Strangers in the Night

by E M. Jeanmougin

  For all that, he was still talking, through panting breaths and hacking spits of blood and venom. “Imma kill him. Lemme go, Jazz. Imma fuckin’ tear his fuckin’ spleen out. Imma fuckin’ kill him.” He said it over and over again like a mantra as he struggled in vain against Jasper’s grip, but his strength was failing. Already more of his weight rested against Jasper than on his own feet.

  The driver of the car that almost hit them decided he had seen enough and, bearing wide, hit the gas. The car screeched by on their left, then swerved back to the middle of the road, taillights fading quickly in the distance.

  A new pair of headlights was coming in the opposite direction.

  Jasper quickly holstered his gun and strung the werespider’s good arm over his shoulders. Keeping his elbow locked around his waist, he dragged him towards the other side of the road. At first Crimson tried to help him, matching Jasper’s every two steps to his one, but he grew heavier and heavier with every breath, his words fading to rasped whispers.

  Jasper got them to the sidewalk before they could get creamed by a passing vehicle, then readjusted his grip, putting his arm under Crimson’s thighs and trying to lift him instead.

  He was either much lighter than expected, or Jasper was much stronger than he knew, because he hoisted him up easily, but the sheer size of him was cumbersome, and Jasper had to widen his stance and stagger his step to keep from weaving when he walked.

  He could not go back the way they had come.

  He could not go the way Shane had gone either.

  He could not stay near the road.

  He lugged the werespider up the steps of the closed bank nearby, then cut around the railing, tramping through a small garden and past the drive-thru ATM. A parking garage was on the other side and, not knowing what else to do, Jasper bore towards it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  —

  For You

  The front of his shirt was soon soaked with the demon’s blood.

  The lowest level of the parking garage was full of cars, and people to go with them. Jasper kept away from them, pausing and crouching behind vehicles any time one drew near, letting them pass, moving again. There was no need to shush Crimson. He was quiet now. Jasper only knew he was still alive by the clench of his fingers on the collar of his shirt.

  He took the elevator. He thought for the entire ascent how Crimson hated elevators. He wondered why he hated them and wondered why he had never asked. He tried not to think about how he was probably scared to die in one, and how that just might end up being how he went. He was so still now, barely breathing.

  He hit the emergency stop halfway between levels and set Crimson down in the corner of the lift. Huddled beside him, trying to remain calm, he fumbled out his cell phone and clumsily selected Alcander’s name from the contact list. His hands were shaking so badly he had to try twice. His thumb left dark bloody smears on the keyboard and screen.

  Alcander answered on the first ring. “Hello, Jasper.” His voice was light and airy, carefree.

  “Al!” The name croaked out of him through the heavy pressure in his chest. “Al, you gotta help. It’s Crimson. He’s… I think he’s dying, Al.”

  Alcander’s manner changed dramatically. “What happened?”

  “We went to find Shane.” The whole story tried to spill out in one breath, but he stopped himself before he could properly begin. It did not matter how it had happened. Only one detail mattered. “He got shot. With a gold bullet. Twice.”

  Beside him, Crimson’s chest fell and did not rise. Jasper’s breath caught. He touched the side of his throat.

  A pulse, slow and shallow, thumped once against his fingertips. He felt relief, but short lived.

  “I don’t know what to do. He’ll never make it back to yours. Is there even a cure for—”

  “Jasper, listen to me.” It was the same curt tone he had used when Jasper was trying to help him back at the hotel room, when he’d brought him Max. “You need to get the gold out of him. By whatever means necessary. Don’t do it carefully. Don’t take your time. Just get it out.”

  “Okay,” said Jasper. The direct order seemed to kick-start the Hunter in him. Switching the phone to speaker, he set it on the tile and drew his knife. The lump on Crimson’s collarbone was situated closer to the surface, right up against the skin, which it had begun to burn through. Jasper shoved the point of the blade underneath and pushed the bullet. It wiggled but stuck in the widened gap made by the knife, as if it were fused to the bone beneath. A hot burst of sulphury smoke plumed right into his face. He squinted through the sting in his eyes and pushed until the bullet popped out and pinged to the floor. It was half melted, a bubble solidified over top of the lead underneath.

  The one on his sternum was deeper. In the dim fluorescent light, he could barely see the sliver of precious metal glinting through the murky sea surrounding it.

  When Jasper jabbed the blade there, Crimson sprang back alive with an inhuman screech. Black spines bristled in a fanning effect across his skin. Skeletal fingers, more claw and exoskeleton than flesh, gripped his wrist hard. “Crimson, it’s just me!” Jasper cried out, then, in a slightly calmer voice, “It’s me.”

  The grip loosened. The chittering noise inside gargled out. The werespider’s terrified brown eyes fixed onto his, his fingers clasped desperately around the heel of his hand as blood streamed out of him. Suddenly, Jasper was sixteen, and the eyes he was staring at were blue, not brown.

  Crimson’s lips tried and failed to form words. Then his eyes rolled back; his grip relaxed. His head lolled.

  This could not happen. Not again.

  Not again.

  He plunged the blade back into his chest, trying to wedge the stubborn bullet free. It came loose but wouldn’t come out. The blade did nothing more than rattle it around, sending fresh plumes of acrid smoke up his way whenever it hit muscle.

  He dropped the knife and shoved his fingers into the open wound instead.

  The searing hot metal burned, and his digits slipped on the slick surface. He gritted his teeth, gripped tight, and ripped it free. It left scorch marks where there should have been fingerprints. He cast it aside.

  “Al! The bullets are out!” he yelled towards the phone. “What do I do now?”

  “Look in his pockets,” crackled the phone. Underneath the clipped words, he heard traffic, a siren. He hoped that meant Alcander was on his way. “There should be a small tin box. It looks sort of like an epinephrine kit.”

  Jasper searched in the hand pockets. He found the werespider’s pocket watch, his cell phone, a pack of cigarettes, and his Zippo, among other odds and ends: loose coins and bits of string, a crumpled wad of mostly one-dollar bills.

  “It’s not here!”

  “Check in all the pockets,” insisted Alcander. Jasper didn’t know how he could sound so calm. Maybe because he wasn’t right here, watching his best friend die. “It’s probably on the inside.”

  Jasper pulled back the lapel and looked. Perhaps because he had never inspected the jacket too carefully, he had never realized how meticulously tailored it was. The inside was like a magician’s trick coat. Extra pockets were sewn along the in-seam, a zipper in the bottom of the hand pockets, small picks wedged in the collar, in easy reach of teeth.

  “When you find it, inject it directly into his heart. His skin and bones are very thick, so you’ll have to bring the needle down hard, as if you were stabbing someone.”

  “And that’ll fix him?” asked Jasper, desperately feeling up and down the row of pockets. His fingers encountered something solid and boxy in a pocket halfway down, and he reached inside.

  “No,” said Alcander. “But it will give us time. And it might wake him up.”

  Jasper pulled the object out. It was a small tin can, just as Alcander had said. The box was labelled in neat, blocky, evenly spaced handwriting. It said “Crimson Cocktail.” Alcander’s idea of a joke.

  Jasper popped the clasp and grabbed the syr
inge inside. The needle was thick and long, from decades earlier, and it made Jasper feel impossibly sicker to see it, but it was untarnished and clean, and if it would save Crimson, he would have stabbed it into his own leg.

  “If he wakes up, keep him awake. Do not stop the bleeding—his blood is poison right now—but try to keep him warm. I will be there soon.”

  The line clicked to silence. Jasper’s mind whirled. He hadn’t given him an address. He wasn’t even sure where he was right now. He couldn’t remember the name of the road or any of the nearby stores. How the hell did Alcander expect to find them?

  He took a breath to clear his head. If Alcander said he was coming, he was coming. He had to have faith.

  He pushed up the hem of Crimson’s ruined shirt and felt his chest for a heartbeat. It beat so slowly now that he had to wait several seconds. When it finally thumped, he pressed his thumb just above it. It was so near the hole in his chest, three inches away, if that. He lined up the needle, brought it up to the top of his reach, then slammed it down with all his might and pressed the plunger.

  Crimson’s eyes popped open with a wheeze. It must have hit close enough.

  Jasper was so happy that, if he had let himself, he could have started bawling right there and then. He steadied the back of the demon’s head and gently swatted his cheeks, trying to bring him more fully around. Crimson blinked at him blearily. Coughed wetly. “Jazz?”

  “I’m right here,” said Jasper. His vision doubled and blurred. A few hot tears finally managed to escape his eyes, and he did not know whether they were from fear or panic or joy. The heel of Crimson’s palm clumsily brushed one away, leaving a smear in its wake. “It’s okay,” he told the werespider, grabbing his hand. “You’re gonna be okay. Al’s coming.”

  “You,” murmured Crimson. There was no upward inflection, so it took him a beat too long to realize it was a question.

  “Me too.” Jasper would feel the pain of his own injuries later. Right now, his own body felt far away.

  “Good,” said Crimson when the words had processed. The focus slipped out of his face. Eyelids drooping, his chin sank back towards his sternum.

  Jasper shook him. “But you gotta stay awake for me, Crims. I need you to stay awake. Do you hear me?” He shook him again, harder this time.

  Crimson struggled himself away from unconsciousness, though it clearly took all his strength. His punch-drunk gaze swung back and forth. Refocused. “For you.”

  Jasper’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. Shane was a manipulative monster, and Jasper shouldn’t give a good goddamn what he said about anything, but now that the sentiment was there, he could not unsee it. The fixed adoration in his gaze. The romance in his words. The demon must have been in pain unimaginable, but still, his concern lay in Jasper’s direction, like he was the one who was slowly dying from a poisoned sickness.

  “Whatever… you… want.”

  “I want you to stay awake,” repeated Jasper. He pulled down the sleeve of his shirt and wiped uselessly at the blood painted around Crimson’s mouth. Underneath, his lips were ghastly pale. “I want you to live.”

  “Talk,” rasped Crimson.

  His mind went blank. For all he could think in that moment, he might have never had a thought in his whole entire life. “About what?”

  “Just… talk…”

  “Okay, okay.” Al told him to keep Crimson warm, so he closed the front of his jacket. It barely felt like it would do anything, so, as carefully as he could manage, he pulled the werespider further into his lap, putting his back against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. It still didn’t feel like enough. “You remember Adam?”

  Crimson said something. Jasper thought it was “teeth.”

  “Yeah, sharp teeth and black eyes. He didn’t used to look like that though. He used to have nice, normal teeth and blue eyes. He was very handsome.” Jasper paused. He slipped a hand inside Crimson’s jacket, feeling his chest for movement. The werespider’s breath was shallow and rattling, but there. He waited to feel a heartbeat before he continued. “I knew him for a long time, for as long as I can remember. We were both from hunting families. We lived just down the street from each other our whole lives. His whole life. He was my best friend. I… I loved him.” He waited again for signs of life. Crimson was still breathing, but every time there was a pause, Jasper was terrified he wouldn’t start again. “Are you listening to me?”

  Crimson’s head rolled. Jasper thought he was trying to nod. He gave him a little shake until he spoke. “Yeah.” His voice was too small. Where was Al?

  “When I was seven, I asked him to marry me, because that’s what you did when you loved someone, you got married. I even gave him a ring. It was blue raspberry flavored, his favorite. He said no. Boys were supposed to marry girls, not other boys. I told him I was just joking, and then I went home and cried all afternoon. Charlie wanted to know what was wrong, but I wouldn’t tell him. I never told anyone, and I think Adam just forgot about it. I still loved him, though, I just kept it to myself. It was worth it to just be his friend.”

  Crimson made a small sound. It might have just been a moan or a gasp, but Jasper thought it sounded like he was agreeing with him. Jasper fought back a fresh wave of emotion.

  “Al’s gonna be here soon,” he promised again, hoping he was right. He shook Crimson again, touching his chin to lift his face from his chest. “Hey. Hey, man, listen to me. You heard the one about the lesbian vampires?” Another uncertain sound in the affirmative. His eyes floated around the elevator before they found Jasper again. The half-blood couldn’t tell if he was seeing anything. “Help me with the punch line, then. What did one say to the other? Same time…?” Another shake.

  “Time next… month?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.” Beside them, Jasper’s phone started to ring. Jasper picked it up before it could finish the first note. “Al?”

  “I followed your phone signal to the building, but I do not see you. Where are you two?”

  “In the elevator.”

  “Get down to the parking garage. Street level. We will get as close as we can.”

  The parking garage was packed, a less than ideal place to take Crimson, who was looking more and more like a corpse, but if that was what Al said to do, he was going to do it. As carefully as he could, Jasper got up and sent the elevator back down and then crouched beside Crimson. “Al’s here. We’re going to him, okay? He’s gonna fix you up.”

  It was harder this time to gather Crimson in his arms and stand. He managed, trying not to hurt him as he held him. Crimson couldn’t help him; he was dead weight. His head fell back heavily; his eyes closed once more. “God, Crimson. Don’t you dare…”

  The doors slid open and Max was standing ready on the other side. Behind him sat his yellow hatchback, the door to the back seat open, the seats folded away so that there was a flat space. A white sheet had been put down, and Alcander kneeled at one corner, a medical cooler beside him and several medical instruments within easy reach. “Put him in the back and get in the front,” Al ordered.

  Jasper climbed into the back, setting Crimson down in front of the doctor. After a moment’s hesitation, Max closed the door behind him and got in behind the wheel. Alcander pulled open Crimson’s jacket and cut open his shirt with a pair of scissors. The wounds in his chest were black and gaping, lazily pumping out black blood. They hadn’t tried to heal at all.

  “I got the bullets out,” Jasper explained as Al started to examine the wounds. Using a pair of long metal forceps, he dug around in the one in the werespider’s sternum, dropping two smaller pieces of gold on the sheet. Crimson reacted with a twitch of his eyelids and nothing more. “Let me help. Please.”

  Alcander started to flush the bullet holes with some sort of solution. They practically steamed. Crimson didn’t move.

  “Al, please.”

  “You can help,” Alcander said, not looking up as he worked, “by being quiet.” He didn’t seem both
ered by the movement of the vehicle, which was a little strange since normally he couldn’t even sit in one without having a panic attack. In fact, he was entirely calm. Jasper didn’t understand how he could do it. Grinding his teeth together, he forced down the words that were so desperate to get out, and balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. He was about to speak again, to ask if there was something he could do, when Al gestured to the cooler. “Get him a unit of blood. A cold one first, and then the warm one.”

  Jasper obeyed, opening the cooler and grabbing the first bag of blood he saw. A sticker on the bag read “St. Mary’s Hospital” and the date the blood was drawn as well as the type it was.

  “You’ll have to feed it to him,” said the vampire.

  Jasper moved so that he was sitting behind Crimson’s head, angling him gently so as not to move his body much while Al worked. Drawing a blade from his belt, Jasper cut the corner and carefully poured the thick fluid down his throat. It was gross, but the separation between blood and an actual human person made it bearable. Crimson didn’t appear to be swallowing or drinking the blood, but it slowly drained down his throat. Jasper was half scared he would choke.

  The first bag was spent, and Jasper set it on the sheet. He grabbed the second bag, nearly dropping it as soon as he touched it. The bag lacked the label that was on the first one and, most jarringly, the blood inside was still warm. The cold blood obviously came from a semi-credible source, donated by willing donors (though probably not for vampire consumption). But where would Al get such fresh blood?

  “It is Maxwell’s,” said Alcander, noticing his hesitation. “Try not to think about it.”

  Jasper tried and succeeded. He cut open the bag and brought it to Crimson’s mouth, trying not to spill any between the motion of the vehicle and his shaking hands. Jasper thought he saw Crimson’s throat contract, and the werespider began to drink, just barely at first, but then with more vigor, his pale lips closing around the bag, sucking. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes moved. Hope swelled in Jasper’s chest. Was he really going to be fine?