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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Even For Me
Copyright © 2008 by Taryn Blackthorne
ISBN: 1-59998-916-6
Edited by Angela James
Cover by Anne Cain
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2008
www.samhainpublishing.com
Even for Me
Taryn Blackthorne
Dedication
This work is dedicated to everyone I said I’d dedicate my first book to (you know who you are). Most especially, I’d like to thank Angela for taking a chance on someone new, my family who believed, my friends who listened, my teachers who encouraged and my critics who said I’d never get this far. Sometimes you just have to push yourself to see how far you can go.
Chapter One: Aislyn
Even for me, fourteen hours on a shift in Tammy’s Bar was pushing the limits. Still I knew where I was when I was working. The place was a wreck when it was clean. But tonight, or rather this morning, it was a disaster. I leaned over to pick up a pile of newspapers and the headline flashed across my brain: “Third Ghost Cat victim found in LoDo alley” by Susan Lucas. There was a reporter developing a reputation. I read the description of the victim and shivered, despite the heat of the room.
“Don’t worry, baby.” A drunk threw his arm around me as he hollered into my ear, “I’ll protect you.” He belched to show his sincerity and I tossed his arm off me. I shook my head. At 2:00 a.m. Tammy wouldn’t be closing the bar for another hour at least. It was the Friday before Halloween and everyone was partying before the party, even with a serial killer on the loose. Then again, since I might actually be that serial killer, I was probably hyper-aware of the story. I stuffed the paper behind the counter and went in search of Tammy.
The low lights of the bar hid a lot of the bad in Tammy’s Bar like the scuffed-up linoleum, the chipped Formica tabletops and the scarred, Zippo-burned wooden stools and chairs. But one thing they couldn’t hide was Tammy herself. A tall woman, and almost as broad, she stood out in the crowd. Her black skin didn’t reflect light, it absorbed it. If it weren’t for her bleached teeth and strawberry-blonde corn rows, you might mistake Tammy for a moving black hole. A lot of people were afraid of Tammy because her weight came from muscle more than fat and she had a tongue as sharp as her upper cut. She didn’t suffer fools, but then neither did I so we got along fine. I’d even go so far as to call her a friend if it weren’t so dangerous to give someone that label.
I found my boss leaning one arm against the wall, towering over a nice-looking white boy who looked like he’d just gotten his first fake ID proofed in here. She was laughing pretty loudly at something he’d said. I slid up beside them, trying to be sneaky about it.
“Yeah, honey?” She turned to me. Damn. I knew I was naturally quiet, but Tammy must be able to hear a Siamese cat walk up carpeted steps. It riled my pride sometimes. The guy she was talking to did the eye walk up and down me, apparently liking what he saw. He leaned back to give me a better look, showing off tight abs and wide shoulders, and I realized I’d misjudged his age by about ten years. I caught flashes of green eyes, a Southern smile and just a hint of the stubbly shadow that women seemed to find attractive. Not that I looked directly at him.
“It’s been fourteen hours for me and I’d like to get some sleep before the rush tomorrow afternoon. Still got some things of my own to do.” Tammy waved me off as if she had more important things to worry about. I turned and practically ran before the guy in front of her had a chance to blink. My stomach had started growling just catching a peek from the corner of my eye. Yummy the voice in my head said. I really hoped it meant sex.
What little light there had been inside the bar didn’t make it outside at all, but I had no trouble finding my bike. Of all the things I’d left behind in my other life, I just couldn’t bear to be parted with my Buell. It was the one constant in a life that sorely needed it. It had been stolen once, outside the bar. Between Tammy tracking it down for me, and me hospitalizing the thief, it had gotten a reputation. Hands off if you wanted to live. I straddled the motorcycle and felt the thrill and freedom I’d always felt on board. I could go anywhere, do anything and be all right on this bike. Hey, some girls like chocolate for comfort, I like a 1200.
I started it up and tore out of Denver’s not-so-trendy section, through to LoDo, then onto the highway. I wore a helmet and visor, both black as tar, so the wind didn’t exactly rip through my hair. On the way to Littleton, all I could think of was what if the killer was me? I had less control over the things happening to my own body than a pregnant chick. And I hated it twice as much. At least pregnant there was an end to the tunnel. With this, I’d be lucky if I could find some sort of middle ground and rein it in.
If I couldn’t get a hold of what was happening to me on a weekly basis, I was seriously considering eating my own gun. It was loaded with silver bullets, but I didn’t think that would matter. The fact that there would be a piece of metal stuck between my ears was what was going to kill me. I didn’t think it would make so much of a difference what type of metal it was. The ring on my right hand was silver and it didn’t burn. My foster mother had given it to me as a high school graduation gift. A symbol of her hopes for my future, she’d said. I was never much into jewelry, but this I’d always kept. At least someone had cared about what happened to me. Well, she had before the accident. I didn’t dare make contact with my foster family now. Not after I’d hurt them so much.
Was I the Ghost Cat killer? Susan Lucas had dubbed it Ghost Cat after someone had done some research on cougar kills. The first two victims had almost been mistaken for wild cat kills. They’d been near Arapahoe and wild bears were sighted down that way all the time in the spring. But a cougar had been new. The claw marks and mauling had matched, according to the news. The next one had been in Washington Park, far too close for a cougar to get without being seen. It was the first case that had caught my attention, mostly because I’d woken up just outside the park the next morning naked, shivering and with a blood trail close by. And of course, no memory to speak of.
Denver was a city that did have off hours, and a naked woman outside of Washington Park was something that would have been reported if anyone had seen me. I’d been lucky, that day. I had started carrying a spare set of clothes on my bike—after I split from home three months ago, I never knew when I’d have to make a quick escape—which I had found not too far from me, quickly dressed and gotten the hell out of there. They’d found the woman’s mangled body a few hours later. No mention of a bloody trail leading to the parking area, but that might be something the police had kept to themselves.
This latest killing had been last week. In an alley in LoDo. And as a new facet to the developing story, I was beginning to remember small snippets from my weekly walk on the wild side. It was this last bit that had me really worried. I remembered stalking something, watching, being quiet. I remembered following some trail into LoDo, and loud music, so I must have been near one of the clubs. Then, hours later, I’d wok
en up trembling outside of Tammy’s Bar—behind a dumpster, thank God. I just couldn’t clear up what had happened in-between. And another girl was dead, outside one of the clubs.
Tammy owned the whole building and had given me use of a room to bed down in. I’d jumped to the fire escape naked and quickly crawled up it to jimmy my window open and crashed on the mattress on the floor, covering up in the thin sheet there. Changes generally left me exhausted.
That was four days ago. The press had surmised that given the regularity of the kills, tomorrow night was the next time the killer would strike. That and it was Halloween. When better to have a serial killer loose than when your kid was going door to door begging for candy? I would have never even thought about taking little ones out with a threat like this in my home town. But that had been before, when I’d actually had a real life.
At first I’d tried to lock myself up when the Changes hit. Chains weren’t as hard to get as one imagined when you worked on the docks. But my foster brother had found me holed up in an abandoned building not far from where I’d worked, just before I’d managed to lock up. I came to the next morning and just managed to get him to the hospital in time. Barely. I’d taken off after that, and tried to make it to deserted areas ever since then.
But the last time the urge to Change had hit me sudden, while driving around Washington Park, and I hadn’t made it. Now, here I was, a possible suspect for the Ghost Cat Killer just before Halloween. Not like I could tell anyone. I could just imagine walking down to the local cop shop and saying, “Hey, officer, could you lock me up until after tomorrow night? I might not be the murderer you’re looking for, but I do turn furry once a week so you’re sure to have a real interesting Halloween.”
I had to be out of town before then. If I was out of town when the killer struck, then that meant the killer wasn’t me. If the killer broke the pattern because I broke the pattern, then I was screwed. And my gun would be looking really good. But I had to try something. I really didn’t want to be the killer. I couldn’t handle having lost everything I was and being a psycho too. I just couldn’t. I revved the engine and accelerated down the highway. If I could just go fast enough, maybe I could forget for a little while…
Chapter Two: Jackson
He pulled back on the highway, to give the girl and her bike some room. He couldn’t afford to spook her now that he was so close. He’d found a last minute job, just a quick clean end and he was almost through. Then he could get back to the others with the cash. It was almost too easy, but he’d been a little desperate. Everyone was supposed to keep the cash going and he’d been a little distracted with tying up loose ends from his last job. That remnant hadn’t been a remnant at all and he’d been backtracking the succubus’s trail all over North Dakota. It had been a while since he’d dropped coin in the piggy bank.
Some of the hunters in his family did it with credit card scams, some hustled pool; others took on construction or oil rigging, something part-time. He couldn’t handle the lying (wasn’t that what made those he hunted so awful?) so he left off the hustling, and he wasn’t good at keeping his temper long enough to make money with the part-time jobs. He always wound up throwing hands if he was around civilians too long. So he picked up the odd contract. Strictly vengeance jobs where the police couldn’t or wouldn’t do justice. Always lower key cases, or cold ones. It wasn’t as lucrative or as legal as some of the cousins’ gigs, but it kept the money coming in. And his hunting skills were always fresh.
Still, it would be a shame. She’d been sexy as hell in the bar. He smiled at the memory. Those blue eyes that sent a shiver down his spine and long, wavy brown hair down to her ass that he could tangle his hands in, had made him itch to hold her. It had been a while. He loved long hair on his women. She had smooth, honey-tanned skin peeking through the rips in her tight blue jeans, and the way the black T-shirt had plunged and hugged all the right curves made him ache. She knew how to move too. The way she glided around, avoiding customers pawing her, sashaying through the pre-Halloween crowd. He’d been picturing how she’d move under him when the bar owner, Tammy, had sidled up.
“Like whatcha see there?” She’d pointed to the waitress as she bent to pick up an old newspaper (nicely displaying her ass), then Tammy had flashed what was supposed to be a comforting smile. It looked more like she was getting ready to eat him alive, but he’d smiled back.
“Matter of fact—” his Texas drawl thickened around the woman, “—I do. Know anything about her?” The black woman had thrown her head back and howled with laughter.
“Aislyn? Naw, that girl keeps to herself too much. Likes her bike, likes her privacy, that one. I haven’t seen her with anyone for more than one night since she came here two months ago. Chat with her about a thing or two, here and there, you know. Weather, neighborhood, loaned her a book or two. I talked with her about them poor girls’ dying. They all around her age, ya know.”
“So do you think I’d…?” The woman had looked him up and down critically, as if inspecting him for quality and defects. His grin widened and he raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t help but like the old girl.
“You’d do, if she’s interested. That's up to her though. You ask me, that girl could use a good rutting. Too wound up in whatever she’s running from. Good people though.”
“How so?” He’d been surprised. Tammy had a reputation for putting the run to the bad seeds that showed up, but she’d taken this one in. It didn’t gel with all the facts he had, but not even Tammy was infallible. Could his source be wrong? The police had her as the prime suspect in the man’s disappearance back east, not that they could prove anything. Tammy had shrugged.
“Watch her, see for yourself. She shows herself like a fog, little at a time and only when you up close. Be patient and she’ll clear for you.” Tammy nodded at him in time to her words, like someone spouting gospel or prophecy. He’d nodded back, like the good little boy she was expecting. She smirked, not at all fooled and he suddenly wondered if she could see his true intentions.
“Don’t you go forgetting what Tammy done told you, boy, you hear me? Me grandmamma was Hoodoo and Tammy here, got a bit of the telling. Picked up on that girl right away and picked up on you too, soon as you set foot in my place. You two in for a world o’ trouble as it is, and that’s a fact. You gonna need someone and might as well be each other. Both being in the same stew pot anyway.” She’d thrown her head back and laughed again at her own joke, and Jackson had been lost. He’d felt the shiver down his spine and crossed his arms to get rid of it. Tammy had laughed all the harder and he’d just smiled. Aislyn had shown up right about then.
The girl was slowing down, pulling into a no-tell motel ahead. He drove by, just to be sure, then doubled back, took a room and called the client. He was sure the teen would be pleased, and she was. She gave him an address they were supposed to meet at. The teen had stressed that the woman be taken alive and away from the city. He’d argued with her. He could make it look like one of the killer’s victims here in Denver. It would have been perfect. But the teen had been adamant. She’d wanted to see the woman up front, look into her eyes and watch as she paid for her crimes. He’d given up. She was the client, after all, and if it had been one of his brothers who’d “disappeared” with all that blood, he would have wanted to look in the killer’s eyes too. So he’d relented, wrote down the address, checked his equipment. He’d dispose of the body when it was all through so no one could identify it anyway.
After he’d hung up, he’d wandered over to the woman’s room and peeked through the curtains. She’d been lying on the bed in nothing but her underwear. He took a deep breath and walked away. Damn, what a waste. Ah well, not like he’d done anything but break hearts all his life anyway. Hunting was too dangerous to involve civilians, let alone a woman civilian. Besides, going from place to place, fighting things most people didn’t believe in didn’t exactly lend itself to an open, honest relationship. Better to just scratch the itch and move on.
>
He checked the woman’s bike, the door, walked around back to check her exits there and, when he was satisfied that she was snuggled down for the night, went back to his room. He settled down to get some sleep for a couple of hours. Aislyn had worked all day and had ridden out here before dawn. She had to be tired. He doubted his quarry would be moving much before morning. For all her bravado, she’d been leaving a city where a killer was roaming free, preying on women her age and hair color. She’d been running away. The guilty ones always ran away. He turned over, set the alarm and went to sleep.
Chapter Three: Aislyn
I needed a release and nothing on the television was going to do it for me. I needed to go for a run, but I didn’t trust myself just yet. I had lain in bed for hours, waiting for sleep to take me, counting sheep and the whole works before finally giving up and flipping on the tube.
After tomorrow night, I told myself, if I could wait that long. It had only been four days since the killer struck. Tomorrow night would be five since my last Change, and then on the sixth I could go for a run out here. I’d call Tammy in the morning and tell her I needed some time off. She’d either fire me or understand. I just hoped she wouldn’t toss all my stuff before I got back to claim it. Some of those books had been expensive, not that they’d told me anything useful. I know a few of the titles would have raised a few eyebrows in the local Bible Belt, maybe even gotten me on someone’s black list. Maybe I should donate them or something instead of packing them up. I threw the remote on the bed.
“Damn it.” I hated giving in to it. Meant I had no self-control.
I got up and tugged on some sweats, to wander around outside. I needed something to take the edge off until I could Change. Anxiety always made it worse and I was worried about the killings. The air was crisp and clean up here. And thin. Sound carried better. I heard a couple in the next room over working out the kinks on the bed. I heard another guy watching what had to be a porno-on-demand. What did I expect from a hotel with this price range? I kept walking, away from the grunting and groaning.
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