The Mortal Touch

by Naomi Clark

  “I know, I know,” I whispered, pushing the curtain aside. “It’s too late to back out now, though.”

  I’ve walked into countless vampire lairs. Everything from the classic cemetery mausoleum to luxury high-rise apartments. From BDSM clubs to cabins deep in the woods, to, on one memorable occasion, a circus tent. This was my first Chinese restaurant, but some elements are universal, no matter what the setting.

  There’s always the master, and there are always his dogs.

  Mr. Cold was no different. The room was a small one, lit by graceful red paper lanterns that gave it an intimate, almost romantic glow. The wooden walls were decorated with scrolls depicting mythical birds, all wild plumage and vivid colors. Mr. Cold sat at a round table with three other vampires, apparently playing a game of cards. A bottle of dark red liquid sat in the middle of the table. It was probably just for show – blood clots too quickly to make a good drink out of the veins.

  One of the vampires was my visitor from the other night. She gave me a coy wave and a sweet smile as I stepped into the room. I ignored her, quickly assessing the other two. They were also women, one a statuesque ice-blonde, the other Asian, and graceful in a traditional-looking kimono. All three of them were vampires, so all three of them were dangerous, but I pegged the blonde as the muscle of the group. She looked like she knew a thousand ways to kill a man with her frosty expression alone.

  And then there was the man himself.

  Mr. Cold was demonic. His skin was green, black and silver, with tusks curling out from under his blank eyes and horns sprouting from above them. Oversized fangs sprung from his snarling mouth. For a second, horror gripped me, and then my brain caught up with my eyes. It was a mask. A gruesome one, sure, but just a mask. I swallowed, forcing myself to calm.

  “Stylish,” I said. “Is this what the young vampires are doing these days?”

  He gestured at the empty seat at the table, between the blonde and the vampire I’d already met. It would put me directly opposite him, and with my back to the only exit from the room.

  “Sit,” he said, in that awful, broken voice.

  “I’ll stand,” I replied, folding my arms.

  “I told you she was contrary,” my visitor said.

  “I give you my word no harm will come to you tonight, Georgia,” Mr. Cold said.

  “Why should your word mean anything to me?” I asked.

  He steepled his hands together and rested his chin on the tips. “A fair question. If faith is not enough for you, will hard cash buy your trust? Charlotte.”

  My visitor reached under her chair. I rested my hand on the Ghost once again, but she re-emerged with a very ordinary-looking briefcase, which she set on the table and popped open with a flourish.

  There was a lot of money inside.

  I made an odd noise and realized I was laughing. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Call it a retainer,” Mr. Cold said. “I understand your services don’t come cheap.”

  “My services?” Confusion blanketed me. “What the fuck is this?” I asked again.

  He leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table. I wished he’d take off the mask. Not being able to see his face, his expression, made me feel nervous. “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood. You are Georgia Jackson, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “Dhampir, vampire bounty-hunter?”

  “I’m retired.”

  “Indeed. And you were there, were you not, when young Beckett died?”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” I snapped.

  “Of course,” he agreed. “He was like that when you got there.”

  His voice was worse when he talked like that, soft and mocking. I gritted my teeth and held my tongue.

  “I don’t know what killed Beckett,” he continued when I didn’t take the bait, “but three more of my clan have died the same way in the past month. Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is conspiracy.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But what’s it got to do with me and that stack of money?”

  “I believe we are being deliberately targeted. I would like you to find the culprit and bring them to me.”

  I blinked, not sure I’d heard right. “You think some rival vampire is taking out your underlings and you want me to go collect his head? Why can’t –”

  “It’s not another vampire,” he interrupted. “I wouldn’t look for outside help for that.” He tilted his head, and although I couldn’t see his eyes, I had the distinct impression he was staring at Elijah. “It’s a warlock.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The floor seemed to rock under my feet, and a tide of black, bitter rage rose in my throat. “No,” I said.

  “Just like that?” Mr. Cold asked mildly.

  “I don’t fuck with warlocks. I’m retired. This is not my problem.” I turned on my heels, intent on storming out and never looking back, no matter how many smoke bombs they threw at my house. There just wasn’t enough money on the planet.

  I heard chairs scraping back, and turned my head just in time to see Charlotte and the blonde approach me. Elijah launched himself from my shoulder with a cry. I whipped out the stiletto, focusing on the blonde. She was taller than me, and built like a power-lifter – definitely the bigger threat.

  I raised the knife, ready to take a swing at her, when I heard Elijah scream. Fear swamped me, and I spun round to see Charlotte had grabbed him. She had him tucked under her arm like he was a fucking chicken, that sugar-sweet smile on her face.

  The world stopped. My heart raced so hard I was sure it would explode from my ribcage. “Let him go,” I said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Not yet.”

  Elijah shrieked and stabbed at her fingers with his beak, but if it hurt her, she smothered her reaction. A roaring sound filled my ears, and I stepped toward her, stiletto raised.

  “You –”

  I’d turned my back on the blonde. Stupid, amateur, angry mistake. She grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides in a vice-like grip and crushing the air from my lungs. Gasping, I kicked and flailed my legs to no avail. She wrapped one arm round my neck, squeezing until stars danced before my eyes and I was choking and gagging helplessly. Elijah’s shrieks of rage filled the room, echoing the screams in my mind. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Enough, Johanna,” Mr. Cold said, sounding dim and far away as I wavered on the brink of unconsciousness. “Bring her here.”

  I didn’t have the oxygen to struggle as Johanna manhandled me into a chair. She released her chokehold, only to bring both hands down on my shoulders, pinning me to the seat. I hung my head, gasping in air and fuming with rage. I’d dropped the stiletto and I couldn’t go for the Ghost or the butterfly knife without Johanna seeing.

  I craned my neck to see Charlotte carrying Elijah to the table. He was still squawking indignantly, but had stopped struggling. “If you hurt him, I will fuck you up,” I told her.

  Maybe if I hadn’t sounded like a fish out of water, it would have been intimidating. As it was, she just sneered at me and sat down again. Mr. Cold snapped his fingers, drawing my attention back to him.

  “I am willing to pay for your services,” he said, as if the whole little scene had never happened. “But I’m not above threatening you. My clan is small. That is my choice. But it means I can’t afford to lose anyone, nor will I risk them by sending them after a warlock who has already proved he can kill us. That is why I need you, Georgia.”

  “Or what?” I asked, not defiantly like I’d hoped, but strained and afraid. I already knew or what. I’d known it the second Charlotte snatched Elijah. He trembled in her hands, and I thought he knew too.

  “I know where you live. I know where you work. Wild roses can be gotten rid of. And birds are fragile.” Mr. Cold folded his hands on the table. The lantern light shone on his long nails.

  I had a sudden vision of those nails wrapped around Elijah’s throat and head, and had to swallow hard to keep myself from
throwing up.

  He tapped the briefcase. “There’s five thousand dollars in here. There will be a further five thousand when you bring me the warlock.”

  “I don’t want your fucking money,” I growled. Johanna gave my shoulder a warning squeeze, hard enough to make me twist in pain. “If I do this, I want your guarantee that you’ll leave us the fuck alone when it’s all over.”

  Mr. Cold smiled. Don’t ask me how I know. I felt it, like a stab of pain. “I thought my word was worthless to you?”

  “I’m willing to put my faith in you,” I said. “After all, I know where you live too, now.”

  His laughter hurt my ears. “Let her go, Johanna. Charlotte, release the bird.”

  “That’s it?” Charlotte asked, eyeing me warily. “You’re just going to trust her? We should keep the bird as insurance.” She petted Elijah and he shivered.

  Rage filled me in a flash. My fangs dropped and I bared them at her, hissing furiously. “You fucking dare.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Will you fight me for it?”

  “Enough,” Mr. Cold said when I tried to shake off Johanna’s grip and rise. “It would be amusing to see you two fight, but not now. Charlotte, let the bird go. Johanna, let Georgia go.”

  Johanna stepped back from me, leaving my shoulders aching. Charlotte flipped her hair and released Elijah. He shot into my lap, burying his head against my t-shirt and quaking. I petted him soothingly, mentally envisioning gruesome revenge on Charlotte. Her smug smile grated on my raw nerves.

  “Do we have an understanding?” Mr. Cold asked me.

  “Oh yeah.” I stood, shifting Elijah to my shoulder and standing. I ran my tongue over my fangs, suddenly hungry for blood in a way I hadn’t been for years. Charlotte looked very tasty right now.

  I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling steadily. I was not going to attack her. Even though my body ached for it, even though I could already imagine myself tearing into her throat, almost taste sweet, fresh vampire blood on my tongue, I was not going to attack her. Not here, not now. I wasn’t that stupid.

  Instead, I reached for the briefcase.

  “I thought you didn’t want the money?” Charlotte asked.

  “I never said I didn’t need it,” I said, snapping the lid shut. “You want me to hunt down a warlock? That takes time and resources, and both those things cost money.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Cold said. He rose, offering me his hand. “Let us consider our business concluded.”

  I stared at his hand, and those long, curving nails. They were painted a dark, venomous green, I noticed, picking up on the colors of his mask and the silky-looking robe he wore. My skin prickled, and I decided not to shake his hand. He kept it extended for a few seconds, then dropped it, turning to the Asian vampire at his side. She’d stayed motionless and silent throughout this whole mess – I’d almost forgotten she was there at all.

  “Harmony, escort Georgia back to the restaurant. Perhaps she would enjoy a meal while you explain to her what we know so far.”

  Harmony rose, bowing her head. She stepped round to me and gestured toward the stairs.

  “Wait,” I said. “How do I get in touch with you if I have news or questions?”

  “Ezra or Harmony are always here,” Mr. Cold said. “I hear what they hear.” He began to gather the playing cards scattered across the table, his attention completely off of me.

  I was happy to be dismissed. Keeping a wary eye on both Charlotte and Johanna, I backed up toward the stairs, only turning when my heels hit the bottom step. Harmony rolled her eyes at me.

  “Nobody will attack you while you’re working for Mr. Cold,” she told me impatiently. “Go. Up!”

  Well, that wasn’t entirely reassuring. I reached up to touch Elijah, more for my own comfort than his. He cawed and nestled in against my neck, claws tangled in my hair. We were together. Right then it didn’t matter that he was a bird, or how much of a bird he might be. We were together, and that was enough. This wasn’t the first weird undead clusterfuck I’d been dragged into, but with Elijah at my side – or on my shoulder – I had the strength to handle it.

  I had to believe that.

  I went upstairs, Harmony at my back, the briefcase full of cash heavy in my hand. It was a relief to be out of the lair. The air down there felt close and stale, and I felt my throat loosen once we were back in the corridor. Laughter and music from the restaurant combined yells from the kitchen to remind me there was a real, human world here. Normality collided with the surreal all the time in my life, but I was always glad of it. I was mostly human. It was important to remember that, especially with my fangs lowered and my bloodlust up.

  “Do you like Chinese food?” Harmony asked me, getting ahead of me as we walked back into the restaurant.

  “Sure, I guess. I’m not hungry though,” I said.

  “Mr. Cold said you should have a meal, so you should have a meal.” She took me to a two-seater table in the corner of the big room and bade me sit. “What about your bird? Does he like Chinese food?”

  She asked completely sincerely, and I begrudgingly nodded. If she was going to be nice to Elijah, I could put up with her.

  “Nothing too spicy,” I said, moving him to my lap. “He never – he can’t handle spicy.”

  She gave me a searching look. She was pretty, I noted absently, with more than a passing resemblance to Ezra now I saw her in good light. They had a story, clearly. In her pale pink and spring green kimono, she was slender and young-looking, and her vampiric energy felt young, too.

  “I’d like to know his story,” she said, nodding at Elijah and echoing my own thoughts about her.

  “Maybe over dessert,” I said, smoothing his iridescent feathers. I was starting to feel drained, the anger and adrenaline of my skirmish with Charlotte and Johanna fading fast. Maybe food wasn’t a terrible idea. It would help curb the bloodlust.

  Harmony nodded, giving me a formal little bow. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said, and sashayed off toward the kitchen.

  I slumped down in my chair and peeled my jacket off. I hadn’t noticed it with all the fucking drama going on downstairs, but I was uncomfortably warm and sticky. I had to struggle to get the leather sleeves off my arms, and Elijah squawked his displeasure, hopping up onto the table as I flailed.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, glancing around the restaurant. If anyone was annoyed about a big noisy crow being a fellow diner, they were all hiding it well. Everyone around me was focused on their meals and each other. The atmosphere was bright and social, and I hated it.

  Harmony returned about fifteen minutes later with a plate of sweet and sour pork and a small dish of peanuts. The bright orange sauce was aromatic and inviting, and despite my sour mood, I suddenly found myself hungry. She set the peanuts down in front of Elijah.

  “Can he eat peanuts?” she asked.

  “He’ll eat anything,” I said. “Whether it’s advisable or not.”

  She nodded and watched with a small smile as Elijah croaked and tucked into his treat. I began eating too, figuring it was never wise to pass up a free meal.

  “So what now?” I asked between bites. The food was delicious, I had to admit. Maybe not delicious enough to make up for the vampires in the basement, but still good. “Mr. Cold said you’d fill me in?”

  She nodded, toying idly with a bottle of chili oil on the table. “May I ask you a personal question first?”

  I hesitated, setting my fork down. In my experience, no good conversations sprouted from questions like that. Sure, Harmony seemed nice enough, and she’d been kind to Elijah, but she was still a vampire, and one who worked for Mr. Cold. I’d known him for less than an hour and he’d already blackmailed me into taking on a job I wanted absolutely no part of. For me, that made personal questions even more off limits than usual.

  Harmony must have read my expression well enough to guess my thoughts. “I’m going to ask anyway,” she said. “But I guess you don’t have to answer.”

  I frow
ned. “I probably won’t.”

  She set down the bottle and propped her chin on her fist, elbow on the table. She looked sweet and innocent, and very alive. Very dangerous.

  I was a dhampir and a vampire-hunter, so there were probably a million questions she could have asked. How many vampires have you killed? Do you ever feel guilty about killing your own kind? Do you remember their faces? Did you ever even learn their names?

  All questions I’d been asked before. I didn’t have answers for all of them, but they weren’t painful.

  The question she asked, though, was painful.

  “Why do you hate warlocks?”

  Chapter Twelve

  My heart twisted in my chest. I stared at my food, eating in frosty silence. Harmony watched me expectantly, clearly waiting for the silence to get to me. She didn’t know me.

  It wasn’t her fault. Like I said, she didn’t know me. She didn’t know mine and Elijah’s story. How could she? It was an innocent question compared to a lot of things she could have asked, but that didn’t stop it hurting as bad as a stake in the ribs.

  I hated thinking about it, and I thought about it every day. I wasn’t going to talk about with a strange vampire. I ate and listened to Elijah pecking gleefully at his peanuts.

  “Well,” Harmony said after a good five minutes had passed. “I guess it doesn’t matter for our purposes. Maybe it’s better.”

  “What makes you so sure a warlock is behind the deaths?” I asked, relieved to be back on topic. “Mr. Cold said there’d been three, right?”

  She nodded. “Beckett, you know about. Hugo and Viviana were first. We found their bodies together, in St Clement’s cemetery.”

  “And they’d died the same way as Beckett?” I asked, thinking of his animal madness, the evil-smelling blood he’d vomited.

  She gave me a sweet, knowing look. “With your knife in their chests, you mean?”

  I frowned. “That didn’t kill him. There’s absolutely no way. I didn’t even hit his heart.”