguards surged forward, shouting angrily, and they were all over me. Punches came at me from every direction at once, and I all I could do was get my head down and my shoulders up and take it, riding out the blows as best I could and concentrating on staying on my feet. If I went down, they’d all take turns putting the boot in, and I wouldn’t get up from that. I didn’t think they’d deliberately kill me, for fear of incurring the Griffin’s anger, but accidents have been known to happen when the blood’s up.
Luckily they weren’t used to fighting in a group. Body-guarding is more about protecting the client, and one-on-one intimidation. They got in each other’s way in their eagerness to get at me, and they were too eager to get their own blows in to think of co-operating. I concentrated on getting my hands into my coat-pockets. I keep all kinds of useful things there. The bodyguards hit and kicked me, but I didn’t go down. People (and others) have been trying to kill me ever since I was a child, and I’m still here.
I pulled a whizz-bang out of my left pocket and threw it onto the floor. It exploded in a burst of brilliant light, and the bodyguards fell back, cursing and blinking furiously. Which gave me all the time I needed to draw a small brown human bone out of my right pocket and show it to the bodyguards. They all stood very still, and I grinned nastily.
“That’s right, boys. This is a pointing bone. All I have to do is point and say the Word, and whoever I’m pointing it at will be going home in a coffin. So pick up what’s left of Ramon, and get the hell out of my sight.”
“You’re bluffing,” said one of the bodyguards, but he didn’t sound as though he meant it.
“Don’t be an idiot,” said the man beside him. “That’s John bloody Taylor. He doesn’t need to bluff.”
They picked up Ramon and hauled him out of the Tea Room. All the ladies watched in silence, then looked back at me. A few looked like they would have liked to applaud. I turned my back on the room, and Eleanor helped me sit down in the private booth again. I sat down hard, breathing heavily. I hurt pretty much everywhere. Taking a beating gets harder as you get older. At least I hadn’t lost any teeth this time. I hate that. I put the bone away and looked at Eleanor.
“Thanks for standing up for me.”
“I absolutely hate and loathe machismo,” she said.
“But you were pretty impressive there. Was that a genuine aboriginal pointing bone? I always understood the real thing is pretty hard to find.”
“They are,” I said.
“Then you were bluffing?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll never tell.”
“Your face was badly burned,” she said, studying me closely. “I saw it. But now all the burns are gone. And anyone else would have needed an ambulance after a beating like that. But not you. Do you really have werewolf blood in you, Mr. Taylor?”
“Something like that,” I said. “And it’s John, remember? Now, where were we…Ah yes, Melissa. Tell me about Melissa, Eleanor.”
I’ll never know what she might have said then, because we were interrupted again. This time by an oversized goon squeezed into a bright red messenger’s outfit, complete with gold braid. He didn’t look at all comfortable in it and squirmed surreptitiously as he bowed jerkily to Eleanor, ignoring me. He then made a big deal of presenting her with a sealed envelope on a silver platter. There was no name on the envelope. Eleanor picked it up and looked at the messenger.
“Bearer waits,” he said, in a rough and distinctly unmessenger-like tone. “There’s a car outside.”
Eleanor ripped open the envelope and studied the single sheet of paper within. I leaned forward, but all I could make out was a handwritten message by someone who had clearly never even heard of penmanship.
“Oh how dreary,” she said, dropping the message onto the table like a dead fish. “It seems my dear Marcel has got himself in trouble again. You know he gambles? Of course you do. Everybody knows. I don’t know why he’s so keen on it; he’s never been any good. All the reputable houses won’t let him through their doors these days, not since Daddy made it very clear that he wouldn’t underwrite Marcel’s debts anymore. I really thought that might knock some sense into him, but I should have known better. It seems Marcel has been sneaking off to some of the nastier little clubs, where they’ll let absolutely anybody in, and running up his debts there. And while these…people are smart enough to realise they can’t dun my father for Marcel’s losses, they do seem to think they can pressure me.”
“What do they want?” I said, ignoring the messenger goon.
“Apparently, if I don’t go with the messenger right now, in his no-doubt-pokey little car, to discuss the repayment of Marcel’s debts, they’ll send my husband back to me one small piece at a time until I do. He won’t die. He’s immortal now, like me, but that just means his suffering could be infinitely extended…It’s such a bother, but I’d better go.”
“That might not be entirely wise,” I said carefully.
“Then they’d have two hostages with which to extort money from your father. And while he wouldn’t pay up for Marcel, he would for you.”
“They wouldn’t dare threaten me! Would they?”
“Look at the state of the thing they sent as a messenger,” I said. “These people don’t impress me as being a particularly up-market operation.”
“I have to go,” said Eleanor. “He’s my husband.”
“Then I’d better go with you,” I said. “I have some experience in dealing with these sorts of people.”
“Of course,” said Eleanor. “They’re from your world, aren’t they? Very well. Stick around and look menacing, and try not to get in my way while I negotiate.”