News of the World
He was transfixed.

Sidewalk traffic parted around Darian as he watched a couple through the restaurant window. It was an Italian eatery. The decor was typical: red and white checkered tablecloths, green walls, pictures of fat bakers holding loaves of bread. Front and center sat a mid-thirties man, a younger woman, and their spaghetti covered offspring. The baby picked up a piece of meatball and threw it at the window.

Darian ran a finger into his shirt collar. Lately, all his clothes felt like nooses.

He walked farther down the block.

Grace had just been wrapping up a business engagement when she saw the familiar profile go cruising past. Standing head and shoulders above most of the people on the sidewalk, Darian was hard to miss. The restaurant had a bank of pay phones in the back, and the vampire sometimes used them to make calls when using a cellphone seemed unwise. The receiver clunked back into the cradle, and she levered her weight out of the chair and moved through the sparse crowd.

Outside, the stars were already out, and she fell into step beside the Dealmaker as casually as if they'd seen each other last only five minutes ago. "You look like you just woke up from a coma," she remarked. "Or like you wish you were still in one."

Surprised, he looked up. He was generally underwhelmed when he ran into a person he knew, as if on a subconscious level, he already realized they were near. Not this time; he was too much in his head. "Grace." She was like a shark smelling blood in the water, wasn't she?

He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. Apparently, the shell-shocked look had returned. It came and went. When he was alone with Bethany, his mindset was stable. Out in public, he experienced moments of blind panic followed by dumbfounded stupors.

He had a bruise on his eyebrow. A few nights ago, he went into the ring and bludgeoned a demon until brain matter oozed out of ear. It was liberating. Darian considered it part of the great balance. Create a life accidentally, end one on purpose.

"I'm fine." He took in her general appearance. "You look better than last time. Then again, it's not every day that you find yourself bleeding out on the back seat of a car."

"All I needed was some bedrest and peace and quiet." Grace was lighting a cigarette while she talked, her words obstructed by the cylinder hanging out of her mouth. "And those goofy pills you gave me. Those were kind of awesome, whatever they were. Next time I'll ask for them by name."

Bluish smoke followed after her as if she were leaving a contrail, and she looked at Darian in profile as they passed beneath a streetlight. "Your tie's on crooked." It was a bland enough observation, but one that said she might be in danger of becoming amused. "Somebody not payin' up when they owe you, and it's knocked your sartorial senses loose?"

He looked down and noticed the tie. Irritated, he tightened the knot and closed two buttons of his jacket, hoping to keep it in place. "That is ever the case," he said. "Especially with home renters. Although, sometimes I like the delinquent renter more than the one who's on time. It gives me an activity when I'm bored." A pedestrian shouldered past at a crosswalk and Darian stepped off the curb. "But no, that isn't an issue. Are you going to pester me until I reveal one, or would you settle for a polite brush-off?"

It wasn't only his reputation that the Dealmaker needed to consider. If he told Grace what had developed, Bethany's was under the spotlight, too. If nothing else, there'd be ridicule. Since he hadn't seen Grace waxing poetic over a man recently, he had little firepower to draw on in return.

"Oh, c'mon now, baby, I'm just makin' conversation." Grace had watched him correct the tie situation, the quick, possibly ill-tempered movements of his hands, and if she hadn't been sure of it before, now it was obvious that something was amiss. Darian seemed...frazzled, for lack of a better word for it, and for a man whose blood pressure probably seldom rose over that of a shark's, it was a strange state for him to be in. The vampire smoked in silence as they crossed the street, blending in as well as could be expected with the mass of humanity around them, and when they reached the other side of the street, she looked up at him again.

"Last time I saw you like this, someone fucked around with your DNA." She leaned in and sniffed at him. Nope, still pure demon, even under the expensive aftershave. "So what's got your briefs in a bunch?"

He frowned when she sniffed him. It took self-control not to shove her into moving traffic, but that was hardly punishment fitting the crime, and he liked the vampire. Too much to savor cleaning her off a windshield, at any rate. He said, "Ironic that you mention DNA." His jacket lifted when he pocketed his hand. As they walked on, he touched his chin. "I'm not intentionally drawing this out. I'm looking for the words."

No good ones came.

He tugged his ear. "I'm going to be a father."

A bus chose that moment to go past, belching exhaust into the Chicago air as nighttime passengers lolled back in their seats. Grace was lighting one cigarette off of another, getting her chain-smoke on in defiance of the annoyed look she was getting from the woman in the dark pantsuit ahead of her. The spent butt went into the gutter, and then she looked up into Darian's aristocratic face. She squinted at him through the thin trail of smoke, as though narrowing her eyes might help her discern if he was kidding. Not that the demon had much sense of humor that she could tell, but still.

"You're gonna be a what?"

She took the Marlboro out of her mouth, propped one hand on a jean-clad hip. "Say it again. I've cleaned my ears recently and you don't stammer, but say it again anyway."

He smiled tightly. It had the cheer of a man attempting to do so while chewing glass. The odd element was that Darian wasn't nearly so unhappy about being a father as he was telling Grace about it. Whenever mixed news must be given, there was always someone that came to the forefront of the bearer's mind, a person -- in this case, Grace -- they didn't look forward to telling.

"Bethany and I have multiplied." He looked at her. "Are we going to need a visual?"

No. She simply wanted him to suffer through it twice. He understood. He'd do the same to her.

"You see, we've had sex. Frequently." Darian lifted an 'o' shaped hand and an index finger. He didn't follow through with the gesture, but was willing to provide a manual demonstration if necessary.

Grace's mouth tucked in at the corners, and then attempted to fold in on itself. Somebody walked past her, and she took half a step backwards to give them room. Inside her very much not seasonal leather jacket, her shoulders tightened, and she held up her index finger where Darian could see it. "One second. I'll be right back."

Because it would just look bad to burst out laughing right there, wouldn't it? She and Darian were friends, albeit rather contentious friends. The vampire walked around the corner, where she rested her brow against one forearm on top of a mailbox. Her shoulders shook as the rusty sound of her laughter huh-huh-huhed out of her chest. After several minutes, she managed to compose herself into something that resembled seriousness, and she ambled back into Darian's vicinity.

"So! Yeah, wow. You and Bethany, huh?" Her eyes were bright with that weird good humor she only occasionally displayed, and she said, "You really do look like you could use a whole bunch of drinks. Should I just bring you an IV drip?"

He rubbed his middle finger on the bridge of his nose. "You are aware I heard that, aren't you?" Going around a corner only served to remove the sight of Grace's laughter, not the sound of it. However, only so much blame could be placed on the vampire for finding it funny. If Darian was sure it wouldn't turn into tears, he'd release a bark of laughter at himself. Few things were more preposterous than him and parenting. Except perhaps Bethany and parenting.

More than once, he asked himself if Elfleda was applauding at his expense.

"I think a bottle will do for now. I'll save the IV for its formative years." Darian resumed walking. "We've made the decision not to terminate the pregnancy." As if it were a mission objective.

"Good choice, if only because I'd hate to have to try talking Bethany into anything." Grace puffed on her smoke as she took up her stride again, then added, "Boy or girl? Or are you gonna wait until it's done percolatin' to find out?"

The mental image of the Slayer in maternity wear almost sent her off into another paroxysm of hilarity, and she concentrated on picking out a bar to stave it off. Maybe after a few shots she could let out a snort or two, but it could wait. There was no need to resort to overkill this soon. Funny to think that the simplest thing, procreation, could smack a complicated creature like Darian off of his axis. "She's probably as whacked out by it as you are."

He shook his head. "At most, she's two months along," he said. "It's too early to judge gender, and before you ask, no, I don't have a preference." Because of Darian's peculiar biology, theirs was a wildcard situation. There was no way to guess what their offspring would look like (presumably human), what abilities it would have, what type of personality, or if it would have a soul. But here was a safe bet: Even if the child was born an ordinary human, abnormal parenting would make sure they raised no Eagle Scout.

"Bethany's more disturbed than I am," he said, raising his voice as they passed an open restaurant with sidewalk seating. "The idea of gaining weight and stretch marks has her spinning. But I'll say this for the record. When I suggested we keep it, she didn't argue." He raised his eyebrows.

Grace lifted her own brows as the noise of a dozen other conversations rose and fell in the background, providing a sonic tide to propel them down the sidewalk. "Bethany understands family, that bond of belonging. Some folks might say otherwise about the lady, but these would be people who don't know anything."

There was more noise as the pair of them reached the bar that was next door to the restaurant, and the vampire shoved the door open to get a look at the patrons inside. There wasn't as much of a crowd, and she waved Darian out in front of her. The near-hysterics of earlier aside, she could use a drink herself at the demon's news. Booze solved almost everything, after all.

He went inside and sought a seat at the end of the bar. Darian took off his coat. "It's the lack of control over her body that scares her, I think. Motherhood is a secondary consideration to what she's experiencing here and now." He made eye contact with the barman and ordered a bourbon. Now that it was appropriate to have a crooked tie -- it wouldn't be a remark on his head space -- he loosened the knot. "What about you? Have you got anything new to report?"

She ordered bourbon too, watched their glasses being filled with the amber liquid. "Same old, really. Banged into Rhiannon at Dimensions, had what passed for a conversation between the mutual threats of homicide. She implied she's been too busy to come hunt me up, if'n you can feature that shit. Her dance card must be really full if that's for real."

The barman gave her an ashtray to go with her drink, and she put her smoke into it after dropping the rest of the pack and her lighter next to the object. "Want one?" Raising her eyebrow at Darian inquiringly as she inched the Marlboros towards him. "Lightin' up might help you chill."

Darian grimaced. He was not a fan of cigarette smoke, or most vices. He put up a hand to pass on the offer, but in the middle of the gesture, he reconsidered. He wasn't a fan of crying children, either, but look at where his life was headed. "Sure." Taking one out of the pack, he stuck it between his lips and struck the flint of her lighter. The first drag tasted terrible. Darian examined the cigarette and exhaled. As yet, he didn't see the appeal.

"She's selective of her enemies," he said. Having done business with Rhiannon before and poked around in her head, he had an insight. "An ordinary demon on the street, she'll hunt and kill without contemplation. But when she finds a nemesis, she dedicates as much time to understanding them as she does to a romantic partner."

Grace gave the Dealmaker an arch look as she picked up her drink, and the first hit of bourbon went down without a hitch. "Nemesis, huh? I know why she hates my guts, that's not a mystery. Girlie doesn't know the half of it, though."

It gave her a quiet feeling inside herself to talk about it, something that with anyone else would have been defined as calm. But because it was Grace, it was more like she was simply lying in wait, poking around for the absolute best spot to stick the needle, then drive it in without warning. When you had a literal eternity stretched out in front of you like a long road, a few years of waiting was nothing. She watched the way Darian held the cigarette, lifted the glass to her mouth again.

"So what comes next?" Her tone had altered a little, and she added, "Now that the rabbit died, can I expect a weddin' invite to drop through my mail slot. One to be held on unhallowed ground, of course."

"I'd tell you not to hold your breath, but you haven't got any." Darian sipped his drink. The tumbler made a hollow noise when he set it on the bar. Darian got more comfortable on the stool. "I don't see matrimony in our future. Who would we swear our fidelity to, god or government? We don't care for either." One-handed, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them to his forearms. The cigarette burned on, while his nose revolted against the smoke smell.

"Why?" He narrowed his eyes and looked at the vampire.

"Because you're perverse? Because it'd be a thumb in the eye to everything that's decent to throw a wedding party that could pass as a Black Mass if you look at it closely enough? Because you're just arrogant enough to think you could?"

Grace was studying Darian as she asked the questions, her tone possessing a curious sort of interest. She finished off her drink, ordered another. Hard to understand him when he was so deliberately aloof, but she at least felt like she had a handle on some of his personality. He was also one of the few people - human or otherwise - that she had something like a friendly regard for. It was a rare enough occurrence in her existence that it made her ask in the first place.

"No big urge to give the middle finger to the world in general?"

"I hardly think conforming to the system counts," he said, ashing his cigarette. He had another reason for turning up his nose at it, though, and he said so now. "The Black Mass wedding has been done to the point of cliche in the underworld. Shall we take Leviathan's Bride for an example? It's contrived." Darian's fingertips rested on the rim of his glass. He spun it and watched the liquor wobble. "Next, you'll be suggesting that we eat our live offspring."

A thought occurred to him. He pointed the burning tip of his cigarette at Grace. "Don't even think of biting a child of mine." As temperamental as the Dealmaker got over business stolen from him, one could only guess at the avalanche of destruction that would result if anyone touched it. Add Bethany in, and it was World War Three.

He took another puff from the cigarette. "Off subject, but did you hear about Deanna?"

"What about her?"

If Grace had been thinking anything about Darian's progeny, her thoughts hadn't been directed towards eating. She was thinking about genetics instead, the Dealmaker's coldly handsome features coupled with Bethany's feline slinkiness. It could be worth it to wait around and find out what the kid would look like. Not like she didn't have time.

"I know she's got this book thing goin' on, makin' a pretty big splash with it. She plannin' to include Chicago on her book tour?"

"She already has." He exhaled through his nostrils. Twin plumes of smoke fanned across his bourbon, which was nearly gone. "Barnes and Noble hosted her book signing last week. She didn't hire a security team for it, so it's no surprise that a fight broke out." Darian settled his cuffed forearms on the edge of the bar. "Deanna's fans sent pictures from their cell phones to the local media. Security cameras caught a few minutes of footage, too. No one's officially identified the attacker, but I should think it's fairly obvious. A young white woman, brown hair, tactical gear, and a stake."

Grace was in the act of finishing her second drink, and as she put the glass down she looked over at Darian with a sudden intensity. That Rhiannon would go for it in public like that was no surprise, not with all the history she had with the redhead. But an ambush, especially one where there were no trained security officers to take down the interloper, could bode ill in a place like a bookstore. The vampire's right thigh flexed as she braced her boot heel more firmly against the bottom rung of her barstool. "I don't watch the news unless I'm gonna be in it some way," she told the demon, then signalled the bartender for a refill for herself and a possible one for him. "Is Deanna all right?"

"No."

Darian assented to a refill. He watched the bourbon splosh into a fresh glass, which was placed on a napkin before him. Off to the side, his fingers stubbed the half-smoked cigarette. "She was staked." His manner was stoic, his tone subdued. He wasn't close enough to the redheaded vampire to get caught up in emotion, but he did respect her. They had drinks a few times, talked about working together on business ventures. It hadn't panned out, and now it never would.

He lifted his glass, prepared to drink to her, once Grace had time to absorb the news.

Time slowed down. Grace could hear the seconds ticking by on the chunky man's wristwatch she wore, and later she'd swear she heard the minute sound come to a halt as she absorbed it. Felt it down in her gut, in a spot that more often than not lay as silent as the heartbeat she used to have. If she didn't laugh very often, she did even less of the opposite, which was grieve, but if Darian had ever wanted to see her do it, he'd just gotten his best chance.

"Fuck." The barman tried to take the bottle away with him, and the vampire reached out and wrenched it out of his hand to set it down on the countertop with a thump. "Get lost," she said flatly, tossing some bills from her wallet in his direction. Rubbing his fingers to return the circulation to them, the mortal retreated. The rage would come later, but this was meant to be a quiet moment.

"She was a friend." She would have to give her condolences to Victoria, pay her respects. Grace held up her own glass. "She was a lady."

Turning, Darian raised an eyebrow and looked at Grace full-on. It was his personal opinion that Deanna was not the latter, but he kept it to himself. "She was a hellcat," he added, a respectable description that felt honest to him. "And she went out in style, which is more than can be said of most." He hefted his glass and swallowed some of the bourbon. "Sorry to spoil your night."

"I'd as soon hear it from you as someone else." Like Rhiannon. Grace put her glass down, settled her forearms on the bar."I ain't got many friends. When one of 'em goes, I'd rather get the news from someone who ain't grindin' it in."

There was a silence as she felt time start up again, and she let out a soft, useless breath. "So what're you gonna do?" she asked, looking at Darian because she needed something else to concentrate on before she started to smash things. "About this kid business. I know you don't really do happy or sad as a regular thing, but I think that somewhere underneath being scared shitless, you're not exactly resentin' it."

"I don't know," he admitted, and the words felt foreign in his mouth. A fleeting sensation of panic filled his chest, which happened whenever he considered the weight of the entanglement, and his inability to predict how it would turn out. But like every other time, he flashed to kneeling in front of Bethany with their hands overlapped on her stomach, and the anxiety subsided to a manageable amount.

"It's a grand experiment, isn't it? There are things I don't know and things I do. I don't know what kind of father I'll be, or how the child will turn out, or what it will do to my relationship with Bethany," he said. "I don't know if I'll love it or feel a paternal connection to it." As he spoke, Darian didn't sound that different from regular men who were surprised by a pregnancy.

He shoved his sleeves up higher. "I do know that I love and am loyal to her. I've asked her to have it and we've made a deal to work as a team. I won't leave if life becomes unpleasant. We'll sleep under the same roof. We'll do our parts to make sure that it's healthy, safe, and taken care of. Maybe in time, I'll feel as much loyalty and protectiveness towards this child as I do towards Bethany. If that's the case, we have nothing to worry about."

On a less serious note, he added, "It should be interesting to figure out what it can do."

"I'm kinda lookin' forward to it myself." Grace allowed herself a small smile. "And considerin' how you once told me you couldn't love her either, I'd lay money on you findin' a spot in your heart to tuck the kid into. If you haven't jumped off a bridge by now, you'll probably survive this whole thing."

She touched his forearm near the rolled-up sleeve, squeezed for a second, then let go. "I should probably motor. There's a boy down in Mexico I haven't spoken to in a while. All of a sudden I feel like makin' sure he's still there to answer the phone."

The vampire looked at the bottle she'd already paid for, grasped it around the neck with a pale hand. "Give Bethany my regards. And good luck with your experiment."

"Good luck with your phone call," he said, not resisting a jibe. "May the 'lovin man' answer." Darian wanted to finish his glass before he left, but he stood up to see her off. "If you decide to make a personal trip to Mexico, take care. Ours is an ever-dwindling circle of competent friends."

It was as close as he'd come to admitting affection, or that he didn't want to see Grace reduced to a pile of dirt.

"Well, you mind yourself too," Grace responded. "I'd hate to think what your lady love is gonna be like after the first trimester. The idea of that shit scares even me a little."

She tucked the bottle out of sight underneath her jacket, made her way out onto the sidewalk. That muted grief still hung over her like a mist, and she tried shaking it off before going to look for her car. She'd call Ruben and they'd growl back and forth at each other for a couple of hours. Maybe she would go south of the border for a bit, take a vacation. And keep a watch on her own ass while she was at it. She wasn't planning to dwindle out of any circle for a long time to come.