She heard a footfall behind her and spun. It was Aunt Patrice. She wore a thick leather combat vest with a black t-shirt beneath it, black cargo pants, and black flexible boots. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight braided ponytail.
Her aunt looked curiously at the baton raised in Tabby’s hand. “What’s the hold up?”
She held up her fingers. “He’s wearing makeup.”
Aunt Patrice frowned and moved forward, taking Tabby’s hand and looking closely at the gray smudge. “It’s a trick. Kill him.”
You and your stupid vigil. It’s complete shit. It was one of the last things Calico had said to her. A horrible pit opened inside Tabby that she started to fall into, feeling lightheaded and nauseated.
“He’s—he’s not really a vampire.”
“They try to trick you,” said Aunt Patrice. “You need to finish him.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Calico was right. She said we were that weird fucked up family that believed the unbelievable.” She grabbed the man’s button-up shirt and ripped it open. Buttons plinked off brick and asphalt. The gray makeup ended in a stark line just below the neck. The skin on the man’s chest and stomach wasn’t pallid—it was the color of a white guy with a bit of a tan. Human skin. “Look at him, Aunt Patrice. He’s some dumb asshole in makeup.”
Her world crashed and burned. She started to shake. None of it was real. Her parents and Aunt Patrice lied to her and Calico. “Did you do this?” Tabby’s voice trembled.
Aunt Patrice looked confused. “Do what?”
“Did you get this guy to dress up like a vampire?”
“What? God, no,” she said, sounding serious. But didn’t true believers always sound serious? They didn’t even know they were lying. Or maybe they’d lied for so long, they’d forgotten they were lying. Either way, her sister had figured it out—why hadn’t she?
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” muttered Tabby.
Of course none of it was real. How could it be? She looked back down at the unlucky guy she’d clobbered. They had to call an ambulance. Then Tabby gasped. The man’s chest wasn’t moving. She put her ear to it. There was no heartbeat. She sat back up, stunned and horrified. “Oh, God. I killed him.”
She was a murderer.
“Something’s not right,” said Aunt Patrice.
“You think!” shouted Tabby.
“Quiet!”
“Why? I need to call the cops. What did I fucking do?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Calico sat at her woodworking table in her basement studio knowing she wouldn’t get any sleep. It was four in the morning. After the vision about Tabby and throwing up in the bathroom at Pete’s Kitchen, she’d given a quick goodbye to her girlfriends and Ubered home.
Sitting on her stool, she held one of the rowan heartwood weapons she’d made for her sister. Well, that she was in the process of making. One end was sharpened into a wickedly sharp point, but she hadn’t yet attached the iron cudgel to the blunt end.
Tabby.
Hard to believe it’d already been two months since Calico last saw her sister at that shitty apartment of hers just before she left for her vigil. She missed Tabs. It left a burning pang of emptiness and regret inside her.
Calico lifted the metal head. They were produced by a manufacturing company but made to her specifications. She slipped it over the end of the wood baton then tapped it against the blue bottle of Skyy vodka she’d brought with her to the basement.
“Stop looking at me!” she yelled, turning her head away from the large black cat that sat in the corner of her studio. It had appeared shortly after she’d come downstairs. Trying to ignore it and failing, obviously, all she wanted to do was process the vision she’d had of Tabby standing in an alley with Aunt Patrice, the two of them facing a vampire.
“You’re a hallucination.” She tipped the bottle to her mouth. A few swallows and she continued, “The vision of Tabby was another one. That’s it. That’s all. Nothing more. Hallucination. Delusion. Mental illness.”
But it conjured a memory from high school. Calico was in European History class doing her best to ignore the teacher and the information spewing forth. The cat appeared in her peripheral vision. It jolted her because it hadn’t shown up in school before.
“Calico, when was the start of the Black Death.”
Without looking up, she said, “1346.”
The cat stared at her with its gold eyes, its tail twitching anxiously, that purple glow surrounding it. A ridge of hair stood up on its back. It looked pissed.
Calico raised her hand. “Uh, can I go to the bathroom? It’s, you know, that time. For the dot.”
“The dot?”
Miranda, who sat beside her, chuckled. “Her period, Ms. Schmidt.”
The boys all looked horrified. Calico smile.
“Oh,” said the teacher. “Of course.”
Calico went out into the hall and Cait Sidhe followed. “What are you doing?” she whispered. Once they were in the hall, the cat took off like a shot. What was going on? Then it struck her. Tabby was in trouble. It was a certainty. Calico ran down the hall. Her big sister had gym at this hour.
The sisters were two years apart, Tabby fifteen and Calico thirteen. They attended Wheat Ridge High School in a suburb west of Denver. The hallways were mostly empty with class in session, giving her plenty of room to sprint. She passed the main front doors, the offices to her right, cafeteria straight ahead, and cut left down another hall. She didn’t see the large black cat anymore.
The gym had the big metal double doors with the push bars on them. She slammed into the push bar and heaved open one of the doors. The cavernous gym was nearly empty. A few boys were coming out of the boys’ locker room in street clothes. She didn’t see any girls.
She ran to the girls’ locker room. Her sister Tabby was up against a row of lockers, still in her gym shorts and shirt, as were the dozen or so other girls. Samantha was talking, her face inches from Tabby’s. Both girls were the same height, both having had their growth spurts early, and both filling out into women. Calico was a good six inches shorter at five-feet even. Well, almost five feet.
No idea what sparked the confrontation, but Samantha didn’t need much to go on. The girl took hold of Tabby’s long auburn hair and smacked her sister’s head into the lockers.
“You think you’re all that, but you’re afraid to fight? You’re a worthless ginger. Now fight me!”
Calico pushed through the cluster of girls. “I’ll fight you.”
Several girls, not even the mean-spirited ones, laughed. Calico was one of the smallest girls in school. Samantha sneered at her. “I’d kill you.”
Calico didn’t wait for anymore witty banter and danced forward, tapping Samantha on the nose. Not too hard, not a cheap shot, but enough to get the older girl’s attention. Samantha’s face turned red in anger and she let go Tabby. “You little bitch.”
The girl looked at Tabby sideways. “You’re gonna let me kick your little sister’s ass?”
Tabby smiled, looked at Samantha for an instant, then looked at her sister. “Don’t hurt her too much, Callie.”
Samantha shook her head. “You two are freakin’ weird.”
Calico didn’t wait for another invitation. She darted in and this time, hit Samantha in the nose and cheek hard enough to rock her head back. Calico punched from her shoulder, turning her body into it, and then danced back. The bigger girl’s face somehow turned an even deeper shade of red, her eyes glistening. An “oooooh” ran through the spectators. Blood trickled from the girl’s nose.
She lunged at Calico, who ducked, spun, and leaped gracefully over the wood bench that ran between the rows of lockers. She couldn’t let the bigger girl grapple her or take her to the ground, she’d be in big trouble then.
Samantha clumsily stepped over the bench, anger blinding her. As she planted her left foot on the nearside of the bench and lifted her right to cross it over, Calico turned and kicked the planted k
nee with the bottom of her sneaker.
Samantha cried out and her momentum carried her sideways into the lockers next to Calico, who darted in and punched her three times. The bigger girl collapsed to the concrete floor of the locker room and stayed there, looking dazed. Crying.
“Wow,” said one of the girls, “no wonder Tabitha lets you fight for her. How’d you learn to do that?”
“Ha. Samantha’s lucky it was me. My sister has kicked my ass many many—”
“Okay, okay,” said Tabby. “Thanks, Callie, but you better get back to class.”
Calico winked at her. Then she half-lunged at Samantha, who flinched away. “And you better remember this ginger’ll kick your ass any time.”
Calico set the bottle of Skyy back on the table, wincing as the alcohol flowed down her throat. She turned the rowan baton over and the iron cudgel slipped off and thudded onto the wood tabletop. In the hallucination about Tabby and Aunt Patrice that she’d had several hours ago, her sister had been holding one of the weapons in her hand.
Calico turned toward Cait Sidhe in the corner of the basement. “Why the fuck are you here? There’s nothing I can do.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Someone’s coming,” said Aunt Patrice.
Tabby stood up from the corpse of the man she’d murdered, but the alley was empty, and she didn’t hear anyone approaching. Was her aunt just trying to distract her? Then she thought she saw a darker shadow hovering in the middle of the alley a dozen yards away. There was no shape to it, other than it was about the size of a person. She blinked and tried to focus on it.
A deep male voice said, “Hello, ladies. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“I’m going to kill you,” said Aunt Patrice. She stepped toward the shadow, rowan heartwood batons suddenly in her hands.
Tabby could practically see Aunt Patrice’s hackles rise. In front of her, the darkness coalesced into a man. Tall, pallid, handsome. Exotic and otherworldly—the face of someone born centuries earlier. His gray tailored suit with a wool overcoat, was out of place in the August heat and a back alley of Kansas City.
Lorcán.
There was no mistaking him for human. She could feel dark power roll off him in waves, like heat shimmering over hot asphalt. He was real. And like that, her doubts were gone. A new fear, however, slipped in like a whisper. He was real! And he was deadly.
“You will never get near me, Patrice. And I believe this is Tabitha, your niece?”
How did he know their names? Aunt Patrice said he was unaware of them, that they’d have the element of surprise. She glanced at her aunt. Her face was set and determined. If Lorcán’s knowledge caught her off guard, she didn’t show it.
He said, “You thought you would surprise me?”
Shit, could he read minds? Was that how he did it? But vampires didn’t have that power. She didn’t think. At least it was never mentioned in the family chronicles.
Aunt Patrice stepped toward him.
He said, “Do you think me so foolish as to show up alone against two bandruí gaiscíoch?”
Aunt Patrice hesitated as three men—three vampires—stepped out of the darkness on either side of Lorcán. Oh, shit. All three were part of the group of MMA fighters they’d befriended at the gym. Still dressed in their gym clothes, dried blood stained their t-shirt collars. Lorcán had known all about her and Aunt Patrice, even where they worked out. Those poor men. Now they’d have to kill them—if they could. With the men’s training, and now the strength and speed of vampires, that wouldn’t be so easy.
Aunt Patrice said, “What’s wrong with you?”
Tabby didn’t know what her aunt was talking about. The vampire smiled, but Tabby saw it falter. It reminded her of the false bravado Henry had tried to project in the ring when she was beating on him that first time two months ago. There was something wrong with the vampire, but she had no idea what it might be.
“Should we retreat?” whispered Tabby.
She would fight if her aunt told her to, but nothing about this was good. However, they weren’t given a choice. The other three MMA fighters appeared behind them, trapping the women in the alley.
Aunt Patrice pointed a baton at Lorcán. “You’re spreading your dark power pretty thin, aren’t you? That’s why masters only turn a few nestlings, to preserve their power. But here you are with six—plus however many you had before turning these men. You’re barely hanging on.”
Tabby wondered why Aunt Patrice was saying this stuff instead of forming a battle plan—until she realized Aunt Patrice was saying it for her benefit. With the master weakened, his dark powers spread thin, Aunt Patrice was letting her know they had a chance. And that their tactics would be based on this knowledge.
Tabby slid free the baton from her other thigh and held the two at the ready, one for blunt-force and the other for slashing. Kill or be killed. She was raised for this. It was her vigil.
Aunt Patrice said, “Don’t forget to keep moving.”
Tabby sprang forward, past her aunt, who followed right behind. The three MMA fighters moved incredibly fast. It was Tabby’s first time against real vampires. Aunt Patrice tried to impress upon her how fast they’d be, but nothing could prepare her for facing the real thing. It wasn’t as bad as some of the movies, where vampires moved so fast that they became blurs, but they were faster than the two women.
As she’d hoped, the three fighters came at her, leaving Aunt Patrice a chance to strike at Lorcán. The men tried to encircle her. She was ready for that and moved counter to them, not letting any of them get behind her.
Up close, the difference was quite evident between the look and color of their skin as compared to the makeup worn by the human she’d murdered. Vampire skin was ashen, a similar tone to the makeup, but there was no shimmer to it from the grease. And their eyes. The vampire’s eyes practically glowed a startling bluish gray, especially Lorcán’s.
She struck at Henry, who was closest, sweeping the sharp point of the baton across his throat, and moving to keep the other two behind him so they couldn’t gang up on her. That also cleared a path to Lorcán for Aunt Patrice.
Tabby thought she missed the vampire’s throat until a line of blood formed. He snarled at her and blood sprayed from his mouth. It’d been a good deep strike. He lunged at her—it was so much faster than in the gym, and he nearly reached her. If he got her in a clinch or took her to the ground, it’d be over.
But human or vampire, he still left his midsection open. She hated to lose a weapon, but it would be worth it if she could put him down.
Ducking beneath his swing, she drove the stake up into his abdomen, a little to her right and just below his solar plexus. Hopefully into his heart. He howled in anguish and his eyes turned a swirling milky gray before he dropped.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The young bandruí gaiscíoch engaged Lorcán’s three newest nestlings as the elder warrior rushed straight at him. He snarled and swiped at her with his long nails. He was faster, but he had never trained as a fighter. He’d never needed it to hunt humans. Now he understood his mistake.
This was the first bandruí gaiscíoch he’d met face-to-face. He thought his recently turned nestlings could easily defeat them, but the younger had already staked one through the heart and the elder evaded his attempt to slash open her skin, ducking underneath. Lorcán had not intended to fight, but now he had no choice.
Patrice jabbed upward with the stake and struck his bicep. He grimaced and pulled back. The rowan wood felt much like flame. He would heal, but at the moment it weakened him. He spun toward Patrice as her momentum carried her past him.
She held two weapons, one with a sharpened end and the other encased in metal. He only had to hold her off a few more seconds for the other three nestlings to enter the fray. Surely the six nestlings, all trained fighters, could defeat two bandruí gaiscíoch. He was afraid he was trying to convince himself of that rather than actually believing it.
She le
aped at him. He raised both arms to fend her off, but she still managed to smash him in the head with the metal end. At the same time, fiery pain ignited in his side. She had jammed the other weapon through his ribcage beneath a raised arm. She barely missed his heart.
Lorcán struck her and she stumbled back a few steps. Reaching with his opposite hand, he grabbed the stake, but it was in deep and angled toward his back in an awkward position. He could not get a strong grip on it.
She smiled, then looked past him. His other three nestlings finally rushed past to attack. Lorcán went down to a knee and tried desperately to pull the stake free. It seared his flesh, inside and out.
The bandruí gaiscíoch flipped the weapon in her hand so that the sharpened end faced out and attacked the closest nestling. Her arm was a blur, slashing sideways across his throat several times before he could even react. He covered the gaping wound, blood oozing past his fingers.
She swept his legs and as the nestling fell to the side, she leaped in the same direction. Unbelievably, the bandruí gaiscíoch, in mid-leap, grabbed the head of the nestling whose throat she’d slashed and swung the weapon in her other hand, causing the other two to back away. As she landed, she doubled over and pulled down hard, nearly decapitating the nestling.
Dropping him, she faced the other two. The bandruí gaiscíoch were every bit as deadly as he’d heard.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tabby leaped clear of Henry after staking him, not letting Milt or Clay get behind her, which meant only one of them could get close enough to strike at any given time. As she moved, Aunt Patrice and Lorcán came into view. The master vampire was on one knee and looked in distress. Her badass aunt had one of the nestlings down and she faced the other two.
Tabby flipped the second baton to her right hand. She was ambidextrous, but her right hand was still dominant. She decided to use the baton as a striking weapon to see what bashing in their skulls would do to vampires.
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