The Mortal Touch

by Naomi Clark

  I nodded. That was a useful charm. It was certainly useful information.

  “Where are we going?” he asked again, irritatingly determined.

  “You’ll see,” I said again. I inhaled deeply and smelt nothing but summer rain. Keeping one hand on the knife hilt, I lead Kaminski deeper into the city and hoped we were alone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  St Clement’s cemetery was a tranquil, melancholy oasis in the night. Once you were inside the iron gates, it was like the rest of Ridderport disappeared. I found myself relaxing infinitesimally when the gates clanged shut behind us. Whatever happened next, the only witnesses would be the dead.

  “A cemetery? That’s a little cliché.” Kaminski sounded disappointed. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and flicked on a mini flashlight. He swung the beam around the headstones. It did little to pierce the darkness.

  “Things become clichés because they’re true,” I said. I stroked the knife hilt, letting Kaminski wander a little while I planned my next move.

  I didn’t have it in me to kill a man in cold blood. Maybe, once, but not anymore. Kaminski was the hero of his story, ridding the world of a dangerous predator, fighting the good fight. I had no moral high ground. I wasn’t going to cut his throat from behind. I was going to give him a chance, at least.

  “Where’s the den, then?” Kaminski asked, circling back to me. “Is it underground? The maintenance shed –”

  “There’s no den, Kaminski,” I said, drawing the knife. “I just wanted to get you away from Obsidian.”

  He stiffened. In the faint glow of the flashlight, his expression turned sinister. “You tricked me?” The beginnings of outrage laced his tone.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “But hear me out before you start hurling garlic bombs at me.”

  He scowled, slinging his backpack off his shoulder to pull a pouch from it. I let him. I truly wanted to avoid a confrontation if I could, and that meant taking a few risks.

  “Talk fast,” he said. He dropped the backpack, keeping hold of one pouch. “I trusted you. I –”

  “There’s your first lesson, then,” I cut in. “Don’t trust anybody.”

  “You’ve turned, then? Sold out to the fucking undead?” He was visibly seething, squeezing that leather pouch so hard his fingers had to hurt.

  “No,” I said. “I’m giving you a chance, Kaminski. Walk away from Ridderport, go back to your secret society, and don’t look back.”

  He laughed scornfully. “Why would I do that? I’m having success here. I’m making a difference. If you won’t help me, it doesn’t matter. When my partner gets here, we can find the master without you anyway.”

  “The master knows about you. He knows about Obsidian. You’ll be lucky to survive the night.”

  He pulled his charm out from under his shirt, gripping it tight. “He doesn’t know enough. I can just leave the club and set up somewhere else. Nobody who’s seen me can tell anyone what I look like. Not even you – as soon as you walk away from me, you’ll start to forget. If I let you walk away.”

  The menace in his voice was unmistakable, and I drew the blade for the first time. All that stood between us was mud and dead flowers, and it wasn’t enough if he was going to start throwing charms. I was confident I could win a physical fight, but Kaminski wouldn’t try for one.

  “It’s not worth it, Kaminski,” I said. “The master will find you eventually, and he’ll kill you. Eventually. Nobody will come and save you or avenge you. He’s got more tricks up his sleeve than just me. Not many vampire-hunters live to retirement age. Be smart and buck the trend.”

  “I guess all the rumors about Georgia Jackson are true, then,” he sneered. “You lost your nerve. Or am I right, and you just sold out? More vampire than human underneath it all?”

  I didn’t care what the rumors said about me, so he wasn’t going to taunt me into making a mistake. I kept my distance, kept the knife at the ready, and was about to try persuasion again when two things happened at once.

  The first was a strong gust of wind hitting me with a fresh sting of vampire scent.

  The second was Kaminski lobbing his charm at me.

  I dodged, but not fast enough. The pouch hit my right arm, exploding on impact. Sticky dust sprayed the right side of my body, and I felt an instant paralysis. My right leg gave out, and I went down hard on my right knee, then collapsed onto my side. Numbness swept through me before the pain hit, but I knew from experience I was going to feel like my knee had fucking exploded when the numbness wore off.

  That was a concern for later. Much later.

  I dropped the knife, my right hand no longer working. I couldn’t even feel my fingers, let alone wriggle them. I groped for the blade with my left hand, but with my right side immobile, I was slow and clumsy. Fear and frustration made me clumsier as I watched Kaminski approach, murder in his eyes.

  I’d been helpless so many times before, but I’d never been alone. Not after I met Elijah. I couldn’t make my brain work. I couldn’t figure out how to get out of this.

  I should have just cut his fucking throat when I had the chance.

  Kaminski kicked me in the ribs, hard enough to rock me onto my back. I lay there, gasping for breath, staring up into the rainy night. The paralytic meant I couldn’t feel the kick yet, but he’d hit me in the kidneys and that was going to hurt worse than the knee when I did feel it.

  “How can you be on their side?” he demanded, looming over me, face clenched in anger. “No money is worth it. There’s no amount they could offer me to make me turn on my own kind.”

  I didn’t bother trying to answer. Breathing was hard enough. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, hoping it might help. Help with what, I had no clue at this point.

  I heard him kneel and opened my eyes again. He’d picked up my knife and held it with a death grip.

  “You’re going to die a villain,” he spat at me. “And I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

  He stabbed me.

  And someone launched themselves out of the dark with a scream, ploughing into them. It knocked him off-balance, and instead of plunging the blade into my heart, he hit my collarbone instead, deep enough that I let loose a scream of my own. The scent of my own blood filled me with hunger and nausea.

  Kaminski’s attacker sent him sprawling off to my right, where I couldn’t see either of them. But a heartbeat later, I heard angry cawing and Elijah landed on my chest, feathers puffed up with fury.

  “Stay away from her!” I heard Kinley yell.

  Shit. With an agonized groan, I managed to roll onto my left. The movement sent crunching pain through me from the stab wound, and drove Elijah into the air, squawking insults at me.

  “I know,” I said through gritted teeth. “Get me the fucking bag.”

  I don’t know if he understood. I guess he did understand something. Either that, or his corvid predilection for collecting things kicked in, because he hopped over to Kaminski’s discarded bag and came back with a little leather pouch.

  On my blind side, I heard fighting. Dread pulsed through me. If Kaminski took out Kinley...

  I grabbed the pouch with my left hand. I still couldn’t feel anything on my right side, and I just had to be grateful that I’d dodged the worst of the charm, or I’d doubtless be dead already. The problem was, I was useless with just my left side working. I had to drop the pouch again and lever myself up, my right arm flopping uselessly, blood dripping down my chest. I managed to get to one knee, Elijah bouncing around me, cawing encouragement.

  Now I could see Kaminski and Kinley rolling around in the mud, limbs flailing wildly. Neither had a clear advantage. Kinley had vampire strength on his side, but if you don’t know how to fight, strength will only take you so far.

  Now I had a dilemma, I realized, as I clawed for the pouch again. I didn’t know what fucking charm was in this thing. If I hurled it at Kaminski, I’d hit Kinley too. Was it worth the risk?

  I couldn’t afford
to vacillate. And yet I did, replaying Elijah’s fate in my head over and over in a sick loop. That had been a chance of fate, but if I deliberately struck now and Kinley suffered for it, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

  I dropped the pouch with a curse, just as Kinley howled in pain. Kaminski had stabbed him. Kinley rolled off him, clutching his arm. The sour smell of his blood turned my stomach, but it woke my demons too.

  “Kinley!” I screamed.

  He scrambled over to me, face contorted with worry and smeared with mud. “Georgia, I didn’t...I wasn’t...”

  I lurched at him, snatching his arm with my good hand and yanking it to my mouth. He cried out in surprise, ripping his arm away, but not before I’d swallowed enough blood to set my soul on fire.

  It really didn’t take much. That was always part of the problem.

  Life roared through me, burning away the effects of the paralytic as my body charged up. I shoved Kinley aside, shaking movement back into my right arm and leg. The pain was there as expected, oh hell yes it was, but I could ignore it long enough to finish this.

  I got to my feet, wavering but steady enough. Hunger coursed through me. Hunger for blood, hunger for violence, but mostly just hunger for an ending.

  Kaminski was bleeding. Kinley had scratched his face, and the smell of his blood was so sweet and tantalizing compared to Kinley’s, I felt my mouth watering. He scooted away from me as I limped toward him, until his back hit a tombstone. His face was ashen, fear making him tremble. He held the blade up defensively, but without his charms, he was nothing and we both knew it.

  “Last chance,” I said. “You can still walk away.”

  “I’ll come back with an army,” he said, voice rough.

  Elijah settled on my shoulder, his weight grounding me. I wanted to hurt Kaminski, I really fucking did. I wanted to rip his throat open and feast. But I’d never been that person. Elijah’s presence made me never want to be that person.

  But Kaminski wasn’t lying, so we had to end this.

  Kinley came up behind me, another anchor. “You can’t let him go,” he said softly, sounding almost regretful.

  I stared down at the warlock, memorizing the mortal terror on his pale face. I needed to remember this. I needed to always know how a man looked before I killed him, because I had to remember that this wasn’t easy, wasn’t fair, or kind or okay.

  I took the knife from him. He didn’t resist.

  He didn’t resist any of it.

  THE EFFECTS OF KINLEY’S blood didn’t last long. Twenty minutes later we limped out of St Clement’s together, and he had to hold me up. My right knee and kidney were constant, repeated explosions of pain, every movement a fresh detonation. Parts of my body were still numb from the paralytic charm, and my brain was filled with white noise. Elijah stayed on my shoulder, grooming my hair and chattering comfortingly.

  Kinley had his arm round my waist. Normally I’d have shaken him off, but I wasn’t sure I’d stay upright without him. He had Kaminski’s bag of charms shrugged over one shoulder. His expression was grim.

  “Doesn’t feel as good as you think, does it?” I asked quietly.

  He frowned. “I couldn’t have done it,” he said after a moment’s pause. “But I’m glad you did.”

  “So am I,” I admitted.

  We moved in silence after that, only Elijah’s talk and an occasional grunt of pain from me puncturing it. My chest had stopped bleeding quickly enough, but the wound had a fiery sting to it when I inhaled. I needed to get home and get cleaned up.

  “How long were you following me?” I asked Kinley suddenly.

  “Elijah wouldn’t settle. He was just throwing himself at the windows the minute you left. I figured it would be okay to let him out, but then he kept flying back in and out, like he wanted me to follow. So I did.” Kinley shrugged, sounding apologetic.

  “I’d be dead if you hadn’t,” I said.

  “Nah, you’d have beat him,” he said with a confidence I felt was entirely misplaced.

  I was about to tell him that, but a siren wail drowned me out. As we rounded the corner onto the main street, a fire engine shot past, lights blazing. We paused to watch it. I think we were both making the same mental calculation. It was heading into Eerie Point.

  “Do you think we should go to Obsidian?” Kinley asked.

  “No,” I said. “It’s going to burn anyway.”

  “You should tell Mr. Cold about Kaminski, though.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But not tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  We made it home before dawn, but it was a little too close for comfort. I ushered Kinley into my bedroom, ignoring his protests. I could feel the sunlight dragging at me, making me tired, so it would be pushing him into irresistible oblivion soon enough. I could crash on the sofa safely enough, but the bedroom was the best place for him.

  He was unconscious before he hit the mattress, and I left him there, heading down to the kitchen. Elijah waited for me on top of the fridge, claws tapping pointedly. I groaned.

  “Make your own breakfast,” I said, pointing to the bag of pistachios on the side. I grabbed a bottle and a glass without bothering to check what was in the bottle, and slumped down at the kitchen table.

  It turned out to be rhubarb gin, which I had no memory of buying and didn’t really care for, but it was alcoholic and that was good enough. Numb in body and mind, I poured a generous measure and watched sunlight creep under the boards across the window. It was Monday, I realized distantly. I was supposed to be at work in a few hours.

  I laughed, a bitter, choked noise, and downed the gin. There was no way, absolutely no way.

  I actually had no idea what I was going to do next. I’d just killed a man and left his body propped against a grave like a discarded Halloween decoration. I found myself trembling as the understanding of it set in. I’d had no choice, right?

  Fuck, I wasn’t sure. I genuinely wasn’t sure. He would have killed me. But maybe I could have – should have – stopped it going that far to begin with?

  I ran my hands through my ratty hair and inhaled deeply. Too late now. All I could do was deal with the aftermath, and that included Kaminski’s corpse. Kinley was right, I thought, swallowing thickly. I had to call Mr. Cold.

  I doubted he’d be available now, and even if he was strong enough to resist the sun, he wouldn’t be going out in it. I also doubted he wanted to do me any favors, but fuck it. I’d upheld my end of the bargain. Kinley had been a separate issue.

  Sure. He was sure to see it that way. I rolled my eyes at myself and fished my cell phone from my pocket. I was impressed it had survived the night. The screen was cracked, but that was easily fixed. I called Chi Lin Garden.

  I had to call five times before Ezra picked up, sounding tired and pissed off. Well, we had that in common, I guess.

  “You know what time it is?” he demanded before I could speak.

  I glanced at my microwave clock and winced. “I need a favor.”

  “Fuck no.”

  “Kaminski’s dead. I guess you didn’t check Obsidian for him before you burnt it down, but that’s fine, because I killed him. Just like Mr. Cold wanted.”

  Ezra went silent for a heartbeat, then sighed, long and loud. “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to rehash it. He’s dead, in St Clement’s. Someone should get rid of the body. Someone who isn’t me. What happened with the club?”

  “Mr. Cold likes finality,” Ezra said. “We assumed you wouldn’t finish the job, so he came up with an alternative.” He paused again, before adding, “you can probably expect a visitor tonight, just so you know.”

  Great. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “With the rest of my money?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Super. “So will someone take care of the body or not?”

  He yawned, the sound supremely irritating. “It’ll get done,” he said cryptically.

  That was good enough for me. I did
n’t care how they dealt with it as long as they didn’t dump it on my doorstep. I wondered if I needed to specify that.

  “Thanks,” I said instead. “And thanks for the warning about tonight.”

  I could almost hear him shrug. “Just don’t tell whoever comes that I told you.”

  He hung up. I poured myself another shot of gin. Elijah came to offer me a pistachio, expertly shelled.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Shall we order a pizza? Is anywhere delivering at this time of morning?”

  He cawed thoughtfully and I suddenly found my eyes stinging. He’d come for me. He’d helped me. He made Kinley come for me. How could I explain that unless Elijah, my Elijah, was still in there?

  I scratched his head, letting the tears fall. I hated warlocks. I was a hypocrite for it, because Elijah had been well on his way to becoming a great one. His relentless curiosity, his lively intellect, his fearless soul, all the qualities a truly good warlock needed.

  After he first transformed, I’d wondered if his skill somehow meant he’d retained his own human mind. It was a baseless hope – I knew nothing about the kind of magic that transformed a person into a bird – but maybe, maybe...

  Eventually I’d stopped wondering. Or at least stopped hoping. But now...

  Shit, I was too tired to start hoping again.

  I scrubbed my eyes and went to take a shower. I was covered in blood and mud, and that was no way to face anything.

  I SPENT THE DAY ON the sofa under a blanket, alternatively napping and watching ancient alien documentaries. Elijah never left my side, nestled up under the blanket with me. I’d texted Lacey and told her I had the flu and would be out all week. After her flurry of but you never get sick!!! texts died off, I felt very at peace with the decision.

  You can’t commit violence without scarring yourself. Whether it’s self-defense, putting away a vampire, or something in between, it leaves a mark. Elijah and I used to take a month off between bounty hunts to decompress and make sure neither of us was suffering to an extreme we couldn’t come back from. I didn’t have that luxury now, but I could afford a week to let Kaminski and the vampires seep out of my system.