The Night Beat

hung up. I got the feeling he was tired of hearing from me. I was instantly sorry I’d thought the word “tired”, because I was already and getting more so every minute.
    “Do you need to stay here if you’re calling in someone else?” Jack asked.
    “No idea. Depends on whether or not Martin thinks they’re clean or not.”
    There was a chair in the room. Jack pulled it over, sat in it, and pulled me into his lap. He still had his gun out. I would have protested that this didn’t look professional, but I was too tired and snuggling was so much nicer than standing around waiting.
    I leaned my head against his shoulder. He rocked gently. “How long do werewolves live?” he asked softly.
    “Until we’re dusted or destroyed. Just like any other undead.”
    “How long have you been alive?”
    I thought about it. It wasn’t something any but the newer undeads really worried about. “I’m too tired to do the math.”
    “What year were you born?”
    “As a human, seventeen-ninety-nine. As an undead, eighteen-nineteen.”
    “You were twenty when you were, what, bitten?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So, you’ve been an undead for around two hundred years.”
    “Sounds right.”
    He kept on rocking. “You don’t look twenty. You don’t look two hundred, either.”
    “Yeah, I look late twenties or early thirties, I know. But we age, all undeads age. We just do it at such a slower rate than humans that we seem young forever. But we don’t actually stay that way over the long course of time. Monty’s been alive for over fifteen-hundred years. He’s an old lich. And he looks older than Edgar, for example, who’s a much younger lich.”
    “Is that why Monty’s arm fell off?”
    “Yeah. And he’s seen a lot of action, too.”
    Jack was quiet for a moment. “How can you age, even slowly, and yet still live forever?”
    “How do the Gods and Monsters do it? I’m not sure. Maybe we do die, but so far as I know, no undead has ever died from old age. Maybe one will someday, but seeing into the future isn’t a werewolf trait.”
    “Do undead ever get tired of living?”
    “We call it unliving, and I suppose some do. But in my experience, just like humans, most undeads would like to stay unalive forever. We just have a better shot at it than humans do.”
    “Why don’t you make all humans undeads?”
    I shrugged, which happily snuggled me closer. “Not everyone can handle it. Not everyone should. Some people would turn minion, and that’s the last thing we need.”
    “Minion?”
    “Willing servant of the Prince.”
    “Ah. Yeah, from what everyone’s said, we don’t want that.”
    “Ever.”
    “You know anyone who…what, turned?”
    I tried to figure out how to answer that without lying, telling the truth, or sounding like I didn’t want to tell him. Even though I didn’t. But I was saved by a group of beings walking in.
    Three were tall, black-skinned, and almost too beautiful to behold. Best wings in any plane of existence. Angels, you’d hate them if they weren’t so amazingly perfect. The three here were all male, which was nice for me. I dreaded Jack meeting a female angel. Angels gave vampires a run for the suave, sexy and devastatingly attractive money, and usually won.
    The fourth was also an angel, but he’d been angelicized once he’d died. He was shorter, fair-skinned, with piercing eyes. His wings were white, but that was because angels really didn’t go in for the two-toned look.
    Jack and I stood up hurriedly. I tried not to look guilty and failed. Martin excelled at reminding you of your sins, even when he wasn’t trying.
    But he gave me a warm smile and a hug. “I’m glad you insisted,” he said as he let me out of his embrace. “We could tell there was something wrong just walking into the building.”
    It was kind of a relief to be right. But, manners first. “Martin, this is my human police partner, Jack Wagner.”
    Martin put out his hand and shook Jack’s vigorously. “Martin Luther. Very pleased to meet you, young man.”
    Jack shot me a look. “ The Martin Luther?”
    Martin twinkled. “If you mean the founder of the Reformation, yes.”
    Jack gaped. “ You’re an undead?”
    “He’s an angel. Yes, they’re undeads, but as you know, they’re the ones everyone likes.” I shrugged. “What can I say? Yahweh really liked him.”
    Martin chuckled. “So I’m told.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? We’ve got