The Last Smile in Sunder City (The Fetch Phillips Archives #1) - Luke Arnold Page 0,19

part of the counter. He used one thick sausage of a finger to shift the coins around, counting them in his head. Then he went over to the sink.

He picked a glass out of the dirty pile and wiped it on his apron. He turned the tap, filled it with water, came back and placed it in front of me. Then he sniffed, leaned forward and spat into the glass.

“There’s the kick.”

I didn’t bother guessing what had so swiftly placed me on the brute’s bad side. It could have been my clothes and my taped-up boots. It could have been my asking-for-trouble attitude. It could have been the fact that I was Human. Or, it could be that I just have one of those faces people dream about pushing into a beehive.

Well, there was no point bothering with the niceties.

“I’m here about a Vampire.”

One-eye flared his nostrils but didn’t say a thing. Instead, he picked up the coins, one by one, leaving the last piece lonely on the deck. Then he put his index finger on it and pushed it back towards me.

“Your change,” he growled, and it sounded like the broken choker of a ride-on lawn-mower. I reached out for the coin.

“Thanks.”

SLAM!

He dropped a meaty fist onto the back of my palm. I reached up with my other hand, expecting the second fist to find my face, but instead, he reached over, grabbed the sleeve of my jacket and ripped it back.

He found what he was looking for: the four tattoos.

“Allo. What’s this then?”

He pointed to the thick black band closest to my wrist.

“A recluse.”

Next, the detailed pattern with an olive-green shine.

“A recruit.”

The solid mark from the military.

“A soldier.”

The barcode.

“And a criminal.”

I gave him my sweetest smile.

“Almost. The second one is for jazz ballet. Don’t worry, it’s a common mistake.”

Then the second hand came. A punch across the side of my face that could have been the hind leg of a plow horse.

I took it and liked it. I had to. I’d walked into his place and started throwing my mouth off and if I drew my knife, I’d probably have to pull my teeth out of the counter with pliers.

His single, caterpillar of an eyebrow furrowed down at me, saying that it was time to scram. Once the feeling returned to my fingers, I slowly unrolled my sleeve.

I wobbled for a moment, till the room stopped spinning, then I grabbed the glass of water and downed the contents. It was a stupid move that proved nothing, but I always tried to provide some entertainment.

“Thanks for the drink.”

I pocketed my change and tried to find my feet. With some pride, I located them at the end of my legs. The little Gnome in the white suit muttered something in my direction. My ears were ringing too loudly to hear him but I didn’t care. I floated past him, down the stairs, and back out under the gray sky. If Edmund Albert Rye was memories and dust, I didn’t need to lose my head over him just yet.

Punch drunk, I wandered the streets letting my mind catch up. I told myself I had no destination. I was aimless. Adrift. But I wasn’t a great liar, even to myself. It was no mistake I ended up where I did.

The abandoned mansion looked darker than the rest of the city, even in the early afternoon. Sunder’s last Governor was an Ogre named Lark, who spent five years and a fortune of taxpayers’ money building himself this home. It wasn’t all a waste, though. A constant stream of foreign dignitaries had been lured up the steps to be filled with food and wine before being coerced into some deal by our boisterous leader.

Lark was out riding atop a resilient Centaur when the magic cracked. The Centaur’s spine followed suit, and Governor Lark tumbled down on top of him. The story made it back to the city, but never their bodies. Sunder City moved on from Governors after that, and the mansion was left unoccupied. Almost.

The rusted gates were wrenched closed and falling off their hinges. I dragged them apart with a teeth-grinding screech and slipped between the gap.

The thick, knotted spider-webs that lined the pathway to the front door settled my heart. No one had been through there in some time, maybe since my last visit. Just as I always hoped. I lived with the ever-present fear that some vandal or careless vagrant would stumble up the steps and disturb what was inside.