Page 102 of Hoofin’ It

“Dare I ask what other organs are going to end up on my plate tonight?”

I laughed, and because Pierina was pulling out all the stops, I played the game and tasted her offerings. Despite the ick factor, I actually liked heart—even when it wasn’t cooked as thoroughly as I’d preferred. “The CDC asked if I considered myself an adventurous eater. I pointed out I knew from experience I disliked tripe and haggis. The second time I got sick on tripe, Pierina took pity on me and stopped making me eat it.”

“You got sick on it?”

“Nothing is quite as undignified as throwing up over the balcony railing. The first time, I think she was taken by surprise. The second time, she laughed. Vampires have terrible senses of humor. Ever since, she threatens to feed it to me if I’ve been bad.”

“When aren’t you bad?”

I grinned. “But my record is so clean it squeaks.”

“I still haven’t figured out how you pulled that off.”

“There’s nothing illegal about being nice to people, even hardened criminals. If you know the rules, it’s surprisingly easy to obey them. It just takes creativity.”

“That’s still impressive. There weren’t any mentions in your file that you have a relationship with any of the people you actually know.”

“That was easy; every cop who’s done a traffic patrol in Lower Chicago has met Ernesto and his brood. It’s not worth putting on the records, since everyone’s been involved at some level or another. If you really wanted to connect the dots, you’d look at my busts and realize I’ve been waging a quiet war with Ernesto for years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Speeding tickets, parking violations, anything a patrol officer might be able to nail him or his children on. When I’d catch him, he’d find some way to prank me, usually at my apartment.”

“Like with Amy.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s absurd.”

I grinned and toasted her with my wine glass. “It made my dead-end career a little more fun.”

“Would you be willing to move away from Chicago?”

“If it means I might have another stab at law enforcement? Definitely.”

“How do you feel about—”

The crack-bang of something detonating nearby drowned out Marian’s question, and the balcony lurched. The concrete, steel, and stone groaned, and before I could do more than rise to my feet, the entire structure collapsed beneath us. I hit the canal back first, and the air rushed out of my lungs.

Water flooded into my mouth, and while every instinct I had screamed at me to do something, my body refused to move. The current sucked me under, and I hit the grate hard enough to knock what little breath I had left out of me along with the water I’d swallowed on impact.

Somehow, I wasn’t dead from the fall, but unless I wanted to change my status from living to dead, I needed to move. The first few seconds, my stunned body refused to obey me. I twitched, remembered how my arms and legs were supposed to work, and struggled to orient myself. Which way was up? Which way was down?

At a depth of fifteen feet, if I went the wrong way, I’d be able to change directions. If I found the wall, that would be even better; I’d be able to climb out on my own. I twisted until my chest touched the bars and reached over my head, groping for the metal crossing the end of the canal.

Everything went according to plan until a flash penetrated the murky waters, and the grate shuddered from the force of a blow. I froze, aware of the burn in my chest, the strain of my oxygen-deprived lungs, and the quivering in my muscles.

The metal shuddered again before dumping me into the abyss.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

During my initial training with the CPD, I’d been told the canal drained over a concrete spillway, one designed to mimic a waterslide for any sentients unfortunate enough to go over the grate meant to keep them from tumbling to Chicago’s third level. While my instructors hadn’t exactly lied, they hadn’t been speaking the complete truth.

Madmen on a pixie dust high might call the twisting, turning concrete monstrosity a waterslide. Either through magic or clever engineering, the water spread out and slicked the whole thing, and I plummeted through six slimy inches of fluid I hesitated to think of as water.

I could have dealt with a flat slope, but no. I rode a demented slinky with an attitude problem determined to tenderize me before dumping my bruised and battered body at the bottom. At least the creators understood a human wouldn’t be in any condition to swim after such a fall; instead of plunging into water, I landed on a net. Water still pounded me from above, but I could breathe.

I liked breathing. Breathing meant I was alive and had some chance of making my way back to Lower Chicago. First, I needed to find Marian. She’d been closer to the restaurant’s wall, and I worried she’d landed on the sidewalk instead of in the canal. The water had helped break my fall, and I didn’t want to think about her landing on broken rubble.