He took down the guy who reached him first and sat on him. Just as the other one was about to take advantage of the situation, another customer tackled the guy, rose, and tucked him under his arm like a football.
“Where do you want this one?” he asked Kurt.
Kurt got up and yanked his guy off the floor by his belt. “You toss that one out the back, and I’ll send this one headfirst out the front door onto the sidewalk.”
The helpful customer simply nodded, carried the stunned fighter to the back exit, opened the door, and tossed him into the alley.
Meanwhile, Kurt opened the front door, and despite the guy’s loud protest, did what he said he’d do…sent the other fighter sprawling onto the sidewalk.
As the helpful, yet unfamiliar, customer returned, Anthony stuck out his hand.
“Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime.” He grasped Anthony’s hand and shook it. “Are you the owner?”
“Yes. Anthony Cross. And you are?”
“Tory Montana.”
Someone at the bar whirled around on his stool and said, “Tory Montana. I thought you looked familiar. You played for the Steelers, right? What are you doing in Boston?”
Tory tucked his hands in his pockets. “House-sitting for friends. I’m flattered you remember me. I retired in 2006.”
“Seriously?” As the two customers began a conversation, Anthony strolled over to Kurt, who was setting a chair upright.
“What happened?”
Kurt shrugged. “To be honest, nothing. They just walked in here and started throwing punches like they’d already been having an argument.
Anthony lowered his voice. “Montana’s freakishly strong, if you know what I mean. Maybe we should invite him to the back booth for a free beer—and careful discussion.”
“I read you loud and clear, boss.”
And that’s how the coyote shapeshifter became Anthony’s second bouncer.
Returning from his memory, Anthony waited for Tory to shake his hand, but the shifter came to an abrupt halt and wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”
Anthony sagged against a tree. “I was visiting Claudia in Cambridge this morning and couldn’t get home in time. I spent the day under the street.”
Tory’s eyes widened. “In the sewer?”
“It was the best option I had.”
Tory laughed. “So it would smell.” He held his nose but continued talking, with a nasal tone. “How’s Claudia?”
“She’ll be okay.” I hope.
“So, Cambridge, huh? Did you hear about the lab over there?”
“What lab?”
“Jesus. I thought you knew. Some of the werecops think there’s a secret lab over there doing testing on paranormals. They suspect that some kind of screwup exposed the existence of paranormals and caught the attention of a brainiac group. Now scientists are trying to capture as many as they can and study us like lab rats.”
“Shit. Where’s this lab located?”
“That’s just it. We don’t know. Nick Wolfensen heard about it from his cop buddies. He and Kurt Morgan have been looking for it but aren’t having much luck. As a wizard, Kurt can avoid capture pretty easily simply by becoming invisible or using that neat time-stopping trick he has, but with no leads…”
“I see. How can I help?”
Tory clapped a big hand over Anthony’s shoulder. “Just help yourself. Try to be as inconspicuous as possible.” He sniffed the air. “You might want to start by washing off that stink soon.”
“You’re not saying they could overpower a vampire…”
“I don’t know. They’ve found a way to disable weres long enough to get them to the facility.”
“How do you know this?”
“A paranormal they’d held for a while escaped. She told a couple of police officers who happened to be werewolves. Unfortunately, she didn’t know the area and couldn’t retrace her steps or give them much information. The cops didn’t take it too seriously at first because the scientists thought she was some kind of new animal. Then a few weres began disappearing.”
“Crap. Maybe they were seen shifting. That would alert a bunch of overachieving researchers.”
“You know how careful we are. I can’t imagine a bunch of paranormals suddenly getting sloppy enough to shift and get caught.”
Anthony doubted it too. Winding up as an experiment—prodded, probed, and possibly dissected—was every supe’s worst fear.
“Is there any pattern?”
“Like, do these disappearances happen only during the full moon or in a particular area?”
“Yes. Anything like that?”
“No. I wish it were that easy.”
“Where are you getting your information?”
“Mostly from Kurt and Nick. When he’s not helping the police, Nick’s been using his paranormal PI skills. Tracking, mostly. His reputation is growing, but I doubt anyone suspects him of the breach. He’s always kept our population strictly on the down low.”
“What about his wife? Brandee was human. Could she have spilled the beans?”
“Nick insists she absolutely did not. And why would she? If anything happened to Nick, she’d be devastated.”
Anthony nodded. “That’s true. Besides, she proved herself trustworthy long ago when he revealed our world to her. So what do we do?”
“Nothing. Let Kurt and Nick investigate first. If they need our help, they’ll ask.”
“If those two are on the case, it’s only a matter of time before they find the facility. We can breathe a little easier—not that I breathe much.”
Then Anthony remembered how secretive he’d been about his lair’s location. Other paranormals were the same way. How could Nick or Kurt find them if they needed help? “I guess the best thing I can do is rebuild our meeting place as quickly as possible. We need to communicate with each other, and there’s strength in numbers.”
Tory grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Maynard peered into his microscope and studied the fish scales from the merman’s tail. Said merman was hanging over the side of his giant fish tank, glaring at him.
“That hurt, you know.”
Maynard tried to ignore him.
“How would you like it if I scraped a piece off your leg and stuck it on a glass slide?”
When Maynard didn’t answer, the specimen continued talking. Indeed, he had to think of these creatures as impersonally as possible to do what was necessary. A Nobel Prize omelet wasn’t made without breaking a few eggs. Hmmm…I wonder if the mermaids lay eggs in the water and the males spread their sperm over them. I’m not going to ask where his dick is.
“I was minding my own business, just enjoying a swim in the harbor. Who are you to throw a net over me and bring me here?”
“Shut up, fish.” Maynard took a break from his microscope long enough to pull his hair back and secure it with an elastic band.
“I have a name. It’s Jules. Jules Vernon. Please use it.”
Using the specimen’s name would make the work a lot harder. Maynard had no problem studying cells from rodents, but this was a man—sort of—and one of the most important discoveries ever made. Maynard had to document scientific data to prove he’d found a whole new species. Ever since the invention of computer graphics, a documentary wouldn’t do it.
The merman had proved useful, at first. He tried to buy his way out of captivity by giving up what he knew of other paranormal species. Now Maynard and a few trusted scientists like himself worked night and day to capture as many of these “paranormals” as they could find.
Who knew so many unique creatures were living right under their noses? His work could explain how ancient legends came about. He’d often wondered if these persistent stories had any basis in fact. But he’d be a laughingstock if he made claims of vampires and shapeshifters without solid proof.