"Then you must consider it on the house. Always a good time here."
They were dazzled at Patrise's graciousness, and oh my was that the time, they'd all turn into pumpkins, good night, good night.
The woman from the piano was running across the dance floor. She wore a low-cut, ruffled black blouse and a gold metallic skirt; she held the skirt up to run, her golden high-heeled sandals clacking on the black surface, which reflected her image full-length, two people tap-dancing sole to sole.
"Patrise, oh God, Patrise," she said, flung her arms out and hugged him. "Oh, God, you're here."
"Of course, Carmen, dear." He put his hands on her wrists and unwound her. "Meet someone new. Hallow, this is Carmen Mirage. Carmen, meet Doc Hallownight. We had a little to-do with the Ruthins tonight, and Doc saved Norma Jean's life."
"Ohh… where is Norma?"
"I'm afraid she'll be going home now."
"Oh, that's so sad… but you saved her? That must have been very brave."
Danny said, "Well-" and then Carmen's arms were around him. She was very warm, and wore a potent cinnamon perfume, and she hugged tight.
"Pleased to meet you," Danny said past the lump in his throat.
"You mean that isn't a tongue depressor in your pocket, Doc?" Carmen said. "Or maybe it is." She laughed and finally let him breathe. He couldn't think. He looked down at his scrub shirt and jeans, here among all the satin and silk, and felt like he was knee-deep in pigshit and had a live chicken tucked under each arm.
The bartender had arrived with a tray of glasses. Patrise and
Cloudhunter had brightly colored drinks in tall frosted glasses, McCain a mug of coffee with whipped cream. Danny got hold of his beer, took a gulp. It went down just fine.
"Doc, this is Ginevra Benci." He gestured at the woman with the drinks.
She was a little shorter than Danny, with intensely black hair, dark blue eyes. She couldn't have been much older than he was. Her black skirt came to just below her knees, her legs and ankles showing pale and delicate.
"Hi, Doc."
He looked up at her face. She was smiling. "Hello."
Mr. Patrise said, "And Alvah Fountain at the mighty Bosen-dorfer." The young black man at the piano waved. His hair was done up in a mass of long, slender braids.
The two people who had been at the bar were approaching. The man was an American Indian in a wide-shouldered suit and a flowered tie. The woman was petite and Japanese, with dark hair coiled up and held with jeweled pins; she wore a tailored suit and a black turtlenecked shirt, calf-high boots of light brown suede. "Evening, Patrise," the man said. "Is this an open party?"
"Of course. Doc Hallownight, Lucius Birdsong of the Chicago Centurion — "
"Syndicated worldwide through GNS," Birdsong said.
"— pen sharper than a Trueblood arrow. Tongue, too. And Kit-sune Asa, the Tokyo Fox."
"Welcome to the Levee, friend," Birdsong said, and shook Danny's hand. "What's the matter? Aren't you going to tell me you read and admire my column every day?"
"No."
"Fair enough."
The Tokyo Fox said, "You're a doctor?"
"I'm a paramedic. What do you do?"
"Right at the moment, I drink standing up. Pleased to nicer you, Doc."
Patrise said, "Where's Fay?"
Ginevra said, "She went home right after her set."
Patrise said, "Yes?"
No one spoke. Then Miss Asa drained her glass, put ir on Gi nevra's tray, and said, "About two AM a couple of my-mama-eats-ambrosia Ruthins came in, with a side dish of Vamps."
Carmen said, "You said the rule was-"
"I know," Patrise said calmly. "Ginevra, get the lady another drink. Ruthins, attended. No Highborns?"
"Nope." The Fox shrugged. "They were hinting that you wouldn't be coming home tonight. Didn't seem to get the rise they wanted, so they left after Fay sang. People started drifting out after that. Last half hour it's been just us and that mooch patrol you saw."
"Who took Phasia home?"
Lucius Birdsong said, "Stagger Lee."
Mr. Patrise spread his hands. "Another hot time in the old town. I think it's time we went home too, ladies and gentlemen: I believe I'll have to be seen by a few people today, upright and walking in my own semi-solid flesh."
Birdsong said, "Is that typewriter of mine still under the bar someplace?"
"I couldn't find an open hock shop," Patrise said, and the two of them chuckled at whatever the joke was. "Ginevra!"
"Yes, sir, almost ready," she said, whipping a cocktail shaker.
"Pavel will shut down in front; you serve Kitsune and Mr. Birdsong as long as they want, then lock up. You've been on golden hours since two. And take tomorrow night off."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"Cloud, see Miss Mirage home. Lincoln, Hallow, let's go."
They got into the car, Patrise alone in the back. With the Mi-rada sign switched off, all the world seemed dark, the big car's headlights just pushing the blackness aside for a moment.
Danny said, "The Ruthins are a big elf gang, right?"
"One of them," McCain said. "Red's their color. You see a red leather jacket, you take care."
"The car that shot at you was red."
"You're observant. Yes, that would have been the Ruthins. Unless it was someone else who wanted them blamed."