"Ma'am? You called her ma'am?"
"Like I told her, you taught me good manners." I kept my eyes shut, on the verge of dozing to the rocking of the car. Then I flashed my left arm up to block the blow. There had been the faintest rustle of cloth to warn me, one that Niko wouldn't have given anyone else. The training never stopped, and it never would. It was what had kept me alive this long.
"I taught them, yes, but I had no idea you'd actually incorporated them into your daily life." I felt his arm drop away. "I've seen you interact with humans and nonhumans, and I've not seen you show anyone the respect you show Madame Seraglio."
"She scares me," I admitted frankly. "I've yet to see her more than three feet from a butcher's knife. And I show you respect, Cyrano. I respect the hell out of you."
"For the same reason?"
"Pretty much," I confirmed, this time protecting my ribs with a quickly sheltering forearm. Opening my eyes, I added, "A healthy dose of humiliation doesn't hurt. That you changed my diapers when I was a baby isn't something I'll ever get over."
"Trust me, it wasn't that memorable." He snorted as he penetrated my guard and slapped my abdomen with just enough stinging force to make the lesson stick. "I would bring up the size of the excessively large guns you carry, but that would be unnecessarily cruel."
"Ass," I grumbled.
After that, we rode in companionable silence until the train made a stop. When the doors closed again, I said, "I'm guessing it's the four of us and the boggle in the tunnels, then. Flea-free." Nobody liked the smell of wet dog anyway, and I personally thought the she-boggle was enough to worry about keeping track of.
"We're not there yet. We have one more avenue yet to try." Niko leaned his head back as well, but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't take chances, big, small, or in between.
"Yeah?" I asked. As far as I could tell, we were standing at the end of the road. It was time to cope with the lack of asphalt and grab the hiking boots. "What?"
"Wait and see, little brother. Wait and see."
The wait and see turned out to be Delilah, and we met her at a strip club in Chelsea conveniently located a few subway stops from Robin's condo. She was the bouncer. The dancers were all male, muscle-bound, and bored. I was relieved that Niko hadn't told Robin that's where we'd been heading. He was probably a regular, and it had been a long night. I wasn't ready for a longer morning of dollar bill waving and more discussion of leather pants or the removal thereof.
White-blond hair still in the high ponytail, Delilah was wearing leather herself. Pants and a scoop-necked top, both the amber of her eyes, clung to her lithe figure, but it was the type of snug fit meant for fighting, not for show. "Pretty boy," she said with lazy recognition. "Twenty dollars."
"We've no interest in the show, Delilah," Niko explained with a slight bow of his head. "We're here to speak with you."
"Ah." She nodded and held out an unrelenting palm. "Twenty dollars."
We paid the ten apiece and went in out of the morning light. Nine a.m. and some guy was already onstage. That early and normally I was still in bed, but this poor bastard was up there shaking…whatever you had to shake for ten bucks' admission. The place was dark and small with red spotlights and a few glassy-eyed patrons. We sat at a table close to the door, but with a good view of the room as well. Delilah could keep watch for customers and trouble simultaneously.
"Your chest? Doing well?" A finger with a natural, unpolished nail touched my shirt.
"No problems." Which was true. It wasn't much to look at, from a human point of view, but it was healed and mostly painless. There was the occasional pull of skin that was tighter than it should be, but it would loosen up eventually—stretch like the majority of scar tissue came to do. If I did have a problem, it was drifting awake in the middle of the night with the distinct sensation of a soothing tongue rasping at my chest and a warm weight pinning me firmly to the bed. And that—well, that wasn't really what I'd call a problem.
"Good." Satisfied, she propped a booted foot on the table. "You are healed. You are pretty. So why come here?"
"Yeah, well, about that." I shook my head at the shirtless waiter as did Nik. "We're not too popular with wolves, and we need to do some hiring."
"Not popular." She smiled with those perfect teeth. "Puck, Aupheling, human. Kin killer. Not wanted, not embraced. So misunderstood." Throwing back her head, she laughed. The bar was dark and only a fourth full, but everyone turned at the sound to look at her with faint expressions of surprise. She caught them staring, pinned them with oval eyes, and the men hastily looked away, concentrating on their drinks or the stage. Dominance, humans picked up on it as quickly as dogs, whether they wanted to admit it or not. "Human sheep," she said scornfully. "Barely prey."
Tilting her head, she leaned in and smelled Niko. She didn't get close enough to touch, but sampled the air around him. "But not you. You are as they say. Warrior." Then she was at his throat in a movement so fluid and quick that I doubted the identified sheep caught the shift in position. I know they didn't see the edge of Niko's knife between Delilah and him or her teeth click purposely against the metal.
"Alpha," she identified decisively as she settled back. "You lead your pack. Protect your pack."
She wasn't wrong. Niko had been born an Alpha. If you screwed with him, screwed with his own, there wouldn't be much left of you to regret that decision.
Niko flipped the blade and made it vanish under his coat. He didn't comment on her conclusions. Alphas had no need to brag. "We would like your help. Yours and anyone else you could convince to accept our pay."
She dropped her booted foot to the sticky floor and licked away the single drop of blood on her upper lip. "You come about Sawney Beane?" His presence in the city was evidently not a secret, not anymore. "He kills." There was a shrug that said clearly, "Who doesn't?" "He wastes." That was entirely different from the haughty lift of her chin, a sin seen only with contempt. I remembered the body parts floating in the water, disgusting to us, squandered to Delilah. It reminded me. She had helped us, she might help us again, but she also was a wolf. Some wolves didn't eat people, but she was also Kin. Kin ate whatever the hell they wanted. I wanted to like her, and I rarely wanted to like anyone, but liking involved trust and truth, things I'd only started to put into play in the past year. I wasn't good at either one yet, and I didn't know that Delilah even deserved either one.
But this was about Sawney and the revenants. If and how she could help us now was what was important, not wondering about the ethical implications of her diet. "He's in the subway tunnels," I said, hooking a leg around the chair leg and wearily resting my elbows on the table, "with a whole shit-load of revenants."
"We saw at least forty." Niko picked up the story. "And there could be more. They're oddly organized. They act as one with none of the usual revenant squabbling and infighting. We've enlisted a boggle, but I don't believe that even she will be enough. Not if Sawney is there with them this time."
Delilah tapped her foot against the floor with eyes distant for several seconds. "Sawney is Sawney. Not Kin business. But…" Her upper lip, now blood-free, lifted with distaste. "He is careless. He brings attention. Bad attention. Kin will not help, not you." Tracing a reflective finger along the tattooed wolf eyes around her neck, she said, "But I will help." She took a drink from a passing tray and popped a slice of orange in her mouth. "If price is acceptable."
"I thought the Kin wouldn't help us. You are Kin," Niko pointed out, gray eyes focused with skeptical caution. It had been his plan to ask for her assistance, but while he was capable of trust and truth, you had to earn it.