Bill massaged the moistened clay, smoothed the cracks and fissures of his skin, and let out a contented sigh. He splashed more water on his face, and his expression brightened. “That’s better! Little things can improve life in large ways.” After wiping his cheeks and eyes with the last drops of sparkling water, he became more animated. “Is that so much to ask? Civil treatment? Human decency? It wouldn’t even cost much. But my people have to endure the most appalling conditions! It’s a crime, plain and simple.”
He swiveled around to include Robin, Sheyenne, and me. “That’s why I came to you. Although I escaped, my people remain enslaved, working under miserable conditions. Please help us!” He deepened his voice, growing more serious. “I know I can count on Chambeaux and Deyer.”
Now that the bottle of sparkling water was empty, Sheyenne returned with a glass of tap water, which the golem accepted. She wasn’t going to give him the expensive stuff anymore if he was just going to pour it all over his body. “Was there anyone in particular who referred you to us?” she asked.
“I saw your name on a tourist map. Everyone in town knows Chambeaux and Deyer gives unnaturals a fair shake when there’s trouble.” He held out a rumpled, folded giveaway map carried by many businesses in the Quarter, more remarkable for its cartoon pictures and cheerful drawings than its cartographic detail.
Sheyenne flashed me a dazzling smile. “See, Beaux? I told you our ad on the chamber-of-commerce map would be worth the investment.” Beaux is Sheyenne’s pet name for me; no one else gets to call me that. (Come to think of it, no one had ever tried.)
“I thought you couldn’t read, Bill,” I said.
“I can look at the pictures, and the shop had an old vampire proofreader who mumbled aloud as he read the words,” Bill said. “As a golem, you hear things.”
“The important thing is that Mr., uh, Bill found us,” Robin said. She had been sold on the case as soon as the golem told us his plight. If it weren’t for Sheyenne looking out for us, Robin would be inclined to embrace any client in trouble, whether or not he, she, or it could pay.
Since joining us, postmortem, Sheyenne had worked tirelessly—not that ghosts got tired—to manage our business and keep Chambeaux & Deyer in the black. I didn’t know what I’d do without her, professionally or personally.
Before her death, Sheyenne had been a med student, working her way through school as a cocktail waitress and occasional nightclub singer at one of the Unnatural Quarter high-end establishments. She and I had a thing in life, a relationship with real potential, but that had been snuffed out when Sheyenne was murdered, and then me, too.
Thus, our romance was an uphill struggle.
While it’s corny to talk about “undying love,” Fate gave us a second chance . . . then blew us a big loud raspberry. Sheyenne and I each came back from the dead in our respective way—me as a zombie, and Sheyenne as a ghost—but ghosts can never touch any living, or formerly living, person. So much for the physical side of our relationship . . . but I still like having her around.
Now that he was moisturized, Bill the golem seemed a new person, and he no longer flaked off mud as he followed Robin into our conference room. She carried a yellow legal pad, ready to take notes. Since it wasn’t yet clear whether the golem needed a detective, an attorney, or both, I joined them. Sheyenne brought more water, a whole pitcher this time. We let Bill have it all.
Golems aren’t the smartest action figures in the toy box—they don’t need to be—but even though Bill was uneducated, he wasn’t unintelligent, and he had a very strong sense of right and wrong. When he started talking, his passion for Justice was apparent. I realized he would make a powerful witness. Robin fell for him right away; he was just her type of client.
“There are a hundred other disenfranchised golems just like me,” Bill said. “Living in miserable conditions, slaves in a sweatshop, brought to life and put to work.”
“Who created you?” I asked. “Where is this sweatshop located? And what work did you do?”
Bill’s clay brain could not hold three questions at a time, so he answered only two of them. “We manufacture Unnatural Quarter souvenirs—vampire ashtrays made with real vampire ash, T-shirts,