“Please, can we just go?” Jasper looked again over their shoulders, back at the streetlights and the buildings. He didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean nothing was there. He wished he were calmer; he couldn’t make any sense of the knots in his stomach.
“Not ’til you tell me what’s going on.”
“Crimson, please. I wanna get out of—ah.” Jasper broke off with a soft hiss; the pain in his stomach spiked, but that was only part of it. He couldn’t remember not having this sense, the innate ability to be able to sense demons. Charlie had never been able to give him a straight answer when he asked about it, but Jasper figured it was some recessive kind of psychic ability or magic. He could even usually use the sense to tell what sort of demon was near and how close. Vampires felt a little different than werewolves, and now that he knew Crimson a bit better, he thought he could tell apart werespiders as well. This feeling, though not entirely unfamiliar, was of something else, something he hadn’t encountered in nearly three years. Something he hadn’t encountered since Seattle.
But it couldn’t be. That thing was dead.
“Fuck,” the Hunter cursed softly as if pained. Jasper drew his gun without thinking, holding it with a loose, sure grip. The trees weren’t as thick here as elsewhere; some of the second-degree light from the city illuminated part of the area, turning the leaves silver and gold in the afterglow. Movement at the tree line caught his sight, and he swung up his gun, firing in one fluid motion. The shadow, the figure, whatever it was, was quick, darting out of the line of fire, across the path to the opposite tree line. Jasper lined up another shot—
The figure stopped before he disappeared, hesitating. The light caught on his hair, turning it white. Jasper’s finger was on the trigger, but he couldn’t move a muscle. The figure’s head turned towards him, pitch-black eyes focused on Jasper’s. A slow grin grew on his face, showing a dozen pointed silver teeth. “Jazz?”
“Jazz?” echoed Crimson. “Friend of yours?”
“No.”
“I’ll be damned,” said the demon. “It really is you. How long has it been? What are you doing here?”
“Sure seems to think so. Maybe you should get a closer look.”
“Shut up,” Jasper snapped, though it was difficult to know whom he was telling off, Crimson or the other demon, the one who was taking a step towards them. Jasper raised the gun again, pointing it at the demon’s chest. He wouldn’t miss twice.
The demon frowned. “What are you doing, Jazz? Don’t you know who I am?”
“No,” Jasper repeated.
“It’s me. It’s Adam.”
A crack spilt down through Jasper’s spine. “No.”
“Alright, kids, break it up.” Crimson was not stupid enough to step entirely in the way of Jasper’s gun, but he did step forward, moving so that Jasper was behind his shoulder, partially blocking him from view. “I think it’s time for you to take off.” His eyes flashed blood red, and he moved his coat so the demon could see the heavy revolvers at his sides. “This is the only warning you get. Leave now or I’ll kill you before Jazz even has a chance.”
The demon hesitated and seemed to look at Crimson, but it was hard to be sure with those fathomless black eyes. Jasper remembered them before they looked that way, bright and sparkling blue, full of life and light that shone with good nature. The gun shook just slightly in his hand and he felt sick. How had this happened? How did Adam find him?
“It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Sure it does. I’m the guy who’s going to be disposing of your body in about five seconds.” Crimson’s posture changed, back straightening, shoulders squaring. “Five. Four. Three…”
“Crimson, don’t.” Jasper finally managed to speak through the suffocating ball of guilt in the back of his throat.
Crimson shot him a glare. “So you’re friends after all, then?”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Don’t be like that, Jazz,” whined Adam. “I just wanna talk to you.” He took a ghoulish step forward, still grinning. His teeth were horrible, like a thousand razor blades crammed together, nothing at all like the smile Jasper remembered from before. Easy. Carefree. Kind. “I feel like it’s the least you could do, since you got me killed and everything.”
The werespider beside him rumbled like a dog about to snap. Adam paid him no mind. He was almost close enough to reach out and touch him, but not quite. He held out his hands, palms up. “Are you really gonna shoot a guy with no gun?”
“I will,” said Crimson. The werespider drew like lightning striking, with the boom and crash of gunfire as the thunder that followed. Jasper didn’t see the bullet, but he saw the cavernous hole it left in Adam’s chest. Adam staggered, almost catching his balance, which was when the second and third shots struck him on the inner shoulder, spinning him almost all the way around and leaving room for the fourth shot, which hit him square in the back and dropped him at last to his knees. Crimson thumbed back the hammer and advanced towards the kneeling demon with the gun pointed at the back of his head.
Jasper should have been glad, but in that moment all he felt was blind panic. He was going to have to see it happen all over again, was going to be involved again, responsible for it. Again.
“Crimson, stop.” He holstered his gun and forced his legs to move. On the ground, Adam gave a watery laugh. He turned onto his hip and stared up at the revolver with his jet-black eyes. Crimson squeezed the trigger twice just as Jasper got hold of his wrist and jerked it sharply away.
Two scorching holes appeared in the grass behind Adam. He barely blinked. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and threw himself up onto them, then started to lurch away in wide, stiff-legged steps. The bushes rustled. Twigs snapped. And he was gone.
Crimson shouldered Jasper off him with a rapidly clicking hiss that came from his chest and reverberated behind his clenched teeth. His dark hair seemed darker and spinier, prickling like hackles. For a fraction of a second Jasper considered drawing his gun again, not because he was angry with him, but because he was afraid of what he was about to do. Then the light in his eyes dimmed. He breathed out through his nose. Just like that, the demon fell away and left behind nothing but an irritated-looking Crimson. He clicked open the revolver’s cylinder, carelessly spilling the spent casings in the grass, then reloaded the gun and shoved it in the holster. “You shouldn’t have stopped me.”
“You’re probably right,” agreed Jasper. “But I had to.”
“You wanna tell me why?”
“No,” Jasper said, only to add a beat later, “He was my friend. We used to work together… before. I… I thought he was dead.”
Crimson made a small thoughtful noise in reply, and though Jasper didn’t look at him, he could feel the werespider’s eyes on him, calculating.
“You need a drink,” Crimson decided.
He nearly laughed at Crimson’s single-mindedness. “No, thanks,” Jasper said.
“Wasn’t really a question, kid.” Crimson slapped his shoulder but not light enough that it didn’t hurt. Jasper glared at him and was ignored completely. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”
Crimson led the way out of the park and down the street they’d just come from. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one of his jacket’s many pockets and tapped out two smokes, handing one to Jasper and lighting the other one, the flare of the ember illuminating his profile. He passed the lighter over, and Jasper lit his, though it took him a few tries. It couldn’t make him feel any worse, he reasoned, and he breathed in the smoke, like how he’d seen Crimson do it. It filled his lungs and burned his throat. He coughed several times, blinking back sudden tears, but caught his breath and tried again, taking in a little bit less this time. After a few puffs it actually felt good, some of the knots in his stomach relaxing, a dizzy, heady feeling in his mind. A tingling sensation rushed through his limbs and made them feel surprisingly light. He still thought it tasted pretty bad.
Jasper s
pent much of the walk looking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed, but it seemed as if Adam was gone. For now. Jasper still didn’t know what his old partner was doing here in New York. It was a popular city for demons, but it was also well populated with Hunters, something Adam should have been smart enough to be wary of. He’d come here despite the dangers. Why? Was he here on his own, or did he have help? Was it just bad dumb luck that he found Jasper, or did he come looking for him? Jasper smoked the cigarette down to the filter.
The summer night was warm, but Jasper shivered under his jacket anyway. The buildings around them eventually grew more and more familiar, and when Jasper saw the hotel they were staying in, he assumed that was where they were going, but Crimson continued down the street and around the corner, entering a door Jasper almost missed. It was so nondescript it blended into the building around it.
While Jasper had the ability to sense demons, it seemed as if Crimson possessed a skill in locating dive bars no matter where he went. This bar was a fair bit less charming than Rascal’s, which was saying something. Tinny country music played over blown-out speakers, and everything seemed to be made from pale, ugly wood: the booths, the tables, the bar, the stools. No one pretended they were here to have fun. The bar’s few patrons sat alone, each nursing tall beers in chipped mugs. Crimson strolled in confidently (there was no bouncer at the door for him to turn his shining eyes on), rapping his knuckles on the counter to get the attention of a gray-bearded man cleaning a glass with a dubiously clean rag, his eyes on a big old tube TV mounted in the corner. The picture was so bad Jasper wasn’t sure what the man was watching.
“Four shots of tequila. Top shelf.”
The bearded man grunted what might have been a laugh and took his time setting down the glass he was cleaning, taking the half-empty bottle of tequila from the back of the bar, and pouring four shots into four different sized shot glasses. Crimson tipped one back easily, the glass clinking decidedly against the worn wood of the bar. He looked at Jasper expectantly.
Jasper slid the shot nearest to him closer, frowning at the clear liquid. Crimson made it look so easy. Jasper brought the shot to his lips and drank half of it. Immediately the taste burned his tongue and all the way down to his stomach. He hissed through his teeth, it was either that or coughing, and he was certain his eyes were tearing slightly when he said, “That’s fucking disgusting.” The werespider shrugged, finishing his second shot like it was nothing more than water.
Jasper finished his shot with a grimace and pushed the last one closer to Crimson. The werespider didn’t argue and took it, tapping the empty glass on the bar top. The tender had gone back to his dirty glass and old TV and was slow refilling them.
“So, what? I’m guessin’ ya wanna talk about it? The whole—” he smiled here, unfriendly “—friend thing.”
Jasper didn’t think it sounded like he wanted to listen, and he didn’t really feel like talking about his dead partner. “Not with you, no.”
“Thank the gods for small favors, eh?” The bartender returned to fill their glasses. Crimson took another shot and motioned for it to be filled again, carelessly tossing one of those movie-star smiles his way.
“It’s pretty shitty of you,” commented Crimson lightly when the tender was gone.
“What?”
“You. Shitty. Being such an asshole to your so-called friend back there.”
Jasper was dumbfounded. His mouth opened and closed, searching for words. The knots in his stomach twisted like angry snakes. “That wasn’t my friend. It was something else.”
Crimson ignored this. “Just because he got himself turned into whatever the fuck he is, you don’t want anything to do with him? I don’t even see what the big deal is. It could be worse. He could be DEAD.”
“He is dead!” snapped Jasper, right as the swell of John Denver’s “Country Roads” faded to silence. The bar was more dark than light, but Jasper still shrank a little and raised a hand to half cover his face. “Can we not talk about this? I just told you I didn’t want to. So drop it.”
“Fine.”
They sat in surly, uneasy silence for several moments, listening to the overhead speakers crackle, now some new country song, one Jasper didn’t recognize. The werespider beside him had started spinning his pocket watch on the counter. Watching Crimson try (actually try) not to talk was very surreal, like watching a small hyper child try to play “the quiet game.” Jasper searched desperately for some topic of interest. A comment or a question that would steer the demon’s attention elsewhere, but he was so mad it was hard to think.
“You know,” said Crimson, too soon. His eyes were still down on the pocket watch, watching the silver spider stamped on its front as it danced in a spinning circle. “I just think it’s kind of a little weird is all. I mean, here you sit, all cozy and friendly with me.” If he were actually paying attention, Crimson would have seen there was nothing “cozy” or “friendly” about Jasper right now, and that there hadn’t been since he decided to feed a living human to his vampire buddy. “Meanwhile, your actual best friend shambles himself back to life, tries to say hi, and then you go and get him shot? That’s shitty, man.”
“You’re the one who shot him!”
“Well, it didn’t look like you guys were planning on swapping phone numbers, so yeah. I figured you were gonna tell me he was trying to lure you into a van or just into a kinda dark corner so he could bash your head in. I didn’t know you were avoiding him just cuz you’re a fuckin’ bigot.”
Jasper thought about that chilled night three years before. A creature with razor teeth, Adam’s terrified blue eyes fixed on his, their hands clasped desperately, the way his partner, his best friend’s blood steamed hot in the night as he bled out. Crimson had no idea what he was talking about.
“I’m going back to the hotel,” he said, quietly because otherwise he would scream. He slid off the barstool. If he had to listen to another word from the werespider’s bitter mouth, he was going to lose it.
“He’s still a person, you know.” There was a red gleam in the spider’s eyes to match the white shining in his own.
“Just shut up, okay? Don’t talk to me.”
The werespider rolled his eyes and went back to his drinking. Jasper left the bar, heading back to the hotel. No one came after him in the night.
Chapter Nine
—
Suspicious Minds
It wasn’t until he was standing outside the room that he remembered he didn’t have a key. Jasper knew the vampire didn’t trust him, so he went back to the front desk to be let in, but the attendant still had not returned. Nor had anyone else. He waited around for a while to see if she would come back, but she didn’t, and Jasper felt even sicker thinking about it. He went back to the room to try his luck.
He knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
He knocked again. “Hey, uh, Alcander? It’s Jasper. Can you let me in?”
“Where’s Crimson?” came the muffled reply.
Jasper tried the knob, but it was still locked. “He’s down the street, getting drunk. Can you let me in? I don’t have a key.” Silence answered him. Swearing to himself, Jasper grabbed hold of the knob and shook it, rattling the door in its frame. He just wanted to get inside and lie down. Why did these fucking demons have to make everything so hard? God, he wanted to go home. “I’m not going to hurt you, bloodsucker. Just let me in!”
Jasper wasn’t surprised when this tactic didn’t work, but he was still pissed about it. He had half a mind to go back to the bar, shoot Crimson dead, and dig the key out of his wallet. Instead he went back to the lobby to fume and wait.
Jasper tried not to think about Adam and failed. He tried to distract himself with his book but couldn’t focus. Twice he took out his phone and started to call Charlie to tell him… something, he was never sure what. He wanted another cigarette, but he didn’t want to leave the lobby.
Crimson strolled in an hour a
nd a half later. He wasn’t stumbling but was obviously drunk. Jasper could smell the booze on him when he walked over.
“You still here?” Crimson asked. He was smiling in a way that reminded Jasper of a scowl.
Jasper ignored the snide remark. “I don’t have a key. The vampire wouldn’t let me in.”
“There’s gotta be a joke there,” Crimson said as Jasper followed him back to the room. “Something ’bout an invitation.” He unlocked the door with his key and they both went in. The vampire was sitting on the furthest end of the couch, his feet pulled up underneath him. He looked cautiously at the pair but seemed relieved that Crimson was back and not dead in some alley.
If Jasper expected to find evidence of what had happened here, he didn’t. Everything was as neat and tidy as it was when they checked in, maybe even more so. Alcander looked healthier, his skin flushed and hair shiny. His clothes were different, neat and clean, not a spot of blood on them. He, at least, had the good grace to look guilty about what he’d done.
Crimson lifted his hand towards Alcander in greeting and then disappeared into the bathroom. The sounds of the shower running came soon after.
Jasper went over to the bed furthest from the door and sat down to undo the laces of his boots. This put him almost directly behind Alcander. The vampire didn’t like it, and he got up and moved, sitting on the edge of the other bed. Jasper noticed he sat as far away as he could, his hands on his knees, his feet on the ground. As if he would be able to get away fast enough. As if Jasper couldn’t kill him before Crimson could come out and stop him. Al couldn’t fight to save his life (literally). It wouldn’t be hard. A silver bullet or a sharp enough knife. Destroy the brain or the heart and that was enough. Jasper thought this without any real intention, he just couldn’t help it. It was habit. The vampire didn’t have to fear him; he wasn’t planning on hurting him. At least, not yet.
Strangers in the Night Page 10
