“And there are guns that can kill vampires?”
“Incendiary rounds would be ideal. If the compressed versions actually worked, I’d want some grapeshot to take his head off, but for you, I’m thinking garlic. It won’t hurt me too much if you miss, and it’ll slow him down enough that we can take his head off without too much work.”
I glare at her. “I wouldn’t shoot you.”
“Right. Says the woman who’s never used a gun before.”
“Well, if you’re using incendiary rounds, you know fire kills humans too?”
“I won’t miss.” I hate how hot she looks when she’s all cocky. It makes it hard to be mad at her.
“Wait, there’re garlic bullets?”
“We’ll dip them in garlic oil. They may even have some filled with it here. Or if you’d prefer, we could get you a tranq gun. That’d work just as well, if not better, though it could hit me too. Though it won’t have the same stopping power for whoever’s working for him, and it won’t be quite as fast acting. Plus, if you put a bullet in his head, he’ll have trouble functioning for a while. So make sure you don’t shoot me in the head.”
I said I’m willing to help her kill him or even to kill him myself, but this feels weird. We’re literally premeditating murder here. I don’t like it. I’m a fucking doctor, for Christ’s sake. Damn it, I’m trying to stop that. “Whatever you think. I’ll manage.” I sigh, glancing at the various stalls we pass. I don’t know how to feel. “Wait. Why does garlic work on him? You said it didn’t work on you because you’re Italian. He is too.”
“Yeah, that was a joke.”
“You lived in England for too long. I can never tell when you’re joking.”
“When I first moved to England, dry jokes weren’t the standard. It was more making puns about sex and genitals. The dry humor was more of a thing in the 1800s.”
“You didn’t come over here until the 1900s.”
“I’m aware.”
I roll my eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been to this section of the bazaar. She leads me into an actual shop, not just a stall. No one uses the old storefronts except that human therapist. “This is different.”
“Hey, Sven,” she says, greeting the counter.
“Olivia, it’s been too long,” a male voice replies. I lean over the counter, but there’s no one there. He’s invisible? I’ve never had to deal with that before, other than…I try very hard not to think of that body. “May I help you?” I feel like the words are pointed at me, but it’s tough to tell.
“Hi,” I offer meekly.
“Mia, this is Sven. He’s a nisse. Sven, this is Mia, my…” She hesitates, her eyes widening, but she quickly regains her composure. “Friend.” That was good to see. I’m glad I’m not the only one jumping the gun there.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mia.” A hand appears out of thin air a foot above the counter.
I shake it. “It’s nice to meet you too, Sven.”
The hand disappears and releases me. “What can I help you with? Need some new munitions? I think it’s been a decade. Yes, not since the old Community Center, back when we were at that Quaker building. Finally go through all those bullets?”
“I went through them in a little over a year. I just haven’t felt the need for a new gun in quite a while.”
She already has a gun? “Why didn’t you already have one that can kill vampires?” I ask.
The nisse doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if I’ve offended him or if he’s simply staying out of the conversation.
She swallows, turning to admire a rifle that’s prominently displayed on the counter. “I don’t want to go home. I only have a pistol and a shotgun, and there are new ones I can get now.”
I’m an idiot. He’s broken into my place too, but that’s not the same as him breaking into the home she’s known for who knows how long. Maybe a century. Not that I’ve gotten to see it yet. Plus, he can personally break into her place but not mine. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re looking for a pistol and a shotgun?” Sven asks.
“Yes, for me, and as many incendiary rounds as I can get my hands on”—she glances over at me—“and for her, I think a pistol is the best choice. Maybe a tranq rifle as well. And we’re going to need security cameras, motion detectors, perimeter alarms, maybe a few claymores, and I wouldn’t say no to some C4. Blowing things up is far easier these days.” That was weirdly hot. “You don’t have a bullet that would hold garlic well, do you? I don’t want to inject it with tranqs. Knocking him out would probably work better, but a garlic bullet in the brain would stop him for a long while.”
“Expecting an assault?”
“Quite possibly.”
“Then I’ll set you up. I have quite a few vampire hunting items if you’d like to see those.”
Is she up for that? She twitched from hearing the phrase “vampire hunting.” How the hell is she going to look me in the eyes again if I’m the one who kills him? “Yes, that would be fantastic,” she manages, the words coming out slowly and forced.
“All right. I have wooden bullets, but it sounds like that’s out, silver bullets made from crosses—”
“He’s immune to holy items. It’d be garlic, possibly wood, but I’d hate to test it now. Sunlight would help, though not fatally. Fire and beheading are the best options. If you have something that could chop his head off, that would be a delight.”
So he can’t handle the sun as well as she can? I swear, the only advantage he has over her is the one that hits the closest to home. “Something easy to use, preferably,” I add.
“Ah, a greenhorn. You don’t want to give her a shotgun?”
“I don’t want to be lit on fire.”
“You could douse some slugs in garlic.”
She mulls that over, staring down at a crossbow. “Anything that comes premade?”
“For garlic? No, not really. A few things that you could put it in, but that’s about it. Though if you want to take his head off, I do have this.” He pulls out a strange item that resembles the crossbows but is metal and twice the size. “This thing will fling saw blades at a high enough speed to take anyone’s head right off.”
“Tempting. How’s the kick?”
“Not bad at all, actually.”
“I don’t think so,” she answers after a moment’s consideration. “Any UV bullets?”
“Yeah, but to be honest, they’re mostly a pile of crap. They won’t stun most vampires any more than being shot would.”
“Very well. Two nine millimeters, I think the Glock 19, incendiary rounds for them, and a bucket load of hollow points, two AA-12s, dragon’s breath and slugs, and—”
“All the home security I have?”
“That’s a start.”
“All right. It sounds serious, so I’ll get you the best equipment. Would you like help setting it all up?”
“That’d be great.”
“It costs extra.”
She smirks. “Come on, Sven. You know that’s not an issue.”
He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s nodding. I wonder if Ollie can see him. She seems to always be looking at exactly where his voice ends up coming from. “Immediate?” he finally asks.
“Yeah, just follow us back.”
Now my apartment is better defended than most military bases. I’m never getting my security deposit back.
Chapter Thirteen
Amelia: Normal Life
“Where are you going?” Ollie asks, stirring from what may have been sleep.
“I have work.” I toss the sheet at her face as I make my way to the bathroom.
“There’s a psychopathic vampire hunting you, and you’re going to go to work like it’s any other day? You could’ve mentioned this last night.”
“I told you I had to go to bed early.”
“Mia,” she says, out of the bed and a few feet from me, desperation clear in her eyes. “Please. Don’
t do this. It’s a terrible idea.”
“I can’t call out. I have appointments, and besides, who knows how long we’ll be dealing with this. I’m not putting my life on hold.”
“You don’t need to work. I can look after you.”
I take a step toward her, glaring up at her towering form. She really is falling for me, isn’t she? “I won’t be your kept woman. You’re rich, and you’re welcome to buy me all the stuff you could possibly wish, but I like my job. It’s one of the few things that gives my life meaning, and I won’t let that asshole mess with my life. Until he decides to kill me or whatever else he’s doing, I’m gonna keep going to work. Was there any action on the cameras last night? Is there any reason you think he’d attack today when he’s shown that he’s perfectly content biding his time and buying me groceries?”
She groans, her fangs showing in her annoyance. “No. I was watching them until pretty late, and every single sensor has alarms, and they’re all still working fine.” She checks an app on her phone. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks. “But what if he’s waiting for you to be alone?”
“You said he can’t handle the sun very well. It doesn’t seem likely that he’ll attack me in the middle of the day.”
“He can’t break into houses either. He’s not working alone.” She hesitates, clearly considering whether she can convince me to stay home. I wonder if she considers using that vampire trick on me. I’d break up with her on the spot. Well, I’d break up with her as soon as I had free will again. “I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t think my boss would approve of that.”
“I don’t think he’d approve of your black-market operation after hours, but that doesn’t seem to stop you. I can convince him that I’m supposed to be there. It won’t even be an issue.”
“Fine. Are you joining me in the shower?”
She falters, taking a step back. Do all old people take things this slowly? I figured her sharing my bed meant she’d be ready, but she’s shown no sign of that. Maybe it’s the constant threat of being murdered that makes her not in the mood. It kind of does it for me. “I don’t sweat,” she mutters, as if that’s any real answer. “Let me know when you’re ready to go. I’m going to watch through all of the recordings from last night.”
“Sounds good.” I close the door behind me and take my time getting ready. This will be a weird day.
* * *
Work is as strange as I’d expected. After a quick question from my boss, Ollie is now seen as a normal part of the office, but I have to deal with her suspiciously eyeing every single customer that comes in. Who knows, maybe that little old lady with the twenty-year-old Himalayan is secretly in the employ of a centuries-old vampire. Surely her shaking arthritic hands are getting ready to wring my neck.
“Mr. Mittens’s tumors are all benign,” I explain. “He still seems to be in a lot of pain, though.”
“He and me both,” Mrs. Lakeson replies with a raspy chuckle. “I was hoping he could spend my last days with me. Do you think he can make it that much longer?”
This is the one part of my job I really hate. Looking after animals is easy—I can always understand what they want—but having to take their owners’ feelings into account complicates everything. Normally, I would advise that he be put down to save him a lot of misery, but he probably doesn’t have much longer left than her, and he may spare her some pain on her deathbed. If I could put them both down, it’d make things way easier. “I’m not sure.” I don’t think you’re supposed to ask someone how long they have to live. I wonder if Ollie could make a cat a vampire.
“Would two months be too much torture for him?”
I stare at the shivering cat, the small lumps visible under his skin. “Probably not. Do you have people taking care of you?”
“Of course. My son is in the waiting room.”
I can hear Ollie shift behind me. Which is odd, as she can move pretty silently. She must really be out of her mind with worry. I doubt this woman’s son is him. “Make sure you bring Mr. Mittens back if he gets any worse. Otherwise, your son can take him in when you’ve”—I hesitate because it feels gross to say—“passed.”
“Thank you, dear.” She puts the cat back into his cage and manages to carry him on her own. She still seems strong. I wonder why she has so little time left. I’m sure Ollie would say that she’s only acting and is actually a fiend pretending to be an old lady, and that’s why she can carry the cat. Shapeshifter? Hag? I wonder what she’d go with for her claims. Maybe it’s Baba Yaga. Of course she’d team up with Iago. It’s the only way to find fresh children to eat these days.
I walk the Russian bogeywoman up to the counter, and she pays the receptionist before walking off with a young man. I turn back in time to see Olivia’s eyes following them out the door. “You okay?” I ask. The waiting room is empty. The only other vet’s door is closed, so she’s likely with a client. I suppose I don’t need to worry too much about us being overheard.
“It’s not him.”
“I figured.”
“You seemed very uncomfortable with that woman. Scared about having to reach her age?”
“Why, you offering to prevent that?”
She shifts her feet, her gaze falling to the floor. I know part of her wants it. I’m sure that if we do actually end up in a serious relationship instead of being murdered, she’ll want it a lot more.
“I’m not scared of growing old,” I say. “I don’t see it happening. Between my extracurricular hobbies”—hey, I’m not mentioning drugs at work—“and your old enemies, I figure I’m not likely to reach my forties, but I’d still rather only have the one lifespan. I was uncomfortable because I was forcing that cat to suffer needlessly to give her some extra comfort.”
“Then why did you agree to it?”
“Because the cat could take it, and I’m not sure that she could take losing him. I’ve been treating Mr. Mittens for the last eight years, and I know how important he is to her. She was terrified when she found out he has tumors, and she’s been very sick.”
Ollie follows me back to my office, closing the door behind us before saying, “I’m surprised to hear you talking like that. You never seem to care that much about people.”
It’s true, but it still kind of hurts to hear. “As misanthropic as I can be, I’m still a doctor, hell, more of one than anyone else here. I actually work with clients who can talk back to me, other than just the occasional parrot. I don’t like letting people hurt, especially when I have the means to prevent it.”
“But preventing it required letting your patient hurt.”
Grinding my teeth, I lean against the counter. “I’m aware.”
An arm wraps around me, and I feel her lips press against the top of my head. “I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m understand acceptable losses, but I’d never wish having to make those sorts of decisions on anyone. If it provides you any comfort, I think you made the right choice.”
“Thanks.” I wipe at my eyes, leaning into her embrace. “It does.” I stay there, enjoying her presence for a long while before I realize it’s about time for my next appointment.
As soon as I’m told that they’re here, I head out to grab Gary and his family. He’s a little dachshund with recurrent gastrointestinal problems. As I lead them in, Ollie’s eyes narrow at his owners. “Sorry, this is my intern, Olivia. She’ll be watching. Silently.”
“It’s no problem,” Gary’s owner’s mother says. “Hi, Olivia. I’m Sarah.”
Ollie waves. Good, she’s being silent.
I examine the dog, run a test, and find it’s his usual issue. It’s just best to be sure, particularly when it can lead to other problems and infections. “I’ll write you a prescription for the normal medication. You know what to do.”
“Can I give it to him this time, Mom?” the kid—Mikah—asks.
“Okay, honey,” Sarah says. “You have to make sure you give it to him at the same time every day. How about
right when you get home from school, before his walk?”
“After might be better,” I add.
“Okay,” he shouts, grinning ear to ear. As they leave, my intern glares after them. “How long have you known them?” she asks.
I shrug. “I think I’ve been seeing them for a little over a year.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. If I was him, I’d want a fiend who can pass as a child. People trust them more. They can get through your defenses. Did the boy seem any different?”
I roll my eyes. “Nope.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she replies, “Okay. Keep an eye out for anything unusual. We can’t trust anyone.” She keeps this up for the rest of the day. It doesn’t improve during my night shift.
* * *
“Help!” a voice screams from the lobby. Christ, I’m glad everyone else is gone. I mean, jeez! Olivia and I dash out to find a pixie oozing blue blood from a nail stuck in her abdomen. She’s dragged by two others, leaving a sparkly trail right through the lobby. The tiny creatures look almost like toys. It’d be comical if it wasn’t so morbid. Cleaning that is gonna be a bitch.
Ollie scoops the fae out of the others’ arms before either of them can object, standing between them and me, searching my eyes for guidance.
“The OR is back that way.” I gesture behind us. “You two need to wait here.”
“But—”
“Wait here. I promise, I’ll let you know as soon as I have any information to give.”
I wash up, throw on some gloves, and head into the OR. It seems like overkill, and likely infection won’t kill a fairy, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be held responsible for germ warfare against the Fae. I also probably shouldn’t call them fairies. I hear they don’t like that. It’s the only term I’ve ever heard of that’s considered a slur by two completely different groups. Those poor gay changelings.
Olivia is already in there, and is, of course, not sterile. “Scrub up, or get out of my OR.”
Olivia Page 16
