by Kate Serine
Out of breath, I scooted myself back with my good arm until I could lean against one of the dumpsters. My adrenaline left me in a rush, and I was suddenly completely exhausted. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back.
“Are you hurt?”
My eyes snapped open, my stomach clenching painfully. There was something so familiar about that voice. . . . “What?”
My rescuer squatted down in front of me. “Are you all right?”
I blinked at him, suddenly experiencing a serious case of déjà vu. The man’s tone was rough, clipped, and there was no hint of mischief or roguish charm. Still . . .
“My wrist is broken,” I said a little breathlessly. “But it’s already healing. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”
He gave me a tight nod and started to rise, but then seemed to reconsider and resumed his crouch before me. He studied me for a long moment, giving me a good glimpse of his eyes, but they were in shadow, obscuring the color, and he was completely on his guard. There was no way I was getting in.
“You did good, doll,” he said finally. “Made my job one helluva lot easier.”
I felt my cheeks going warm at the praise. “Thanks.”
His eyes narrowed, crinkling a little behind his ski mask and giving me the impression that he was grinning. “But you know, you shouldn’t be out here alone at night, even if you can kick ass,” he admonished. Then he reached up and twisted one of my ringlets around his gloved index finger and pulled gently before letting it spring back into place. “I’d hate to see harm come to a girl as pretty as you.”
My eyes went wide. Holy shit. “Nicky Blue?” I gasped. “You’re the Spider?” He jumped to his feet and took a few quick steps before I found my voice to cry out, “Wait! Nicky! It’s okay—I know you!”
He halted midstride and shook his head. “No, you don’t,” he said over his shoulder. “No one does. Not anymore.”
I scrambled awkwardly to my feet, my knees still shaky from my encounter with the vampires, but when I looked up again he was gone. I turned a full circle, searching for him in the shadows, but he had slipped away as silently and mysteriously as he’d come. I let out a disappointed sigh.
“You’re wrong, Nicky Blue,” I announced to the darkness. “Nobody knows you better than I do.”
Chapter Three
“How’s Red?” I asked Nate from my seat in the back of the ambulance as the FMA medic wrapped my wrist to help it finish healing properly.
“False alarm,” Nate told me, his relief easy to read in his voice in spite of his usual calm tone. “But they’re keeping her overnight for observation, just to be sure.”
I wiggled my fingers a little for the medic to show him I could still move them. “Sorry to drag you out again tonight, Nate. I know you’d rather be at her side.”
“Gran’s with her,” he said, neither confirming nor denying my supposition. “I’ll head back as soon as we’re finished here.”
I nodded, watching the FMA cleanup crew doing their thing for the second time tonight. Alex was running the show in Red’s absence, and doing a damned good job of it from what I could tell. He was just directing the photographers to pack it in and let the team bag the bodies when the sound of an approaching vehicle brought all of our heads around.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Nate mumbled.
I groaned, then offered my medic a tight smile and nod. “Thanks, Barry. That should do it.” Then, steeling myself, I hopped down from the back of the ambulance to go greet our visitor.
“There’s nothing for you here, Spalding,” I spat, my lack of enthusiasm at seeing the Ordinary punctuated by the throbbing in my wrist.
Ian Spalding offered me a patronizing grin as he slammed the door of his black Lincoln. “Well, if it isn’t Trish Muffet,” he drawled. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” I snapped. “I thought we had an agreement.”
He gave me another smile, this one the style of smirk unique to those so completely confident of victory, it costs them nothing to be cordial. “The Agency stands by that agreement,” he assured me, inclining his head a little. “However, I’m afraid you’re the one overstepping bounds this time.”
I traded a glance with Nate. “What do you mean? These vampires are Tales, not Ordinaries.”
Ian raised his dark brows. “You sure about that?”
Well, no, actually I wasn’t. I’d told Red I sensed something strange about them when I’d read the dead man, and then seeing the vamps in person had confirmed my suspicions that something was decidedly off. In fact, the last time I’d seen a Tale signature like theirs, it had belonged to a little Ordinary boy who’d been raised from the dead by Sebille Fenwick’s flunkies. But there was no way in hell I was going to tell Ian Spalding that.
Ian was a member of a shadowy US government organization that helped police the unexplained of the Ordinary world. When tales of alien encounters really picked up in the fifties, these guys became known in modern folklore as Men in Black. But they referred to themselves simply as the Agency. And they’d existed well before any aliens—real or Tale—had entered the scene.
From what I understood, we’d had our first encounter with the Agency about five years before I came over, but thanks to Al Addin’s powers of persuasion—and a deal to keep them informed of anything we came across that wasn’t ours—they eventually agreed to leave us alone as long as we stayed out of trouble. Unfortunately, the werewolf murders perpetrated by Sebille Fenwick two years earlier had spilled out into their jurisdiction when an Ordinary named Molly O’Grady had become one of the victims. Al had had to do a lot of smooth talking to set things to rights again.
“As soon as I’m finished with the bodies, I’ll be happy to turn them over to you to experiment on,” I told Ian, not bothering to hide the disgust in my voice. “You guys are good at that from what I understand.”
His mouth quirked up in one corner, but there was a hint of barely disguised anger this time. “Oh, I don’t know. . . . I think we’ve managed to exhibit an admirable amount of self-control, especially where a few potential specimens are concerned.”
“Self-control?” I hissed, getting up in his grill. “Seducing me to try to get a peek at my ability was your definition of self-control?”
He shrugged. “Hey, we could’ve just thrown you into a lab, hooked you up to a bunch of machines, done a little slice-and-dice number on your brain. But instead we opted for a more entertaining approach.”
“You arrogant, self-righteous—” I lunged forward, my uninjured hand balled into a fist, ready to knock that smug expression from his face.
Nate snatched me up around the waist and swung me away before I could get in a good swing, and plopped me back down on my feet at a safe distance from Ian. “He’s not worth the paperwork, Trish.”
Ian held up his hand in truce. “I didn’t come here to rehash what happened between us, Muffet. I just want the vampires.”
“You can shove them up your ass,” I hissed. “You’re not getting them.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Ian said with an indifferent shrug. “They’re part of an open investigation.”
“What investigation?” Nate asked, the shadows around his face growing darker.
Ian glanced at Nate, noticeably uncomfortable with the Reaper questioning him directly. “Seems there’s a vigilante going around knocking off vamps. Shows up out of nowhere, takes them out, then disappears before we can arrive at the scene. We’ve nicknamed him the Spider.” Here Ian turned his attention back to me, pegging me with a pointed look, which I pretended to ignore. “You know a thing or two about spiders, don’t you, Trish? Care to tell me what you know about our guy?”
My blood went cold, sending a chill through me, but I just lifted my chin a notch. “Piss off, Ian. I’m not telling you jack shit. If it’s your investigation, get approval from Al, and then you can have the bodies. Until then, you can go fu—”
“Oh, would you look at th
at!” Ian interrupted, producing a folded document from his pocket. “What is this?” He made a show of looking it over. “Could it be an acquisition form signed by the Director of the FMA?”
Nate snatched it from Ian’s hand and opened it up so I could read it with him. “It looks legit,” he muttered. “We’re going to have to hand them over.”
I shook my head. “I’m calling Al.” I stomped a few paces away and dialed Al’s emergency number. He picked up on the second ring. Before he could even speak, I barked, “What the hell are you thinking?”
“Hello to you, too,” he drawled.
“I’m not handing them over,” I said, speaking low into the phone. “I need to get a look at these vampires, Al. There’s something odd about them.”
“Apparently, you’re not the only one who has noticed that fact,” he pointed out. “I’m sorry, Trish. There’s nothing I could do this time. They’ve got us by the balls right now. If they expose us—”
“Who’d believe them?” I practically shrieked. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then said in a calmer tone, “We’re fictional characters made real, Al. Let them tell whoever they want—no one would believe them.”
“People believe anything if they hear it often enough,” Al replied. “And the Agency has the power to make it really bad for us if we don’t cooperate, Trish. You still have the victim. Give them the other bodies.”
I huffed, not believing that the man I’d looked up to and admired for his fearless self-sacrifice and unwavering principles was giving in so easily. “Al—”
“That’s an order, Trish.”
I hung up without another word and pocketed my phone, then paced a few furious steps one direction and then another before getting it together. I strode over to Alex and said through clenched teeth, “Tell the team to pack it in.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
“Just do it,” I snapped. “Right now. Tell everyone to drop what they’re doing and get in the vans.”
He frowned at me in confusion, but said, “You got it.”
I marched back over to where Nate and Ian still waited. “Go ahead and take off, Nate,” I told him. “Go be with Tess.”
Then I cast an acerbic glance toward Ian, biting back the furious words racing through my head as I brushed by him, knocking into his shoulder as I passed.
“So does this mean we’re squared away?” Ian called after me.
I merely lifted my good hand and offered him a very pointed reply.
Chapter Four
I flipped on the light in the foyer of my apartment and tossed my keys onto the credenza as I locked and bolted the door behind me. The familiar sounds of homecoming were answered by the nearly silent padding of paws. Within seconds, I felt the comforting bump of a feline head rubbing against my calf and heard the low buzzing purr of greeting.
I bent and picked up the armful of gray fluff and nuzzled against her for a moment. “Hi, baby,” I whispered. “Did you miss me?”
Sasha nuzzled under my chin, assuring me she had. I grinned and let her hop to the floor to lead me into the kitchen for her dinner. Or was it breakfast? The poor thing’s schedule was as screwed up as mine these days. I filled her bowl, then set out some fresh water and gave her a good scratch behind the ears before leaving her to her meal. I was just exiting the kitchen when Sasha suddenly began to growl, her fur standing on end, her head low between her shoulders as she peered around me.
I whipped around, fully expecting to see someone standing there, but the room was empty. “What’s the matter, Sasha?” I asked, frowning at her. Her growl faded a bit but she was still on alert, her eyes never leaving the doorway even as she resumed eating.
A little unnerved by her unusual behavior, I did a quick walk-through, turning on all the lights in my living room and dining area as I went. Finding nothing out of the ordinary was almost as unsettling as if I’d come upon a burglar trying to abscond with my meager possessions. Just to be on the safe side, I walked the perimeter of the apartment, double-checking the locks on the doors and windows and the sliding door that opened onto my balcony.
Satisfied that all was still secure, I headed for the bathroom, slipping out of my button-down as I went and tossing it into the hamper. My khakis were pretty much ruined, the knee of one leg ripped out from my altercation with the vampires, but I tossed them into the hamper anyway. Standing before my bathroom mirror in nothing but my pale blue tank and panties, I met my own gaze, noticing that lack of sleep was already bringing out dark circles under my eyes. I pulled my hands through the curls that came down to just below my chin, then watched them with a sigh as they sprung back into place.
God, no wonder Nicky had called me “doll.” What grown woman had ultrablond freaking ringlets? And there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about them. I’d tried cutting them, coloring them, straightening them. . . . Nothing worked. No matter what I tried, my curls would be back to their ol’ springy selves by morning.
Of course, if my ringlets made me look younger than I was, my eyes made up for it. After all I’d seen over the years, there was an
ancientness to them that was sometimes a little disconcerting even to me. I leaned closer to the mirror, peering deep into the dark green gaze that stared back at me, wondering for probably the trillionth time what I’d see in that person’s soul if I could get a glimpse.
Would it be memories of Make Believe, of family and friends that I’d left behind, or would the horrors I’d witnessed since coming to the Here and Now override those happier images? I’d tried to purge my mind of all the terrifying sights—the memories of the criminally insane, distorted and surreal; the murderous and depraved thoughts of those who were evil at their very core; the innocent driven mad with terror before their final seconds—but I had a feeling they were all there somewhere, haunting the shadowy corners of my brain.
The sudden and completely foreign sound of giggling brought me around with a startled gasp.
What the hell?
My heart pounding, I snatched back the shower curtain, shivering when I found the bathtub empty. Frowning, I opened the bathroom door and poked my head out, taking in the rest of the apartment in a glance. With a shrug, I closed the door again and started the water for a shower. “Just your imagination, Trish,” I muttered. “You’ve been working way too hard.”
A moment later, I stepped into the shower and let the steaming hot water wash over me again. My entire body was beginning to ache from the beating I’d taken from the vampires, and my wrist was still throbbing. I awkwardly managed to wash my hair with one hand while trying to keep the wrapping around my wrist dry, and had just finished rinsing off when I felt an icy blast of wind. I shivered violently at the sudden change in temperature and poked my head out from behind the shower curtain. The door to the bathroom stood wide open.
Huh. I could’ve sworn . . .
“Sasha?” I called, expecting to see the cat tucked into some secret hiding place in the bathroom, but she padded in from the other room at the sound of my voice and offered me a cautious meow as if she was as puzzled as I was by the open door. I shivered again, but shrugged off the creepiness with a forced laugh. “Jeez, Trish, get a grip! You get jumped by a couple of vampires and you suddenly go all paranoid?”
I quickly finished my shower and pulled on my favorite blue and black plaid flannel pajama pants and a black T-shirt with a skull and crossbones blazoned across the chest, then headed back out to the living room to my desk and booted up my computer. Even though I was seriously freaking tired, I wanted to capture the events of the evening along with my impressions of the victim as well as his vampire assailants before I turned in.
Sasha padded over and twisted around my ankles and the legs of the chair in which I sat, the soft drone of her purring so warm and comforting, I felt my lids growing heavy as I typed. I’d only managed to get through my thoughts on the victim when my head dropped suddenly, startling me awake. I glanced around guiltily, my face going warm,
embarrassed to be caught dozing. But then I chuckled at my reaction. Why be embarrassed? Who the hell was going to see me? Sasha? Hell, I could drop dead in my apartment and no one would even notice until I didn’t show up for work the next day. And even then they’d probably just think I was out on a case.
My shoulders sagged. God, how depressing was that?
The same feminine giggle brought my head around with a gasp.
“Who’s there?” I demanded.
I scanned the corners of my apartment, looking for signs of a pixie or some other sprite who’d sneaked in to wreak a little havoc on the poor, overworked FMA agent, but even as I glanced around, I heard the floorboards creak near my bedroom. I leaped to my feet, trying to swallow the lump of fear firmly lodged in my throat. My gaze narrowed as I watched the dark doorway to my room, waiting for the shadows to part and reveal my intruder, but although I could hear the footsteps coming closer, I couldn’t see anything—not even a ripple of movement to betray where she was.
“Show yourself,” I ordered, trying to keep my voice from shaking. And failing. “What do you want?”
I heard the footsteps walking the perimeter of the room and slowly turned, tracking their movement and trying to keep my breathing under control, my fear in check. Then the footsteps suddenly stopped. I held my breath, listening intently, my skin prickling with apprehension. I swallowed, waiting. The tick, tick, tick of the clock hanging on the wall seemed amplified in the unnatural silence, becoming a pounding rhythm in my head.
Suddenly, there was a loud thump above my head and a giggle and then the bam, bam, bam of my upstairs neighbor’s headboard banging against the wall. I let out my breath in a gasp and laughed, the sound coming out as a thin, shaky chuckle.
What a dork.
I should’ve known it was all just Tracy the Tramp entertaining her boy-toy du jour. I laughed again, a little louder this time, but my relief was cut short when a horrible coppery taste filled my mouth, jolting me a little. Frowning, I touched my tongue and looked at my fingers, startled to see blood there.
