Busted Flush Page 0,36
"No. I'm afraid not."
"What do you mean, 'No'?"
"No, you're not taking your children anywhere."
She stepped in front of him, arm raised, blocking his path. Coffee sloshed over the brim of his cup. "I'm not asking your permission. I'm telling you as a courtesy."
He sighed. "Niobe. Taking your children out of this facility - the only place where they can receive the specialized medical attention they need - is a reckless and irresponsible act. And so I've decided, for the sake of your children, to revoke your leave privileges."
Anger made Niobe's tail quiver against her back. "You forget. I have a key card for the elevator."
"Which you'll find quite useless. It hasn't worked for many weeks, in point of fact."
Her knees felt weak. Watery. "But . . . I promised them Disneyland . . ." She slumped against the wall. "Please don't do this."
"It's for the good of your children," Pendergast said. He stepped around her and was gone.
Don't trust him, said Yvette. Either of them.
Double Helix
BETTER TO DWELL IN THE WILDERNESS
THAN WITH A CONTENTIOUS WOMAN
Melinda M. Snodgrass
THE CONCRETE WALLS OF the locker room at Invesco Field at Mile High seem to exhale the scent of old sweat, gym socks, and cheap aftershave. This, I think as I lift the champagne bottle out of the ice and survey the label, is the downside of being so famous and popular that you have to play in stadiums rather than theaters. Thank God my performances are played in more intimate venues. I would so hate to make a 747 disappear.
Even here, far beneath the stadium, I can faintly hear the beat of the bass and the roar of the crowd as Joker Plague performs their final number. I find myself thinking about a Roman holiday when I was in high school and how we had toured the cells beneath the Colosseum. Places for enslaved gladiators and wild beasts brought across oceans solely for sport and blood. Not so very different from modern football.
An unexpected yawn cracks the hinges of my jaw. My shoulders feel like they're slumping beneath invisible weights. I toss back my head and press my shoulder blades together. Lilith's breasts thrust aggressively against the silk of my halter top, and I bite back a hiss. My nipples are sore from Lohengrin's teeth.
There is the thunder of footfalls approaching the locker room. The door bursts open and Joker Plague has arrived. Michael, aka Drummer Boy, leads them into the room. Sweat is running down his chest and four of his six hands are still tapping at the tympanic plates on his torso. Trailing after him are the other four members of Joker Plague. The Voice's presence can only be guessed at by a towel floating in the air. Occasionally it moves as if wiping a face. Bottom and Shivers are just standard jokers - one with the head of an ass, and the other looking like a Disney vision of a demon complete with blood red skin. The worst for me is S'Live, a floating balloon of a face, and a multitude of tongues like flicking snakes thrusting from between the lips of the unnaturally wide mouth.
Flanking the boys is their manager, who reminds me a lot of my manager. BlackBerry in hand, headphone in his ear, a too-sharp suit and a too-sharp face, and a phalanx of security guards. Female arms thrust through the closing door, and hysterical soprano voices call out to the various band members. A broad, tall guard gets the door closed and turns with a look like a contented bull. There's not enough Plague for every groupie. Some of them will doubtless fuck the guards in hope of getting closer to a band member next time.
I work the cork out of the champagne just as they enter, and the explosive pop stops them all. Most of the men gawk. Black leather pants, silver halter top, and spiked heels will work every time. One rent-a-cop reaches for his hip as if expecting to find a pistol.
"Hello, Michael." I pour champagne into a glass. "Thirsty?" He's incredibly tall, so I have to throw my head back to see his face. He ignores the glass, takes the bottle in one of his six hands, and drains it. I rescue the glass and take a sip. It's not bad.
"Committee business?" he asks and the unseen Voice makes himself heard with an audible snort followed by -
"Oh, shit, not now. We're in the middle of the tour."
"Fuck off," he says