The Nimble Man by Christopher Golden, Thomas E. Sniegoski

arms. "And we shoulda let 'em
all get wiped from existence way back after the first Twilight War, that's what
I say." Squire took care not to track soot from the fireplace onto the
priceless Oriental rug. He gnawed on the corner of one of the blood packs to
open it.
    "They attacked in surprising numbers," Doyle said.
He gestured toward Eve, who lay unconscious upon the sofa, bleeding onto
yesterday's news. "Eve was occupied with an antagonist of her own. The
beasts overpowered us and made off with the arch mage's chrysalis. There was
nothing we could do." The magician shook his head, gazing off into space.
    "There's silence in the ether," Graves told them,
crossing his arms. "That can't be good."
    Doyle walked to a liquor cabinet in the corner of the
elegant room and removed a crystal decanter of scotch, and a tumbler. He filled
half the glass with the golden brown liquid, placed the stopper back into the
bottle and put the decanter away. "Not good at all," he agreed,
helping himself to a large gulp of the alcohol. It was yet another sensory
experience that Graves had come to miss since joining the ranks of the dead. He
envied the magician's ability to enjoy the twelve-year-old, Glenlivet single
malt, spirits of a different kind altogether.
    A low moan interrupted his thoughts, and Graves saw that Eve
was awake. She sat up, wincing in pain, blood-soaked newspaper squelching
beneath her. Her hand came up to rub at the back of her head, and came away
stained with scarlet.
    "Shit," she muttered beneath her breath. A clot of
thick, coagulated blood dropped from the corner of her mouth to land upon the
front of her sweater, torn and stained from her conflict earlier that morning. "What's
a girl got to do for a drink around here?"
     
     
    Everything hurt. Eve turned her somewhat blurred gaze to
Squire, who appeared to be having some difficulty opening a blood pack. The
goblin gnawed on the pouch's corner, but the plastic was proving too tough for
the creature.
    "Give it to me," she demanded, reaching for the
bag.
    Insulted, Squire handed it to her. "I was only trying to
help," he grumbled. But he set the remaining packs in her lap where she
could reach them. "All this drinkin' has made me a tad parched,"
the goblin said, ambling from the room. "I'm going to get a beer."
    Eve brought the pouch of blood to her mouth, careful to
avoid the side that the hobgoblin had chewed. She felt her canines elongate
with the promise of feeding, and she tore into the thick plastic container. The
blood flowed into her mouth and her entire body began to tingle. Greedily Eve
sucked upon the pouch, draining it in seconds, and tossed the empty container
to the floor to start another.
    "Carefully, Eve," Doyle barked. "Do you know
the expense of removing blood stains from such a delicate carpet?"
    She finished another of the blood packs, placing the wilted
plastic beside her on the stained newspaper. "I think we have a bigger
problem right now than soiling your rug. My coat? Remember that coat? I bought
it in Milan. My clothes are ruined. Do you hear me bitching about it?"
    "Well, now that you mention it —" Squire
began.
    She stilled him with a dark glance.
    Eve could feel the blood working its magick upon her; the
cuts and gashes closing, foreign objects trapped beneath her flesh being pushed
out from within by the healing process, bruises and abrasions beginning to
fade. If it weren't for the fact that the world could very well be going to
shit, she'd have been downright giddy.
    "These Corca Duibhne," asked Graves, a cool vapor
drifting from his mouth as he spoke. "You've encountered them before?"
    Doyle finished his scotch, placing the empty glass on a
silver tray that rested upon a wheeled cart beside the liquor cabinet. He
glanced around at his allies.
    "I've crossed paths with the loathsome breed from time
to time." The mage crossed the parlor to wearily lower himself into a high
backed leather chair by a curtained window. "Since the Twilight