by Faith Hunter
I remember knowing Mol was going to die. Knowing it. Smelling death. Screaming with grief and fear. Calling Leo’s. Demanding help. Begging. But Leo wasn’t home. I remember Bruiser promising to bring Bethany to the hospital. The hesitant sound in his voice; he knew he shouldn’t be helping.
I remember grabbing the photos just taken of Molly and the kids. For the cops. For the AMBER Alert. Rushing with police officers into the street to follow the trail of the witches and the vamps who had invaded my home. Who had stolen the kits. The trail ended in a fading cloud of diesel and a booby-trap spell that sent me tumbling. Sitting up in the street, my palms bleeding from the fall. Jumping into the back of the ambulance.
But it was all mixed up in my head, like dozens of overlapping sound bites, like being in a foreign land, the language all jumbled, the sights alien. I couldn’t save Molly, my only friend. I didn’t know where her children were. Bliss was gone. I was crying and useless. Useless. While Beast screamed and clawed at my mind, trying to force the change on me.
Tulane University Hospital was the only one in New Orleans that kept paranormal medical experts on salary, medicos who dealt with the needs of the supernats and their injuries. Molly was unloaded and carted into the TUH Emergency Department. I claimed to be her sister, so they let me in back, but I had to leave her to sign papers and talk to the cops. Two uniformed cops and a plainclothes guy whose name badge read A. Ferguson.
Ferguson wanted to question me, the kinds of questions cops saved for suspects. I was covered in blood, so I understood the officers being wary, but there wasn’t time to waste. And Beast was too close to the surface for me to find words for them.
I called Big Evan in Brazil, left him a voice mail. Then Molly’s big sister in Asheville. I managed to call Rick. And Jodi Richoux. And Troll.
I coped enough to get my story out to the cops between calls, and Rick talked to one of them while I answered the doctor’s questions and talked to a surgeon who was also an earth witch. I held it together by a thread, juggling answers, questions, information. Right up until Bruiser and Bethany waltzed into the ED.
Everything stopped at that moment. The constant incredible din of the place. The continuous movement. The ever-present sense of urgency. It all stopped. Everyone stood in place, pivoted to get a better look, and stared. Suddenly I could take a breath. A sense of icy expectancy flowed over me, her shaman essence, her healing. My skin tightened into taut peaks by the power that wafted around the vamp, power that smelled of ozone and earth, a lightning storm in the jungle. Beast settled onto her haunches, quiet.
Bruiser stood in the entrance, the glass doors to the ambulance ramp open behind him, Bethany’s hand in the crook of his arm. Bruiser was wearing jeans and an open-neck shirt. Bethany was wearing a full-skirted crimson tribal outfit, her head swathed in an orange turban, an orange shawl over one shoulder. Gold hoops dangled from her ears and a necklace of heavy gold links circled her neck. Her feet were bare. And she was fully vamped out.
The young cop beside me pulled his weapon, but before he could raise it to fire, his partner put out a restraining hand and looked at me. He was human, about five-ten, late forties, a sergeant by his stripes. His partner looked young, still wet behind the ears. And the plainclothes guy, Ferguson, was mid-fifties. Experienced. Canny. He looked from Bethany to me and put things together as his eyes darkened.
“The victim. She’s a witch, isn’t she?” the detective said. I nodded and Ferguson’s mouth curled into a faint sneer. The scent of fear and hatred started to ooze from his pores. He was a closet witch hater. Maybe not so much closet. His voice dropped lower. “And you didn’t think it important to tell us all that? Wasting our time with witch shit?”
“Children aren’t shit,” I growled. He took a step back. The younger cop struggled with his partner to draw his gun, eyes switching from Bethany in the doorway, to the closer threat, me. I curled my hands into fists to keep from clawing out. “You telling me that you wouldn’t have issued an AMBER Alert for two kidnapped children if their mother was a witch? That you’d take a chance on waiting?”
“Witch politics,” Ferguson spat. “Their kids aren’t the concern of normal humans. And that?” He jutted his chin at Bethany, still in the doorway. “They should all be staked.”
In an eyeblink Bethany had crossed the floor and taken the detective into an embrace. It looked like a lover’s touch, carnal, possessive, one hand at his back, the other holding his head. Her fangs braced at his throat. He struggled for a single heartbeat and went still. I shivered in the cold, dry hospital air, sweat chilling on my skin. I had never seen a human forced under by a vamp. They could mesmerize, but not without eye contact. Not without time to establish control. This was fast. And freaky. And illegal. And deadly.
Bethany licked along Ferguson’s throat, her tongue moving between her spiked canines. She breathed in his scent and closed her eyes in what looked like sexual ecstasy. The detective groaned in her arms, aroused, stoned to the gills. He sighed happily and slid an arm around his captor, nuzzling close.
As if she couldn’t hear him, the young cop hissed, “We got to stop her, Sarge. She’s gonna kill him.”
I spared the older cop a glance. “Probably not. But if you can’t control your partner, he might end up dead.” I heard a brief struggle as I turned back to Bethany.
She smelled the detective the way Beast smelled a fresh kill, short snuffling sniffs and long drafts of air. She moaned softly, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of my neck. George moved slowly toward her, adjusting his angle so she would see his approach while he was several feet away. “Bethy, love. He’s not a danger to you. He isn’t food.”
“It would let children be stolen,” she said, her breath on the neck of her prey. “It would let them die, like my babies died.” She lifted her head to Ferguson’s eyes. “Speak the truth, human creature. You have let missing children go without searching for them, yes? You would let these children die?”
He sighed and smiled, stoned on vamp power. “Witch kids. Not human.”
Bethany said, “Some would call me witch and cursed. You would let my children die?”
“Let ’em die. Ain’t natural.” He giggled softly. “Stake you. Gut you. Cut off your head.”
Bethany smiled, then looked at the cop in her arms, her eyes claiming his will. He shuddered along the length of his body as if she shook him. “You will no longer desire to stake the cursed. You will love us. Desire us. You will work to help and to find all children. Speak to this, human.”
His eyelids fluttered. “Wiiii. . . . Will help. . . .” He licked his lips. “Always.” His hands rose and he stroked her face. “Please? Now . . . ? Please.”
“Good.” Bethany patted his face. “This is good.” She struck, her fangs slicing into his carotid so fast I didn’t see them penetrate. Her lips formed a seal, the suction of her mouth hard. A single drop of blood teared at the corner of her lips. Five long seconds later, she released him and Ferguson slid to the floor, his neck wounds closed and only a smear of blood to show where he had been a meal. “The human will live. It will allow no more children to die.”
“Shit. Shitshitshitshit,” the younger cop said. “Sarge—?”
“Shut up, Micky. Shut up and go to the unit. Don’t do anything. Just sit there.”
Bethany looked at me and cocked her head. “I was brought here to help a witch. I smell her. She is dying.”
The older uniformed cop opened a door and Bethany flowed inside, closing the door behind her. The sergeant pursed his lips, not sure what to do next. He toed the detective on the floor. Ferguson didn’t stir. The cop grinned and it was a nasty sight, as if he thought Ferguson had gotten what he deserved.
I touched his arm. “Thank you. And I’m sorry about not telling you she was a witch, but if I had, some cops might have held off, might have buried the report for a few crucial, critical seconds. So I kept it to myself.”
“Not all of us are sons a’ bitches,” he
said. “My only beef is having to write this report.” His radio crackled and he listened to some code words and numbers and flipped open his cell. “ ’Scuse me.” He wandered off. An EMT and a nurse dropped a folding gurney to the floor and picked up Ferguson, depositing him without much care or gentleness. They rolled him aside and left him there. The EMT flicked the cop’s nose as he walked away. It seemed that his confession had been heard and not everyone agreed with his politics or his prejudice.
“You’re barefooted. I’m accustomed to that from Bethany, but not from you.”
Bruiser stood in the corner, his arms lose, staring at my dirty, blood-crusted feet.
“I lost my flip-flops.” I touched the door behind which Molly and Bethany had vanished. “She wasn’t this bad the other day. Bethany. Will she hurt Mol?”
“Bethy has good days and bad. Today is a bad one. But she’s a healer before anything else. Your friend will be fine.”
“Leo . . .” I stopped. I didn’t know what to say.
“Leo doesn’t know we’re here. He is at Immanuel’s grave site. But when I tell him, my guess is he’ll stop by your place, and he won’t be happy.” He offered nothing else, watching me. His unwavering gaze made me acutely aware of my lack of proper clothes. Shorts and T. No bra, no shoes. Covered in blood. He didn’t look all that great himself, despite the tailored casual clothes and the air of absolute confidence he wore like a second skin. He was pale, circles beneath his eyes, lines drawing his face, looking worse than the last time I saw him—probably the lingering effects of a feeding frenzy.
“It isn’t Immanuel’s grave site.”
He raised his brows. “So? Keep a few crosses nearby.”
I nodded, now more uncomfortable than before. Great. Small talk in a hospital. Two things I hated at one time. A moment later Bethany left the room and went straight for Bruiser. She wound herself around him and he moved into her embrace, the motion familiar and tender, the gesture of a lover. Something uncomfortable turned over inside me. I didn’t want to know what it was or inspect it too closely.
“George. My lovely Georgie.” Bethany ran one hand through his hair and he laughed softly. “Take me home now, yes?”
He kissed her fingers when she pressed them to his lips. “Did you help the little witch, Bethy love?”
“She will life—will live,” she corrected. “She will live. I shared my essence and my holy blood with her. Are you pleased with me?” Her tone was needy, the sound of a child asking a grown-up for approval.
My discomfort spread. Holy blood. Criminy.
“Yes. I’m proud of you.”
“I may drink again tonight? I hunger.”
“I will see that you are well fed. You did a good thing.”
“Yes,” she said happily, sounding like a child praised by a parent, “I did.”
Bruiser looked at me and nodded once. Without a good-bye he led Bethany through the doors and outside. I was left looking at my reflection in the closed glass, the night black beyond. If I were foolish enough to get involved with Bruiser, that was what I’d get, a bit of his time, none of his loyalty. That belonged to the vamps. It was good to know. Good to keep in mind. But the knowledge still left cold emptiness inside.
I went in to see Molly. She was lying in a darkened room, asleep beneath a warming blanket. Bags of fluid went into each arm. A nurse printed off a paper strip and looked up at me. “She’ll be fine now. It must be nice to have them come when you need them.”
Them. Vamps. “Yeah. It is.” I took Molly’s hand, and it was cold as death beneath the warm blanket. Her face was whiter than the sheets and crusted with dried blood. The nurse took a wet rag and wiped her face. The rag came away scarlet. More blood, wet and thin, as if mixed with water or IV fluids, had soaked into the sheets. Other sheets were on the floor where the nurses had tossed them to keep from slipping in Molly’s blood. Evidence that the fight to keep her alive had been intense and desperate. Until Bethany appeared on the scene.
I understood why some doctors had called for a national vamp blood bank, until it was discovered that whatever made vamps vamps didn’t survive removal from their bodies, but started decomposition almost instantly. If they had a preservative to give it a shelf life, hopeless cases like Molly’s would survive. I stroked her hand, the dried blood brittle on her skin. “Will she sleep long?”
“I’ve only seen the vampires heal someone once before. He slept until morning. And then most of the next day. You should go home. Get some rest. Be sure to leave your number with the desk and they’ll call you if there’s any change. And they probably have a room number for her now.”
Silent, I left Molly to the care of the medical professionals and did as the nurse suggested, exchanging information with the tech behind the desk. She looked twelve, fresh and clean and cheery. There were bunnies printed on her pink scrub top.
There was nothing I could do. I went home.
I stood on the side step, taking in the smell/texture/ taste of my house. Blood. Magic. Fear. Cops, now gone. The wards on the house had been ripped, a hole I could see like a tear in a wedding veil, the damage flickering on the silver-gray mesh of magic. There, where the hole had been blasted, the tattered net of energy moved lazily, like a scorched curtain in a slow breeze. The edges of the hole glowed black and red, as if they were still hot to the touch. The smell of the attack was wood ash and smoking garbage, its texture on my skin like rotten fruit. Molly’s alarm hadn’t gone off when the attack happened, the magical assault burning through without a sound. Whatever made the hole, it was powerful.
I moved into the darkened house, my feet silent on the wood floor, and stared at the pool of blood, black in the night, where my friend had lain. And I burst into tears. Hot, choking, smothering tears that clawed up from my lungs and closed off my throat. I caught myself on the banister and eased down to the step. My body shuddered with sobs, wracking and harsh, my pain and guilt as cutting as Beast’s claws on my mind.
I had let my only friend come here, even though I was fighting vamps. And even after I’d learned that witch children were being kidnapped I’d let her stay, believing that her wards and my Beast could keep them all safe. And everything I’d believed had been burned away in the magical attack on my house.
When the crying ended, I dragged myself to my feet, went outside, and stripped. Sat on the boulders. I had to find the kits and Bliss. I forced the change on myself. Pain slammed into me, scored deep, punishment, chastisement, castigation. For losing Angelina and Little Evan, and Bliss. The three were my last thoughts as the grayness took me.
I snarled, crouching on broken rocks. Pain dug predator talons deep into my pelt. Hungry fangs bit and tore. Jane did this. Punished us for another’s acts. Stupid. And human. Stretched and felt pain pull through flesh like an enemy’s claws. She had left no food. Growled and spat. Settled on water from fountain. It trickled from the tiny stone vampire woman at the top.
Hunt, she whispered in my mind. Kits.
Belly cramped with hunger, just as in the hunger times. I snarled at her, at Jane, but remembered Angie. Evan. Bliss. Liked little witch. Must protect kits. I dropped from fountain, moved slowly to burned ward. Sniffed. Hackles rose. Smelled many humans with guns.
Cops, Jane whispered. EMTs. Paramedics. All gone now.
Pelt settled. Leaped up steps, across porch, into kitchen. Stopped. Smelled witches and vampire—a rotten-fruit evil smell. Delicious reek of old blood, Molly’s blood, from when she lay dying. I growled low. The shaman vampire healed her. I knew this from Jane’s memory. Did not have to grieve.
I pulled the scents deep, through open mouth, over scent glands. A screeee of breath over tongue and scent sacks in mouth. Choosing the evil ones to study, learning all parts of them. They were the young-rogue makers. Knew it. Set them in scent memory, three evil vampire witches. Two unknown witches, female, and one who was both vampire and witch, male.
Three vampire witches? Jane thought. Bruiser said witches are seldom tu
rned because their devoveo state is prolonged, sometimes permanent. Her thoughts turned inward, considering three enemies.
Ignoring hunger, I walked outside, jumped to top of rocks. Launched over fence. Landed on other side with silent paws. Beast is good hunter. Will track evil vampires and witches. And Bliss. Will kill. Will save kits. Big Cat’s duty. A mother’s task. To kill. To eat. To take vengeance on enemies.
I trotted into dark street. No people out. Quiet. Many shadows to hide in. I smelled Angie. Raced down street, seeing story in smells. Vampires had run here, pulling Bliss. Carrying kits. Forcing female witches with magic. They all feared. I growled. The smell of blood was close. Much blood. And the burned-paper smell of forced magic.
I stopped. Sniffed into narrow place between buildings. Three vampire witches had fed on two other witches. Had stolen their blood and much of their power. Strong magic. I padded into street, sniffing at tar road. Scent of kits ended. Car rolled away. Taking kits and evil vampires.
Thought all vamps were evil, Jane whispered deep.
These worse. These are rank with witch blood and witch magic, like rotten meat and crawly things.
Gave Jane a glimpse of maggots as I went to side of street, to empty lot where building had burned. Witches had gone there. But without kits. I smelled where witches walked, bleeding. On next street they did magic. Car came. They left.
Hungry. Home. Jane’s hunt now. I padded back to Jane’s den and jumped over fence, landing on rocks. And changed.
* * *
I came to myself, naked on the rocks, my stomach in agony of hunger. I touched my face, feeling the flaccid skin, the hollowed cheeks. I hadn’t been fair to Beast or to myself to shift without food. And the calorie loss was at a dangerous level. I gathered up my clothes and limped inside. I drank a gallon of water, my throat tissues so dry they ached with each swallow. I ate a pound of jerky and opened a box of Cheerios and spooned it all down with sour milk. My stomach ached with the amount of food.
Still naked, I turned on the lights and got a bucket, spray cleaner, and a roll of paper towels. I cleaned Molly’s blood off the floor, the cleanser burning my nostrils and the skin of my hands. I let it burn, the pain another penance.
