Moonshine by Rob Thurman Page A

it?" The blade he laid on the counter beside the beer was a Spanish poniard, more ice pick than dagger.
    "No problem," I said evenly. Now was not the time or place for a fight. Not if we hoped to get in a game with Boaz. Pissing off the bartender—and, if I knew pucks, the owner of the club—wasn't the way to go about that. "It's just been a while since I've seen a puck," I continued on, lying smoothly. "Hard to believe this city is worthy of your presence." Complete sincerity over unadulterated bullshit.
    The toxic ennui in his eyes was eddied momentarily by conceit and self-satisfaction. "None is worthy. What can one do?" He tossed a towel over his shoulder and said dismissively, "Take your drink and go, freak. That shirt is an assault to my eyes." Freak. He was even quicker to pick up on the Auphe in me than Robin had been. Maybe like called to like. I'd never thought of Goodfellow as a monster. Annoying, vain, arrogant, glib, unscrupulous… and, yeah, an out-and-out crook, but never a monster. This guy was. It came off of him in waves. A rapacious predator, an utterly amoral sociopath… this particular Pan would gut you in a heartbeat for a penny. He did have better taste in shirts than Goodfellow, though. I had to give him that.
    Picking up my beer, I left as ordered. I, better known as the freak, would've preferred to take the poniard and pin his hand to the bar or at the least plant a fist in his face. But neither was an option, not right now. Undercover work, let me count the ways in which it sucked. Promise tilted her head as I approached. "Peculiar, is it not?" she said as her eyes rested on the puck across the room. "How identical they all are… what few that are left."
    "Trust me," I responded soberly. "They're not identical."
    We chose a table close to the back of the room. We sat side by side, both of our backs to the wall. Niko would've been proud. The place was half-empty; it was still fairly early. Within the next hour that began to change. Moonshine might've been a predominantly wolf hangout, but it attracted all kinds. Sprinkled among the lupines were an afreet, a few ghouls, succubi plying their dangerous trade, and three lamias on what looked like a girls' night out. There were others, creatures I didn't recognize. Promise probably did, but quite frankly my curiosity just wasn't high enough to ask her. I was more concerned with Boaz. When Niko had called Caleb to accept the assignment, he'd gotten a description of our mark, but so far I hadn't spotted him. Around us the wolves, some in human form and some not, drank, laughed, howled, cursed, and fought. It brought back memories, not particularly good ones. The last time I'd been in a bar like this had been to hire a pair of assassins. And although I hadn't been behind the wheel of my own body at the time, it was hard to forget that except for Niko and Robin, George would be dead now.
    "Niko is a fabulous lover."
    It was a good thing the beer was only for decoration. Otherwise I would've choked on it, or at the very least spewed it a few feet. As it was, I felt my face take on a hunted expression. As subjects go, this was not one any brother wanted to discuss. "Jesus, Promise," I said with not a little desperation, "that's the kind of information that could scar a man for life."
    A dimple appeared in an ivory smooth cheek. "I'm sorry, Caliban. I was only testing you. Your attention seemed far from here."
    "Yeah, it was. Sorry." Rolling the now-warm bottle between my hands, I scanned the crowd again.
    She gave a gracious nod before speaking again. "Actually, Niko and I have not yet—" I groaned out loud, cutting her off. Amused, she relented and changed the subject… sort of. "Tell me, what was Niko like as a child?"
    What had my brother been like as a child. It seemed like a simple question. But like most things that seem simple on the surface, what lurked beneath was a different story. Niko was two years older than I was, although when we were