by Lee Dignam
He turned his eyes to the window, and for a time he sat there, watching small flecks of rain distort his reflection and the rolling scenery beyond it. When his phone began to vibrate in his hand, he jumped. Had he not needed to check the screen and slide across to answer, he may have never seen the word Jessica written across the screen, and His wrecked nerves may have spat out the word Cyanide instead.
Daniel answered the phone and put it to his ear. “Jessica,” he said, “Is everything alright?”
“I… yes, I think so. I’m not sure.”
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry if I worried you with all my calls. I just…”
“Jessica, what’s wrong?” Frustration was building in his voice, just enough for him to notice.
“Are… are you coming over?”
“Yes, I’m in the car. I won’t be long, maybe a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll see you when you get here.”
Jessica hung up, leaving Daniel with questions. Only questions. Why had she called? Why so many times? What was wrong? He had left Jessica in the care of his staff, and no one had notified him of any problem back at the house. So, what was it? And why had she been so cryptic on the phone? Daniel couldn’t understand. She was young, yes, but before he had turned her, she had been strong, capable, and entirely independent. Something had changed in her, of that he was sure. And if he was certain of anything else, it was this: right now, he needed her to have as much autonomy as possible.
Kaitlyn, Cyanide, the Dead Wolves—Daniel had too many balls in the air, each needing his attention. If he dropped even one, it could mean the death of someone he held dear, or even his own death. But he couldn’t tell Jessica what was going on, couldn’t bring her into the fold, otherwise she could be put in danger’s path too, and that wasn’t something he could allow.
The Knight clan had lost too many. He and Jessica were the clan’s only hope of rebuilding their namesake—their reputation.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cyanide waited for twenty minutes before a banged up old Ford Sedan pulled up alongside the nook she had found. The rain had started pounding the asphalt a few minutes ago, hitting so relentlessly it seemed to have scared off every single walking human. When the car stopped and the passenger side door flung itself open, she dashed into the street, crossing the gap in a few seconds flat and slipping into the car. She shut the door, and Pixi peeled off, back onto the street.
They said nothing for a while, driving in silence as the rain continued to hammer the car. Pixi had gotten her name thanks to her short stature and brightly colored hair. Though she kept it mostly black, her hair had streaks of purple running through it that perfectly complimented her dark brown skin. She had sharp, ever-alert eyes that darted from side to side almost of their own volition, and a single scar ran diagonally along the side of her jaw, stopping short of her jugular. Cyanide didn’t know when she had gotten it, but she knew it had been acquired during Pixi’s breathing days.
“There’s a change of clothes in the back,” Pixi said.
“Thanks,” Cyanide said, reaching blindly for the warm, dry clothes laying in the backseat. Jeans, a tank top, and a pair of sneakers, too. “Yours?” she asked.
“No, yours; you left them at my place the last time we hooked up.” Pixi said with a playful smirk.
“You wish.”
“It should fit you. Even if it doesn’t, it’ll be better than whatever the fuck it is you’re wearing. Since when do you wear dresses?”
“Lionel’s girls made this happen. I didn’t have a choice. I needed to get into—”
“Heaven?”
“You know?”
“Neo gave me some of the details. I’ve been waiting for a call from either of you. How did it go?”
“It was a fucking catastrophe.” Cyanide wiggled out of the soaking wet dress and let it pool around her bare feet, leaving her in her underwear. She then started slipping into the jeans Pixi had brought for her.
“You’re alive, and so is Neo, so we’re off to a good start.”
“Being alive doesn’t make for a successful operation.”
“No. I’m guessing you didn’t find the girl?”
“Not a trace of her. If they took her to that club, she isn’t there anymore.
“You planning on going back?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
Pixi made a left turn at the end of the street, heading away from the skyscrapers and brilliant lights of the financial district, toward the now quiet, almost idyllic, projects. There wasn’t a soul in sight, only the lights of the city blinking around the car and the crows, always the crows—the dark, winged shapes seemingly immune to the rain and the cold.
“You’re gonna have to stop being vague eventually,” Pixi said.
“I’m working up to it.”
“Working up to what?”
Cyanide stuck her arms into the tank top and pulled it over her head. Immediately her undead body, still running hot with Chase’s blood, began to warm, sending satisfied tingles racing from her chest into the tips of her toes. “It’s about Neo,” Cyanide said.
Pixi cocked her head, but didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Tell me.”
“Someone’s called a blood hunt on him.”
She slammed the top of the dashboard hard, denting it slightly. “Goddamn aristocratic motherfuckers. Who was it? Who called it?”
“I don’t know. Daniel was in the chamber when it happened. He’s supposed to know, but I haven’t spoken to him since I found out.”
“You can’t just order to have someone killed. It’s a fucking archaic practice.”
“It’s fucked up, but it’s happened.”
“And where is Neo now?”
“Probably hiding. I had a fight with him after I found out.”
“You left him on his own?”
“Neo can handle himself better on his own, without me to slow him down.”
Pixi made another turn into a part of town where the streetlights hadn’t worked in months. A barrel fire in an alley provided enough of a glow to catch the eye, and when Cyanide glanced across, she saw three vagrants hanging around it, protected by a tarp thrown between a pair of gantries. Between them, a scraggy dog nibbled on an old bone.
“That son of a bitch,” Pixi said after a time.
“Who, Neo?”
“The fucking Count. In the old days, it was the Count who set blood hunts.”
“Why would the Count want Neo dead?”
“Beats me, but that guy keeps too many secrets; too many for his own good, anyway. I’ve always said it.”
Cyanide slipped into the shoes Pixi had set out for her and finally let herself relax into the seat. The radio was on, but had lost the radio frequency thanks to the rain. It was only static, low and crackling,; which complimented the patter of rain on the roof of the car.
Pixi pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine. She then turned in her seat to look at Cyanide. “Forget about Neo for a second,” she said, “Are you okay?”
“I think so. It’s just been a long couple of days.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But it is. Neo told me not to come that first night; said y’all needed to do things quietly, so I gave you some space. I know I would have gone over the top and fucked things up. I could have been there, though. Tonight, too.”
“I think you’d have hated wearing a dress.”
“Yeah, you aren’t wrong, but I’m just saying. He puts a lot of pressure on you, and now he’s keeping secrets and stuff? I’m done staying out of this. You need me around.”
Cyanide nodded. “I know. I do need you.”
“We’re like blood. I’ve always got your back.”
A small smile crept across Cyanide’s face, but it quickly faded. She turned her eyes to the windshield, seeing the distorted, gray world beyond it—a shifting landsc
ape of twisting features which should have been entirely still. “I think I wanna get out of here,” she said.
“Get out?” Pixi asked. “Of here? Ashwood?”
Cyanide nodded. “I don’t think this is the right place for me.”
“We’re vampires; no place is right for us.”
“No. It’s more than that. I think Ashwood is just… it’s rotten. We’ve been doing this, trying to do good things, for almost two years, and what have we really accomplished?”
“You found those girls last night. I’m pretty sure they’re happy to be out of that trailer.”
“One victory, and it wasn’t careful planning that got us that far—it was Neo’s gut. If he hadn’t thought to check that hideout, we never would have freed those girls. And that was only one shipment. How many more are there?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, the bad guys always get what they want, so why the hell are we doing this? Why do the Dead Wolves exist?”
“Because it’s right.”
“But what good is it really doing?” Cyanide turned her head to look at Pixi again. “Who are we really helping? So, we catch a shipment of girls; there will be more. It can’t be like this all over the world. There has to be a place where this doesn’t happen.”
Pixi’s eyes narrowed. “So, your answer to all this is to go somewhere that bad shit isn’t happening? Pretend like it doesn’t exist?”
Cyanide shrugged.
“Suppose you find this imaginary place where crime doesn’t exist,” Pixi said. “You’re immortal. How long before your conscience catches up with you and you realize what a stupid mistake you’ve made?”
“I don’t know, Pixi.”
“And imagine that doesn’t happen, because you’ve found a place where everything’s awesome and you’ve been able to bury your conscience. What would you do every night? There’s a reason why vampires stick around other vampires; we need the fucking drama. We’re social animals, and as much as we want to believe we’re all loners, we need each other to survive the long night. The only way to end it all is to meet the sun.”
Cyanide couldn’t keep looking at Pixi. She had to turn away, so she looked instead out of the passenger side window. This one also warped and skewed the world on the other side of it, to the point where it looked like shadows were dancing in the streets, but it was better than facing Pixi and the things she was saying. Cyanide knew she was wrong, and there was nothing else to say about it.
After a while, the silence within the car grew until the only sound left was that of the rain hitting the car and the asphalt, that slow, steady hiss of static so soothing to the human, and vampire, ear. It reminded her of something, though she couldn’t remember what. The sound seemed to want to trigger a memory, but the memory itself wasn’t there. With her head pressed against the cool window, Cyanide stared at her shifting face in the passenger side mirror, trying her hardest to pull the memory out of wherever it was hiding, but found herself failing, grabbing at smoke.
Someone yanked the car door open so hard and fast, Cyanide damn near toppled out of her seat. She had barely enough time to register what was going on before a pair of strong hands reached into the vehicle, grabbed her by her tank top, and started pulling her out. Cyanide yelled loudly and beat the man with her fists, but it was like he was made of stone.
“Get the fuck off me!” she said, as she struggled to stay in the car, but he was much stronger than she was. He pulled her out onto the sidewalk and let her fall to the ground. Vaguely she became aware of another struggle taking place on the other side of her car, but she couldn’t turn her head to find out what was going on. A boot came flying at her head, and it took all she had to pull her arms up to protect her face.
It was like being hit with a wrecking ball. Pain exploded into her arms and carried through to her head, rattling her teeth and every bone in between. The strength of the kick had been enough to send her rolling a couple of feet across the sidewalk. When the man came again, Cyanide was on her feet, hot blood pumping through her body, and the broken bones in her arms healing at an alarming rate.
She dodged his first punch, and his second, ducking beneath one and side-stepping the other by the grace of her supernatural speed, but the third blow caught her square in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her. He was wearing a hoody, so she couldn’t see his face, but his breath produced no steam, and she could hear no heart pumping within his chest. If his strength hadn’t already given him away as a vampire, all of these other things would have now.
The man grabbed a fistful of her green hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at him. With the other hand, he pulled his hood down to reveal a pair of wide, angry eyes set into a face pockmarked with scars and old, faded tattoos. She had no idea who the hell this man was, but he was stronger than her, he had her in his grip, and he wasn’t alone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Come quietly, or I’ll rearrange your teeth,” the big man said, his voice like a snarl.
“Fuck you,” Cyanide spat, trying to pry his hand open with her fingers.
“Wrong answer.”
The big man pulled hard and flung her across the sidewalk, face first into the brick wall of the apartment building they found themselves in front of. Stars began to dance in her eyes, and her ears had started ringing, almost like shellshock. Cyanide shook her head, but the big man was on her again, this time with one fat hand wrapped around her neck.
He pinned her against the wall and lifted her several feet off the ground. From here she could see Pixi and another two men engaged in some sort of brawl in the street, but the rain was coming down hard and Cyanide’s head was spinning, so she couldn’t see what exactly was going on, or who was winning the fight. She was alone with this guy. Pixi wouldn’t be able to help.
“I won’t ask again,” he said.
“Who are you,” Cyanide said, choosing this time to use words instead of lashing out like a blind snake.
“Me? I’m just an opportunist. I hear there’s a blood hunt on Neo and his little buddy, so here I am.”
“I don’t have a blood hunt on my head, you fucking moron.”
“Oh? So, I just made it up?”
He tightened his grip around her throat, constricting her air passage until it was almost too difficult to formulate words. Didn’t he know she didn’t need to breathe? Cyanide stopped trying to pry his hands from her neck and instead went for his eyes, raking wildly until her fingernails found his flesh and peeled some of it off of his face. The big man yowled and let her drop to her feet.
Cyanide didn’t hesitate.
She swept his legs out from under him and brought him crashing to the ground, then she jumped out of his striking zone and stared at him from a few feet away. His face was covered in dark blood which oozed from a small set of gashes above his right eyebrow. They weren’t exactly claws on her hands, but her nails were sharp, and tough.
“You bitch,” the big man growled as he fought to stand, “I was going to hand you in for a reward, but now I’m just going to kill you myself.”
He was charging at her by the time she brought her eyes to bear on him again. This time she spun out of his path, leaping onto the roof of a parked car and vaulting into the street. No alarms blared, but she didn’t think anyone would hear one anyway. Up ahead, Pixi—whose hands ended in wickedly sharp talons—was fighting both vampires off, though not without any effort.
Cyanide sprang into the fray, slipping her hands into the armpits of one of the vampires and presenting him to Pixi. “Now!” she yelled, and Pixi launched herself at him, claw hand stretched wide. When her fingernails met his neck, the flesh split open. Cyanide let him go and he dropped to the floor, clutching his open throat. The other vampire backed off, but the big man was coming now, walking with intent along the street.
“There is a blood hunt on your head, bitch,” he said, his voice booming like a crash of thunder.
“Bullshit!�
�� Pixi said, “Prove it.”
“I don’t have to prove it. Someone called it less than an hour ago; her life is mine.”
Pixi stepped up next to Cyanide while still keeping her eyes on the third fighter, who hadn’t moved from where he stood, but also hadn’t retreated. “If her life is anyone’s, it’s mine,” Pixi said.
“I’d like to see you try, bitch.”
“Strong words. You think because you’re big you can take what you want? Doesn’t work that way.”
“She’s mine!” he said, “Get the hell away from here unless you want me to take you in too.”
“I’m no one’s,” Cyanide said, “And if you want to take me in, I’m right here.”
The big guy growled, put his head down, and came charging like a mad bull. Cyanide prepared to get out of the way, but Pixi threw herself at him, dashing several feet and then launching herself into the air, hands out, fingers stretched, claws gleaming in the darkness. Cyanide went to follow her, but the other vampire grabbed her arm, turned her around, and sent his fist toward her face. Quick as the wind, Cyanide moved her face out of the fists trajectory and brought her nails into contact with his cheek, splitting the skin and causing him to wail with pain.
As he stood there, cradling his face, Cyanide planted her boot against his abdomen and pushed him into the side of a car across the street. The metal collapsed inward, and the windows smashed loudly. This one did have an alarm, which began howling in the dead of night, but that didn’t bother the vampire. He came at her again, fangs barred and hands stretched. She wasn’t fast enough to move out of his way, and he caught her then, bringing her crashing onto her back.
She heard a crack somewhere, and when she turned her head she saw Pixi clutching her dislocated jaw and staggering. Cyanide was acting on instinct, and completely surprised at the strange powers manifesting literally at her fingertips. Pixi on the other hand was vicious, a trained fighter, and well in control of her powers—but she was losing to the bigger man.
Gotta get to Pixi, she thought, and Cyanide shut her eyes, drawing her consciousness deeper into herself. All she could hear was the rain. Her muscles were working hard to keep her assailant at bay, but they weren’t following any conscious command, only the directives of self-preservation. Cyanide was now far, far away, listening to the rain-static in her head.
