The Mortal Touch

by Naomi Clark

  The front door was my best option. I did not want to tackle the stairs and go out the way I came. It would take too long and the chances of running into the warlock were too high. Moving in what I hoped was silence, I headed across the dance floor. It was held shut by bolts at the top and bottom, and I winced as I slid them open. Every sound seemed explosively loud to me.

  Cool night air rushed me as I opened the door. I stumbled out into the darkness, relief giving me enough energy to move. The door slammed shut behind me and I winced again. There was no doubting that noise really was as loud as it felt. Still. Still. I was out on the street. An empty street, devoid of cars or people, but still. I was out.

  Dizziness overcame me. I knew I had to keep moving, but instead I found myself leaning heavily against Obsidian’s door, eyes squeezed shut. The lights inside the club hadn’t bothered me, but now the neon lights on the street were blinding. I needed a cab. Did I have my phone? I patted my pockets down and found I did not, but I wasn’t sure if I’d even brought it out with me. I damn sure hadn’t brought any weapons, which was unforgivably stupid of me.

  “Move,” I told myself, my voice sounding tinny and far off. “Move.”

  I couldn’t move. I gently slid down the wall until I was sitting on the sidewalk, my hands in a puddle of something sticky.

  And I didn’t move. Instead, I let the world go dark on me again, this time with utter gratitude.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I dreamed about Elijah in perfect, terrible detail. His clean, angular face and surprisingly deep, rich voice. His short, dirty blond hair, shaved close at the sides, left long on top. Blood on his wrists, jagged runes tattooed up his arms. A crisp black shirt and the scent of sandalwood clinging to it. That cane, that damn cane he always carried, deep, dark wood with a silver crow’s head as the handle. He always said it was a weapon and I always said it was an affectation.

  His smile. Even after everything he suffered with Varnham, Elijah still smiled. Sometimes it was a defense mechanism, a mask. But after we left, it became real, if rare, and I treasured it. I spent hours coaxing smiles from Elijah, and he did the same to me. Neither of us were laughers, but he would at least fake a smile. Me, I didn’t care if the world knew I was angry.

  But Elijah Walsh made me happy.

  I never dream about things. Not memories, things we did, hunts we finished, places we went. I just dream about him. He hangs in my subconscious like smoke, just out of reach, impossible to grab. I run through the dark, trying to catch him, trying to hang onto something intangible.

  My chest ached. Even in my dreams, the anguish was razor sharp. We should be together. We should be retired in our house by the sea, living boring, normal lives. He should be teaching high school kids history and meeting me after work for walks on the beach. We should have had something more than memories, dreams, and heartbreak.

  But that was all I had, and some days I wished bitterly I didn’t have any of it. Some days I would almost rather never have had Elijah at all.

  Voices, vaguely familiar, began to seep into my dreams. My body resisted reality’s call. Even in the dream, my head hurt. As miserable as I was unconscious, being awake was probably going to be much worse.

  A great hand reached through the darkness of my dream and shook me, rag-dolling me around in the shadows. Elijah’s smiling form turned to mist and drifted away, leaving me alone in the grip of a monster. I screamed, thrashing in vain to get free.

  “Stop shaking her! What if she has a neck injury?”

  “Too late to worry about that now.”

  A string of harsh-sounding foreign words followed. I didn’t need to speak Chinese to know a curse when I heard it. I batted feebly at the giant hand, reluctantly rising from my sleep. I was blind for a second, seeing nothing but stark white light. Then two blurry shapes faded into view, shapes that gradually became people. Ezra and Harmony leaned over me, her face concerned, his unreadable.

  “See? She’s fine,” he said, moving back.

  I tried to argue, but my mouth felt full of peanut butter and the words stuck in my throat. I was definitely not fine. My head pounded and my stomach lurched. Little white sparks flashed in and out of my vision as I stared dumbly at them and tried to figure out where I was.

  “You’re in the apartment over the restaurant,” Ezra said. “You’re in my bed, but don’t worry, your virtue is intact. I left you just as I found you – topless and covered in puke.”

  I glared at him, then took a look around. The room was small and cramped, with the single bed I was in taking up most of the floor space. A desk across the room left only the narrowest gap for a person to come and go by. Clothes were heaped up on the desk chair, and the desk itself was littered with bottles and empty pill packets. The walls were covered in lurid, nightmarish artwork. Body horror images of human heads splitting open, maggots crawling out of eyeballs, monstrous hands grasping at me from black voids.

  I closed my eyes, overwhelmed. The artwork pressed in on me, making the small room an ever-shrinking prison. “You should have left me on the street,” I croaked.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  “Don’t start,” Harmony said. I wasn’t sure who that was aimed at. “Georgia, what happened? Why were you at Obsidian? Did you find something out?”

  There was an urgent note in her voice that made me think someone else must be dead. I tried to sit up and failed. Harmony pressed her hand to my shoulder to stop me trying again. Her touch was ice-cold against my bare skin and I shivered, suddenly keenly aware that I was down to just my bra. My tank top was still messily wrapped around my hands and my flannel shirt was probably still in the alleyway behind Obsidian.

  Harmony noticed me shiver. “Get her a t-shirt, Ezra. No – from the staff cupboard,” she added sharply when he reached for the clothes-mountain on his desk.

  He scowled and stomped out. Harmony turned back to me. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Obsidian,” I said, massaging my throat. “The owner, I guess. He’s a warlock. Putting something in the drinks. The humans drink the drinks, the vampires drink the humans. Bam.”

  “Bam?” she echoed, pressing her hand to her own throat, repulsion on her face.

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to tell her the whole story. I wanted to sleep again. A dhampir might not heal as fast as a vampire, but sleep would help clear my head.

  Harmony rose. “Mr. Cold needs to hear this. Stay there,” she added, somewhat unnecessarily as she swept from the room.

  I sank back down in the bed, tugging the duvet up around me. It smelt faintly of weed and beer, and while I was glad my sense of smell was coming back, it would be nice if I’d been at home when it happened.

  Ezra returned with a t-shirt and a glass of water. He threw the t-shirt at me before setting the water down carefully on the floor, where I couldn’t reach it without rolling out of the bed. Thanks.

  I struggled into the t-shirt. It was a Chi Lin Garden t-shirt, the kind the waiters and waitresses wore, black with the restaurant logo in red and gold. It was a little snug, but I felt immediately better for not just being in my bra.

  “How did you find me?” I asked him. It must have been fast. There was no way the warlock wouldn’t have checked outside the club on realizing I was gone.

  He shrugged, smoothing out his red-tipped hair. “Just your good luck, I guess.”

  “Please. Nobody in the world is that lucky. Were you tracking me?”

  Ezra had implied he wasn’t a powerful telepath, but why should I believe him? It was undoubtedly to his advantage to have people underestimate him.

  Guilt flickered across his tired face.

  I scowled, crossing my arms. “With the stiletto?”

  The guilty look morphed into a grin. “Now you know why I wouldn’t give it back. And you can’t get pissed about it, because if I didn’t have it as a focus object, I’d never have found you tonight and you’d probably be dead.” He lifted his chin triumphantly,
daring me to argue.

  I wasn’t sure I had the energy to, even though I wanted to on general principles. Psychic abilities range from the common, which telepathy was, to the freakishly rare, like precognition or mediumship. Psychometry is another common ability, allowing the psychic to glean information about a person from an item they own. If the item has strong sentimental value, it’s a powerful link between it and the owner.

  Obviously, I’d dropped the stiletto here by accident, but Ezra had clearly swooped on the chance to grab something I owned. He was right that the theft had probably saved my life tonight, but I didn’t have to be okay with the theft because of that.

  “I want it back,” I said.

  “Sure, when you give me back my knife.”

  Our first encounter in that dingy alleyway, where I’d taken his butterfly knife, seemed an aeon ago. Just thinking about it made my head hurt again. I said nothing and reached for the water.

  “See, you don’t hold the moral high ground here. You still haven’t thanked me, by the way.”

  “How the hell does your sister put up with you?”

  “She’s extremely patient. Immortals can afford to be.”

  “Why were you tracking me tonight? Or have you been doing it every night?” I asked.

  “I’ve just been checking in every so often. Making sure Mr. Cold is getting his money’s worth.”

  Well, he certainly did tonight. I couldn’t wait to pass on my information, get the rest of my money, and go home. I’d check back in at some point to make sure the warlock was really taken care of, but it was good to know that I’d done my part now. I’d held up my end of the deal, Elijah was safe, and I could wash my hands of Ridderport’s vampire community.

  Ezra gave me a pitying look, reminding me I was without my kyanite. Before I could snap at him about it, Harmony returned.

  “You need to get cleaned up,” she told me. “Mr. Cold and Charlotte will be here soon.”

  I groaned, but honestly, the thought of a hot shower was very inviting. “How soon?”

  “Very soon.” She grabbed the duvet and yanked it off of me. “Be presentable. Be polite.”

  “Pick one,” I told her. “I haven’t got the brain power for both.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I could make a very unkind comment, but we don’t have time. The bathroom is next door. Go.” She pointed at the bedroom door.

  I caught Ezra’s eye as I hauled myself out of bed, and a silent moment of empathy passed between us. He hid his smile and said nothing, and I masked my grimace and did the same.

  I FELT NAKED AS I HEADED down to the basement with Ezra and Harmony. I’d never deliberately met a vampire without a single weapon on me. Add that to the lingering fuzziness in my head, and I was vulnerable and off-balance.

  It didn’t help that, as we went down the stairs, I was almost sure I could smell fresh blood. My sense of smell still hadn’t completely returned, and the spicy aromas that filled the restaurant were confusing me, but I’d swear there was a tang of blood underneath it. It threw me even further, and I found my feet dragging the closer we got to the door.

  Harmony must have sensed my reticence. She turned to raise an eyebrow at me, one hand poised to fling back the purple curtain. “Keep up,” she said. A small, cruel smile curved her lips. “I understand Mr. Cold has a present for you.”

  My blood ran cold. The curtain swung.

  Mr. Cold sat in a chair in the middle of the room. Behind him, Charlotte stood at the table where I’d seen them all playing cards a lifetime ago. Something...someone, huddled at his feet, cowering in a ball, trying to make themselves as tiny and still as possible. Blood dried to a sticky glisten on the floor.

  I inhaled sharply, the reality of the scene kicking me hard. My fangs dropped in an instinctual spur of hunger and anger.

  “Kinley,” I whispered, my voice harsh and hoarse.

  He didn’t move. Maybe he couldn’t.

  I lurched forward, pushing past Harmony. In a flash, Charlotte was next to Mr. Cold, hissing like a puffed-up cat.

  “Relax, Charlotte,” Mr. Cold said. “This is for Georgia, after all.”

  “What the fuck is this?” I demanded. “Kinley!”

  “An apology,” Mr. Cold said, tapping Kinley with his shoe. “I try to keep a tight leash on my vampires. Bad manners are unacceptable to me.”

  I’d never itched for a weapon more. My hands curled into tight fists, and I imagined driving them into Mr. Cold’s masked face. “What did you do to him?”

  He reached down and grabbed Kinley by the hair, yanking his head up. The light in the basement was low. Not low enough to disguise the brutality inflicted on Kinley. His face was a crimson mask. Both his eyes were blackened and swollen shut. His lip was split. And those were just the injuries I could see. Kinley’s limp body spoke of more. So did the smell of blood. Vampires heal fast, even young ones. For Kinley’s face to still be bleeding freely meant someone had done this to him recently and repeatedly.

  I realized I was trembling. Maybe it was fury. Maybe it was the smell of vampire blood. Probably both.

  Charlotte grinned at me, a perfectly cruel smile, and raised one hand with a flourish. Blood coated her fingers, sticky and dark. “You’re welcome,” she said, giving Kinley a disdainful kick with her designer heel.

  He hit the floor hard as Mr. Cold let go of his hair, as heavy and unresisting as a corpse.

  I snapped.

  I launched myself at Charlotte, colliding with her with a banshee shriek. We crashed into the table and I drove my knee into her stomach as we went, cutting off her scream of rage. Chaos erupted around us. Someone grabbed my hair, trying to yank me off Charlotte. Spikes of pain shot through my scalp, but it just fired me up. Charlotte thrashed beneath me, gasping painfully.

  Instinct and darkness swept over me. With a feral roar, I tore myself free of the attacker behind me and bit deep into Charlotte’s throat. The sour taste of vampire blood exploded on my tongue and the world changed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I don’t need blood. I never need blood.

  But goddammit, it makes me better.

  Charlotte’s blood was far more potent that the splatter of draugr blood I’d accidentally drank. It was as if my vision had been fogged and now it cleared. The world came into hyper-sharp relief, every sound and smell amplified. The dark basement seemed bright as day, all the shadows melting back. Charlotte’s pained breathing echoed like drumbeats in my ears. The pain sparkling through my head was viciously invigorating. The perfume of fresh blood – Charlotte’s and Kinley’s – was intoxicating. My body was different. My head was clear, and strength and hunger coursed through me. I felt made of iron. Unbreakable.

  I was a dhampir. I was meant to feel like this all the time.

  Sensing a whisper of movement behind me, I rolled off Charlotte and bounced to my feet. I swung round to face Mr. Cold just as he swung something at me. I brought my arm up to block the blow and hissed as a blade sliced me open. Now the tang of my own blood filled the air, and the scent fueled my anger. I bared my fangs at Mr. Cold, daring him to try again.

  He faced me serenely, his oni mask hiding whatever he might be feeling. He held a long, wicked knife up in a defensive position, but made no move to attack again. Behind him, Harmony and Ezra were frozen in horror, Ezra clinging to his sister – restraining her.

  He could let her go for all I cared. I’d take her down too.

  “There’s no need for this to end in violence, Georgia,” Mr. Cold said, his ragged voice abrading my now-sensitive ears.

  “It started in violence,” I said, nodding at Kinley. The kid hadn’t moved. If he was dead, I’d make damn sure this continued in violence.

  “Kinley overstepped his boundaries. He had to be brought back in line. Since you were the victim of his actions, I’m surprised you object so...fiercely.”

  He really meant it. Truth and surprised dripped from his words. Mr. Cold genuinely believed I’d be pleased he’d bea
ten a baby vampire half to death for breaking my fucking kitchen window.

  “You’re a fucking sociopath,” I said. I itched to tear into him, but I forced myself to take a step back. Charlotte hadn’t risen yet, but it wouldn’t take her long to recover, and I wanted to see all my enemies at once if I could.

  “I’m pragmatic,” Mr. Cold corrected. “It’s why I hired you in the first place. And I understand you have information pertaining to that.”

  I backed up until I had the whole basement in view. It meant I had no escape route, but my blood-addled brain wasn’t worried about that. I could fight my way out. Charlotte sat up, one hand pressed to her bleeding neck.

  “If she knows something, Ezra knows it too. We don’t need the bitch. Let me...”

  I made a feint at her, fangs bared. She jerked back, hitting her head on the table we’d knocked over.

  “Try me,” I invited. “You have no idea how many vampires I’ve turned to ashes.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Mr. Cold said.

  I disagreed. The urge to fight burned through me. I didn’t want to talk or be reasonable. I wanted to punch my way out of here and never look back. Charlotte was right – Ezra had probably already skimmed my thoughts for anything useful anyway.

  That realization made me angrier. “I’m leaving,” I said. “And I’m taking Kinley with me.”

  “No,” Mr. Cold said. An implacable, unarguable no.

  It made my bones itch. My anger was a hot, roiling mass in my gut and my head, and I lashed out, trying to grab the knife from him. Charlotte was up and on me in a flash, catching my wrist and twisting my arm back roughly. I screamed, half-rage, half-pain, and swung my free fist at her, connecting with her jaw with a meaty smack.

  She spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at me, a wild grin on her face. I used her own body weight against her, yanking my captured arm in and bringing her with it. Her face met my fist again, just as I swept her feet out from under her with my leg. We both fell once more, but I landed on top, mounting her and freeing my arm.