The Shambling Guide to New York City (12 page)

“Dead!” Granny Good Mae said brightly. “That was your first kill! Congratulations!”

They paused for some water. They worked out in a clearing of Central Park. Every once in a while someone would look at them and Granny Good Mae would transition seamlessly into a slow tai chi movement, and Zoë would attempt to ape her.

It was cold work, but the workouts soon warmed Zoë up. They kept walking through the park to keep warm as Granny Good Mae talked.

“Public Works are good people. Keep the peace, keep the balance. Balance is very important to her.”

Zoë had stopped asking who “her” was.

“They pay well, too,” Granny Good Mae continued. “I do contract work for them now and then.”

“Contract work?”

“Assassinations. Hunting. The odd coterie member who gets out of hand.”

“Assassinate? Jesus, don’t they even get a trial?” Zoë asked.

“Who would be judge? Who would be jury? If a city is lucky enough to have a neutral truth deity, they can get confirmation, but not every place has one. Or they’re not neutral. Anyway, yes, we go for the assassination path. It’s easier for all. Besides, most of them we’re simply returning to the grave. So it’s not murder.”

“I guess that’s why they’re so terrified of you?” Zoë asked. She wasn’t sure she liked the casual way her mentor talked about killing the people Zoë worked with, but she swallowed her protestations and indicated that Granny Good Mae should continue.

“Public Works has to care for the sewers, too, so that’s their day job. You knew that, right?”

“Right, I know. Do the coterie consider them enemies?”

The old woman shrugged. “Only as much as you people consider your police to be enemies.”

“Good point,” Zoë said. They finished their walk and continued training.

Only later that night did Zoë realize that Granny Good Mae had said “you people” and “your police.”

Of course, not all coterie feed on humans and need special establishments in which to feed. Deities and other human-looking coterie can fit in quite well in most restaurants, but will want to choose carefully regardless. If you feed on belief and worship, any of the trendy places are recommended, such as Nobu and Abboccato. Humans go to these places to see and be seen, making it easy to find worshipers, even if only for the night.

Fair folk will find any of the city’s vegetarian or vegan restaurants welcoming. Red Bamboo Vegetarian Soul Café, Red Bamboo Brooklyn, and Chennai Garden will also serve raw food or flowers if you ask special. Kajitsu has, as of this writing, a wood sprite working as an assistant manager; she does everything she can to accommodate fair folk and other coterie customers. She accepts either human currency or hell notes, making her stand out among working coterie.

Succubi and incubi can feed at any of the many sex clubs in the city. Chemistry and La Trapeze are two favorites, but the best by far is Tastiest Dish as it specially caters to the ’bus lifestyle. It has a strict “no-kill” policy as it depends on repeat human customers, but it is the easiest and most popular place to eat. The cover charge is minimal, but renting a private room—or watching a semiprivate room—is where you’ll spend your hell notes. An adjacent club holds a strip bar where most of the dancers are succubi, feeding on many more humans, but not as deeply as in the sex club.

T
he following Monday, November 16, Zoë met her new coworkers.

First there was Zoë’s own hire, Bertie the wyrm, who she was convinced could handle both Queens and Harlem. She was pleased both that she had managed to hire a very capable person, and that she hadn’t dreadfully offended anyone other than Eir during the interviews.

When Zoë had told Phil of her hire, he had nodded and said that maybe in a hundred years Bertie could transition to accounting. She had just nodded, trying not to let her amazement show.
I wonder what kind of watch you get for a hundred years’ service.

She got Bertie settled into the writing room, and then went to her office, where she met some other new hires. Each desk/vanity had a gleaming new computer, but in Zoë’s office, tiny little men and women crawled over it like caterpillars.

“Hello?” she asked carefully when she came in.

One of the people, a four-inch-tall woman, snapped to attention. She had green skin and pointed ears, and wore blue overalls. “Greetings!” she shouted through a tiny bullhorn up to Zoë. “We are your IT staff. I am your sysadmin, you can call me Cassandra. We’re almost done setting up your system.”

“Great, thanks so much,” Zoë said, and hung her satchel behind the door. “I’m just going to get some coffee while you finish.”

Morgen met her in the break room and opened her mouth, but Zoë held up a finger. “Let me guess. Gremlins?”

Morgen grinned. “Got it in one! You’re getting good at this!”

Zoë allowed herself a small feeling of pride. “I think you might be right. This weekend I’m pretty sure I spotted a succubus, a fire demon, and a vampire while I was at the deli. And I wasn’t even trying.”

Morgen patted her shoulder. “Don’t let your guard down.”

Montel came into the break room, shuffling across the stage slowly. “We hired a new coterie relations person. You each need to meet with him.” He handed each woman a schedule and shuffled away.

“So what do we talk about with coterie relations if we don’t get benefits?” Zoë asked, seeing her name second on the list, after Gwen, to meet with Wesley, their new CR manager.

Morgen filled a glass with water and then leaned against the counter. “He’ll plan our parties, he’s in charge of stocking the break room, and if we have a problem with a coworker, we go to him. Most of them are pretty good, with extensive coterie knowledge. He may be good to interview for your own benefit.”

The gremlins were still in Zoë’s office setting up her computer, so she trudged down to meet the new CR person. She met Gwen backstage exiting the one door she’d never seen open.

“Hey, how’s the new guy?” she asked in a low voice. Aside from Morgen, Gwen was the person she felt closest to in the office. She found herself drawn to people who didn’t eat humans. Self-preservation.

“He could be better,” Gwen said, frowning. “He’s a construct.”

Zoë blinked. “Construct? That’s not one I’ve come across.”

“Construct, Prometheus, they have several names. You’d call him a Frankenstein’s monster, but of course that is pejorative. Also, people were making constructs and golems much longer than that book has been out. They’re made by zoëtists.”

“Oh, right, I think Phil told me about them,” Zoë said.

“For being in CR, he’s somewhat cranky and not good with people, but from the looks of his stitches, he’s fairly fresh. His head probably had something to do with HR in his former life, and Phil wanted someone with experience. He should have hired the health goddess.”

Zoë was glad the low light hid her blush. “Right. Thanks for the warning.”

Gwen left for the writing room as Zoë knocked on the closed door. A strange, fabricated voice sounded from inside. “What is it?”

Zoë opened the door into a brightly lit closet office—which was a little too brightly lit—and said, “Hi, Wesley, I’m Zoë, the new—” She stopped cold.

She squinted in the bright light to see if he was an illusion. The man behind the desk stood up and stared at her. For a moment Zoë panicked as she realized she had no idea what the protocol for greeting constructs was, but Wesley extended a hand.

Zoë took it, forcing herself not to blanch at the fact that the hand Wesley had extended was clearly a woman’s, with long, thin fingers and smooth skin. He’d even had the nails manicured and painted a subtle pink. The slim wrist and arm were lost in the man’s dress shirt that clearly had to be at least a large to fit his barrel chest and his beefy left arm and hairy hand. Chest hair peeked out over his necktie, but ended abruptly with a scar joining the shoulders and the thin neck that stretched up to hold the familiar head of a blond, bespectacled man.

Oh God.

Wesley did not smile at her, but shook her hand professionally. “Close the door and sit.”

Zoë did so, commanding her heart to stop its pounding. She sat, gripping the chair arms. What she was really doing was trying not to vomit. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

Wesley spoke again, and the voice sounded strange, coming from huge lungs and a small head, deep and high at the same time. “Zoë Jennifer Norris, managing editor.” From his mouth it sounded like an insult, especially when he ended it up with “Human.”

She forced a smile and tried to meet his eyes again, her stomach tightening. “That’s me.”

“How are you liking your job among coterie?”

“It’s fine. Nice, I mean. It’s nice. I like my coworkers.” She laughed. It sounded very high-pitched, so she stopped.

For the love of God, stop babbling.

Wesley opened a folder on his desk and looked at the one piece of paper inside. He peered at it and said, without looking at her, “You seem nervous, Zoë.”

“I, well, it’s just.” She took a deep breath. “You look like someone I knew once. That startled me.”

“Really? That’s not a statement I hear often,” Wesley said without smiling. “Zoë, I will be honest with you. I was surprised to hear a human was on staff who wasn’t being farmed for food. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but I don’t expect you to last very long. The coterie benefits plan does not fit for humans, so I won’t need to work with you for anything except salary issues. Phil has ordered that your safety within the office is to be guaranteed, so if someone threatens or attacks you, bring the issue to me. But if you have a problem with the odor of the zombies, or the way vampires might look at you during lunch, or if someone makes a disgusting smell, or”—his voice took on a mocking falsetto—“even if someone reminds you of someone else, I
don’t
want to hear about it. I expect, honestly, not to speak to you again until you tender your resignation.”

Zoë bit her lip and stared at a spot on his forehead, still unable to meet his too-familiar eyes. “That’s unbelievable.”

A thin eyebrow arched. “Oh?”

Zoë smiled. “Unbelievable that you would expect me not to say hi to you in the halls. It’s an underestimation of my ability to be friendly. Thanks for the information, Wesley.”

His face might as well have been carved from stone. “That will be all, Zoë.”

She forced a laugh. “I’ll see you around.”

She closed the door behind her and ran onto the stage and up the aisle. She made it to the lobby bathroom and finally allowed her composure to break. When Morgen came in looking for her, she was still dry-heaving into the toilet.

The water sprite blinked, checked her watch, and said, “Let’s go out for coffee. Gwen knows a lovely human place around the corner.”

Zoë was feeling much better with a latte in front of her, sitting by the window of a nice, generic Starbucks. She took a deep breath and forced the trembling to subside.

Gwen sat with a cup of tea, patiently watching Zoë.

Morgen fidgeted, playing with the straw in her ice water, then finally said, “So. The new guy’s a prick, isn’t he?”

Zoë winced, and Morgen frowned as her joke tanked. “What did he say that made you lose your shit? I thought you were tougher than this.”

Despite the backhanded compliment, she appreciated Morgen; annoyance with the sprite let her focus on something besides the shock and fear. “I can accept all of this shit you’ve thrown at me. Vampires. Zombies. Goddesses, sprites, whatever. Fucking
dragons
. I got it covered. No worries. But what you really didn’t prepare me for was working alongside my college boyfriend’s head.”

Gwen didn’t react. Morgen stopped fidgeting. The noontime sun glinted off her eyebrow ring.

“Your ex-boyfriend? Wesley’s head? Seriously?” Morgen said. “But when did he die?”

“That’s just it,” Zoë said, grasping her mug tightly. “I didn’t know he was dead. Scott and I haven’t talked in years.”

Morgen tapped her chin as she thought aloud. “So not only is this a ‘Hi, welcome to work, here’s a construct with someone from your past working with you’ shock, you’re also dealing with the fact you didn’t even know he was dead, cut up, and reanimated.”

Zoë nodded. Her stomach rolled over again, trying to make a decision on the latte, but she firmly told it to stay put.

Outside the coffee shop a flock of sparrows roosted in a tree, waiting patiently for Gwen. Apparently they followed her everywhere; she had explained they were her heralds.

These coterie, Gwen and Morgen, were not looking to eat her or taunt her, and didn’t bear body parts from people she’d slept with. So they couldn’t be all bad.

Gwen sipped at her tea. “This is unexpected. I mean, I don’t really keep track of humans much anymore, except to feed, but the few humans who have connection with us in the world haven’t come across this.”

Zoë looked up from her coffee. “Wait, what? You feed on humans?”