“What’s it like to be you?”
A lot of things and nothing good, she should have said. She was fast, but not with answers.
The gun was heavier than it seemed. She was out of the iron cage, but still a prisoner. She wanted out, and this bullet was the closest thing she had right now. No more guilt. No more gnawing emptiness. Her finger rested against the trigger. The slightest squeeze would be all she needed. She took a deep, cleansing breath. Her last.
“What are you doing?”
She turned and stared at the little girl sitting next to her. She wiped her eyes and blinked.
“Embeth?”
Chapter 2
Embeth wore her favorite dark green dress with the extra frills. She was almost an exact replica of the vampire, though her dark hair was longer, brushed back over her small ears. Her dark brown eyes were round, mousy, always curious. Her thin legs dangled over the edge of the planks. Not a drop of water on her. Fang looked at her sister and couldn’t decide if this was a hallucination or—
“What’s that?” she asked Fang, pointing at the floating corpses.
“Don’t look down there. Embeth, I... I thought you would never want to see me again.” Fang slid the gun away, unsure if she was going mad.
Again.
“Why wouldn’t I want to see you again? You’re my big sister.”
Fang wiped her eyes. “I just thought... Never mind. I’m glad you’re with me.”
They smiled and embraced. Embeth’s little body was warm, and her hair smelled like apples and summer flowers. They kissed each other on the cheek and held each other. It was so different than the last time they were together. If Fang was tumbling into madness, then this was the best kind.
Embeth wrapped her arms around her neck and whispered, “If you ever think for one moment that you’re alone, I’ll pinch you on the neck.”
“Do your worst.”
Embeth squinted, trying her best to appear mean and gave her skin a twist, and Fang laughed and kissed her again. She eased away, wiping her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Embeth asked.
“It’s nothing,” she said and looked away.
“What were you doing with that?”
Fang looked at the gun she’d tossed to the side.
“I was just thinking. You know when you can’t find the right answer and, and you just...” She stammered and shook her head.
“Just what?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired, I guess.” They kicked their feet at the edge of the pier and were quiet for a time. The fire roared behind, its warmth comforting them. Fang’s shoulders dropped, and her muscles eased.
“I guess a bad man stole a book, huh?” Embeth piped up.
Fang glanced at the little girl and looked into her dark eyes. “How did you know that?”
“I just know stuff.”
“You just know stuff.” Fang cracked a smile.
“Mm-hm.” Embeth shrugged.
The pressure Fang’s her chest washed away, and the knots of tension were replaced by a warm sensation and something she didn’t recognize. She liked it.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Fang blinked and looked out at the pinpricks of light traveling along the streets. Men were awake, and the military would be there soon.
“I don’t know what I should do about it, if anything.”
“What if the bad person wants to hurt people with the book?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”
“What if you got it back?”
“And why in the world would I want to help people? Nobody cares for me, nobody wants me.”
“Because that’s what good people do.” The purity of her smile brushed away the darkness. “They help people even when they’re not liked by others.”
“Embeth, I’m... I’m not that person. Not even close. Don’t you remember what happened? Don’t you know who I am?” She wiped tears away from her hot cheeks.
“I know who you are.” She smiled and pressed her head into Fang’s shoulder. Her small gesture sending rolling waves of warmth through Fang’s tortured, cold soul.
They stared out at the sky as the swells rolled underneath their feet. The only useful skills Fang had were her cunning and ruthlessness. Kill or be killed. Helping people was something else entirely. People were meant to be taken advantage of, played with, fed upon.
“What if you did it for me?”
Fang nodded. “I would do anything, anything for you.”
“Then you need to find the book and stop the bad people from using it.”
“Embeth, I don’t even know where it is. I don’t know who the bad guy—”
“Moreci.”
“Right... Moreci.” She frowned at Embeth. “I don’t know where he is. I don’t know a lot of things, I guess.”
“I guess you need help, then.”
“I don’t know anyone who would help me.”
“Probably someone smart. Smarter than you.” Embeth squinted, and a wide grin stretched across her face.
“Embeth, I told you. I don’t know anyone.”
“You’re smart too. Clever. I think you could make someone want to help you. In a nice way, of course.”
Fang rubbed her face. Of course, Embeth was right. She was always right. But, how was all this going to happen? She was on a burning pier near a city full of men who would probably kill her on sight. And this was not in her scope of practice. Seducing? Yes. Asking for help, no.
She shook her head. “And how do you think all of this is going to come about?” But she flinched when she saw that Embeth was gone. She jumped to her feet and looked around, but the dead were the only things on the pier.
“Embeth?” She caught herself before she could scream. “Embeth?”
Fang was alone again. Only this time the feeling wasn’t a certainty. And it was good to have her sister again. Even if she still wasn’t sure if she were a spirit or—
The last remaining walls and pieces of the warehouse fell into the ocean. Lights gathered in bunches on the shore, and tiny points of light dotted the bay.
Embeth was right. Fang would need help. But who would trust a monster like her? She dove into the water and swam. Bitter cold shocked her senses. The currents pushed her away, but she adjusted course, her modified sight cutting through the darkness as she swam towards a familiar landmark. Her mind formulating a new plan.
She would need a detective, a very good detective. The two of them could work together to find the book. Embeth said Moreci had it, but Fang didn’t know where he was. Trevin, however, was close by. She would talk to Trevin tonight, find out what he knew and then kill him. His life was filled with a desire for violence. She would bring it to him.
***
Seventy-five yards away, a hidden agent sat under heavy tarps and stared through a pair of powerfully modified binoculars to see through the dark. A notepad full of scribbles rested on his lap next to a worn hipflask.
A voice buzzed into his earpiece. “Status report.”
“Yes sir,” the agent said. “The warehouse is destroyed, and agent Fang has disappeared into the waters.”
“Then her retrieval was a failure?”
“Completely, sir.”
“Perfect. Status of Drake and his crew?”
“Gutted, sir.”
“Ah, more good news. I adore when my plans come together.”
“Um, yes, sir.”
“And Fang is heading to...?”
“Best guess would be to a weapons cache, then to find change of clothes and then off to find Trevin.”
“But I didn’t hire you for best guesses, did I?”
“Sir. No, sir.”
“I thought not. I’ll let you go so you can follow her, then.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, and be sure to contact me when Trevin is dead.”
“Of course, sir.” The radio crackled once and was silent. The agent gathered his belongings
and set about his work.
***
Fang pulled herself onto the riprap and lay still. Her eyes searched the buildings for prying eyes. The pouring rain concealed her shape, but she could never be too sure. Her body was frozen against the rocks, just another shadow among the shadows. She waited less than three minutes before pulling herself up and slipping across the street.
Throughout the city, the military kept hideouts with caches of supplies, and the nearest was a block away. She slipped through a window, peeled out of her wet clothes, and strapped herself into a fresh suit of reinforced leathers. A pair of daggers in her sheaths, stocked utility belt, and a thick night-cloak to keep off the rain, and she was hunting on the street in less than two minutes.
The closer she drew towards the main city, the louder it became. And instead of a few men walking the streets near the docks, there were droves. Trevin’s old haunts were nearby, in the defunct streets of the Barbary Coast, the term most San Franciscans used to describe an area known for its wild debauchery. She blended in with the other riffraff. Forgotten miners, drunk sailors and prostitutes of all ages scuttled through saloons and parlors. No one batted an eye at the dark-cloaked woman who walked beside them as she searched for Trevin with her mind.
Her Reach sought the most disturbing conscience among the disturbed. Not an easy task given the surroundings, but she knew she would find him. His was a rotting carcass amidst blocks of refuse, and his pungent soul finally effused.
He was a block ahead, directly in front of her. She leaned against a wall and watched. The sounds of clinking glass and bawdry songs slinked out from the saloon doors as they opened. The shape of him was unmistakable, as was his trademark white, three-piece suit. A slim woman clung to his side. Fang noticed the woman’s head turning this way and that, gathering as many details of the street as she could. Just like Fang would do. So, Trevin had an assassin guarding him. Fang wasn’t put off by his bodyguard. The woman was merely a window Fang would smash to get to the real target.
The pair walked away nonchalantly through the crowds. Fang followed, her eyes boring into the back of his head, heart swimming in adrenaline, fingers flexing. Her daggers were merely inches away, resting in sheaths on her belt. Fang drew a sharp breath as she slowly gained ground on the pair. Each step assuring their deaths. Fang was in her element and for once, under no duress of orders from men with aurorium.
The pair ducked into a dilapidated brick building, one of his whorehouses. She arrived at the entrance and was met with a sea of drunk sailors leaving after spending their hard earned money. She paused, glanced inside and caught Trevin’s companion gliding up the stairs. Someone grabbed her bottom.
“Oi! I’ll take this one here, mates,” a sailor laughed and elbowed the others.
She turned. Her Reach whispered his crimes of rape. She smiled and nodded to the corner. The men cheered as she led him into the dark alley. Before he could say another word, she snapped his neck and stuffed his corpse into a trash bin.
She walked the length of the building and waited. Her enhanced hearing picked out the muffled screams from a prostitute’s room on the third floor. Her fingertips dug into the brick and mortar and she shimmied up to the curtained window like a spider. A groan caught her attention and she peered down. A drunk woman teetered in the alley and stared at Fang a moment. Fang returned the stare. The drunk raised her bottle in a salute and sauntered off. Fang peered back through the window.
Trevin was leaning over the woman and pointed his stubby finger at her. His warnings became urgent when he pulled out a knife. Fang waited until his back was turned before she exploded through the glass, baring fangs and daggers. Like a pouncing tiger, she soared through the room—when the air changed. It was as though she’d jumped into a vat of molasses. Her heart skipped. Adrenaline flooded her veins, but not to fight—to run.
Aurorium.
Trevin turned, held a thick arm out and swatted Fang aside, sending her into the wall. The daggers clattered across the room. The shock on his face was what she had hoped for, but the shock on hers was what made him frown.
“Fang?” he said, gripping his knife. “What in the world are you doing here?”
Terror coursed through her body as she crawled away from him. Her strength evaporated, lungs spasmed. A high-pitched screech dug into her ears, and her vision blurred.
“Oh. You must not have known about my aurorium-infused blood?” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her face close to his. “You’re a mess. Bleeding out from your eyes is never a good sign of health, is it?”
His words were muddled and strange to her. The aurorium’s effect was devastating. Her stomach turned into knots, blood ran through her like boiling water. She raised a weak hand, as if that would do anything.
“My dear, poor vampire,” he taunted. “Such a lovely experiment. Don’t you know how perfect we created you? How wonderfully crafted you are? Holy water, crosses, silver, sunlight. All the typical contrivances most vampires fear and loathe have no effect on you, do they? But Moreci and I were given a special defense just in case.”
He picked her up and threw her across the room. Wood shattered as she crashed into a cabinet. She could barely breathe. He picked her up again, wincing as he held her throat and pushed his face close to hers. Waves of searing pain pummeled every inch of her body.
“The aurorium. That has an effect, doesn’t it? Someone smarter than us felt a blood transfusion was necessary in case a situation like this ever turned up. And it looks like it’s paying off.”
He threw her into the wall. Lath and plaster shattered, and Fang flopped on the bed. Stinging needles dug into her body, nerves, bones. And, just for a moment, she wanted so much to be back in the small cell again, sleeping peacefully with her dreams of Embeth.
“We gave you a home and a purpose. Better than the life you were living in the asylum, wasn’t it? I’m sure your parents would have been proud of you. But they disowned you, didn’t they?”
He picked her up over his head and slammed her into another wall. Every inch of her body was on fire, and her breaths came in ragged gasps.
This was what dying felt like.
She was torn between the promise of sweet relief and the bitterness of not keeping her promise to Embeth.
“Your lungs will collapse any moment, followed by the imminent snapping of your spine as your back spasms. Terrible price to pay for a night out, Fang.”
He grabbed her hair and pulled her face up.
“What were you thinking?” he asked. He looked deep in her drooping, bleeding eyes. “Did you think you’d be free? Be able to kill us anytime you want?”
“What’s happening?” a woman asked.
“Veiul,” he answered, looking toward the open door. “Look who showed up.”
Fang’s eyes floated through the room until she found a familiar face—not a vampire, but some other kind of preternatural. One that could shift her appearance.
“Ah! We haven’t worked together in years,” Veiul said, and her face shifted until she resembled Fang. “You do look familiar...” Veiul’s face melted and shifted again into that of another woman. “What are you doing out of your cage?”
“She tried to assassinate me,” Trevin said. “Can you imagine the audacity?”
Veiul’s face and voice, shifted back into Fang’s. “Ah, well... um... I may be strong and pretty, but I’m not too smart, am I?” She tapped her head and crossed her eyes, laughing with Trevin.
“And she just found out about my aurorium,” he said, and finally noticed the blood on the floor. “Oh! Goodness, look at this mess. Fang, you’re bleeding all over the place. All over my shoes! And the poor woman’s new carpet!”
“Are you going to take her head?” Veiul asked, squinting at Fang.
“Yes. Of course.”
“You have quite the collection, don’t you?”
“Over forty-five.” He looked at the ceiling and rubbed his pudgy, clean-shaven jaw. “And hers will fi
t nicely in my collection of conquests. But let her suffer for now. We’ll go to Maggie’s first and get a drink. Then we can find a glass jar.”
Veiul looked at the prostitute. “And what about her?”
Trevin turned. “Leave her alone. What’s she going to do? Tell everyone there’s a vampire in her room?”
He turned to the prostitute. “Hear that, love? Don’t do anything here until I get back, and I’ll pay you handsomely.” The woman nodded.
“Well, then,” Trevin said. “That’s settled. Fang, good seeing you again.” His smile was vulgar. “And I can’t wait to see you on my shelf.” He stepped carefully through the debris and out of the room. His footsteps echoed down the hall before Veiul turned her sneer to Fang. The two stared at each other, a mirror image of two assassins. Only one was dying.
“Let’s make this interesting,” Veiul said. She plunged her dagger into the other woman three times and grinned. She yanked out the blade and held it under Fang’s nose.
“Smell this banquet.” Thick blood dripped off the blade and onto Fang’s chest. “I want you to hunger and have a hope of survival before you die.”
Veiul slammed the dagger into Fang’s heart and curled her lip. “That’s for leaving me in Peking.” She ripped the dagger out and glared as she closed the door to the room.
The wound in Fang’s heart was barely healing itself. Waves of agony crashed over her, and she tried to sit up but that slid further down instead.
A whimper drew her attention, and she looked at the other woman. A trail of red flowed from the prostitutes wounds. Adrenaline rushed through Fang’s veins, instinct beckoning her to feed. But the woman was innocent. And Fang never touched the innocent. Unless...
She used her Reach and touched the dying woman’s conscience. Traces of a single murder lingered on her dark soul. Someone close to her, a male, older relative. She killed him without remorse.
Guilty.
Fang concentrated on the rise and fall of the dying woman’s chest as she crawled across the debris.
Chapter 3
Hunter’s Point
San Francisco police and detective training grounds
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 3
