by Kelly Meding
I stopped. Alex stared. And stared. He blinked once. His jaw twitched. Water dripped from a faucet somewhere—the only sound in the room. He stood up, and I tensed, trying to anticipate his reaction. I expected a verbal attack, maybe even a physical one. Instead, he wandered into the kitchen, as though he’d just offered to retrieve refreshments. He went straight to the refrigerator, where he opened the door and ducked down.
A drawer squeaked. Bottles rattled. He stood straight, let the door slam shut, and twisted the cap off a bottle of beer. One, two, three, four long pulls. He held up the bottle, studying the label like he’d never seen it before today. Then he took one more deep swallow and returned to his chair, the bottle still in his hand.
“Well, either you’ve gone completely insane,” he said, sinking into the upholstery, “or I have.”
“We are both very much sane, Alex. Most people don’t know about the Dreg population. They’re good at staying out of sight, and we’re good at covering up after them. Remember the downtown blackout two years ago?”
“A power grid blew.”
I shook my head. “Gremlin revolt. They did it because the Council demanded work without proper compensation. So they demonstrated their power, which put pressure on the Council from several sides, including humans. One power failure can be explained, but not the entire city. The gremlins got what they wanted.”
“A gremlin labor strike?”
“Yep.”
He downed the rest of the beer and deposited the bottle on the coffee table with a clunk. Twin smudges of color darkened his cheeks. “Gremlins.” He turned the two-syllable word into four, testing its sound and texture. “Vampires are real?”
“Very real, but more Lost Boys than Bram Stoker, and it’s forbidden to turn humans. The change is actually a physical reaction to a parasite present in a vampire’s saliva and—never mind; that’s a long story. At any rate, bite survivors are considered inferior half-breeds, and are hard to control. Not human and never fully vampire.”
“Okay, that was way too much information.”
“You need to know this stuff, Alex.”
“Why?” He leapt to his feet and stormed to the other side of the living room. He planted himself in front of the patio doors, casting his shape into a back-lit shadow. “Why the hell did you come back here if you’re not Chalice? Why are you dragging me into this crazy fantasy world you live in?”
I stood up with measured movement, taking care to not startle him. My good humor and sympathy were quickly disappearing, replaced by frustration. “Because I need your help, Alex, and I don’t have anyone else I can trust.”
“What about your team?”
“They’re dead.”
“Your boss?”
My heartbeat quickened. “He’s why I need your help. He’s been captured.”
“By whom?”
“The people he used to work for.”
Alex tilted his head to the left. “Wait a minute; you said he worked for the police. He’s been captured by the cops? As in arrested?”
More complications. I blew hard through my teeth. “Yes and no. It’s more complicated than that.”
“I don’t see how. He was arrested for a reason, right? So does that make you the good guy or the bad guy in this little melodrama?”
“Depends on your point of view, I guess.” I launched into the rest of my story, starting with the setup at the train yards and ending with the night I was kidnapped. It was all I knew for certain, and I hoped it told him that I wasn’t the villain. But I certainly wasn’t an innocent bystander, either. There was no black and white in my situation. Only varying shades of gray.
Alex listened attentively, giving no hint of his inner thoughts. He remained quiet for a full minute after I finished. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s say I believe everything you’ve told me so far and that I don’t think you’re off your rocker. Here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
“Why am I, Evy Stone, in Chalice Frost’s body?”
“Yeah, that would be the one.”
A completely reasonable question that I felt somehow compelled to answer. Not only because I needed his help, but because I felt connected to him, on some basic level that may have been a carryover from being in Chalice. They had been friends. I needed him to believe me.
“I don’t remember anything after five nights ago,” I said. “The night I set out to prove I’d been set up, I was kidnapped. I was taken to an abandoned train station and tortured for two and a half days, and I eventually died. I was dead for three days, until a dear friend paid a terrible price to bring me back. He traded for a Fey spell that required a freshly dead body for my soul to inhabit. Only something went wrong. I went into the wrong body and without my complete memory, and now I can’t remember what I was too afraid to tell him before I died. Until I remember what I’ve forgotten, I can’t clear us.”
“Why bother?”
I balled my fists. “Why bother what? Saving him?”
“No, I understand that. Why bother trying to clear yourselves in the first place when it’s easier just to run?”
Running had never been an option. Not even that first night, fresh from the deaths of Jesse and Ash and the unexpected betrayal of my former allies. “This is my life, Alex. It’s all I’ve known since I was a teenager. It never occurred to either of us to not fight this. Besides, there’s more at stake than just our lives. Although right now, saving Wyatt’s life is all I care about.” I walked toward Alex, and he didn’t flinch. “His name is Wyatt Truman. He was my Handler and my …” My what? Lover? Not exactly. I stopped an arm’s length away. Tears prickled my eyes. “I have to save him.”
Alex lifted his right arm. His fingers stopped inches from my face. I remained still, allowing him his exploration. Tentative fingertips traced the line of my jaw, from ear to chin. Proving I was real, that he wasn’t imagining it all. Touching the face of a woman he’d seen die. Knowing that a stranger lived in her shell and that the woman he cared about was never coming home. Was he convinced? Or simply contemplating escape?
His touch dropped to my shoulder, down my arm, until he finally grasped my hand. He squeezed it; I squeezed back.
“Evy, huh?” he said.
“Assuming you believe me and we’re not both crazy.”
He smiled.
Shadows darted past the patio doors, too fast to count. I yanked hard on Alex’s hand. He yelped and tripped and fell to the carpeted floor. I dropped to my knees and covered his head with my hands.
Above us, glass and wood exploded in a shower of tinkling shards.
Chapter Thirteen
53:02
Heavy boots landed near my head, crushing broken glass into the thick carpet. I lunged upward and drove my balled fist into the intruder’s groin. Hard bone met delicate flesh, which gave way under the blow. The man howled and doubled forward. I thrust upward. Knuckles connected solidly with his chin. For a split instant, I looked into Tully’s shocked eyes, and then he was toppling backward.
I rose into a crouching position and spun toward scuffling sounds. Alex and Wormer were on the ground, wrestling for control of a revolver. Wormer had used his advantage in bulk to roll Alex onto his back. The gun shifted above their heads. Someone squeezed off a wild shot that took out a vase on the counter. Glass shattered and pinged.
I grabbed the closest weapon within reach—an iron candlestick sporting a half-melted red pillar—and swung. It connected with the side of Wormer’s head. He grunted and lost control of the gun to Alex. It was more of a glancing blow than the knockout I’d hoped for, but it did its job. Alex gripped the gun by the barrel, eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t dead.
“Get off him, asshole.” I shoved Wormer with my foot, and he fell sideways. The bloody footprint left behind on his shirt surprised me. I didn’t even feel the glass.
I readied the candlestick again, hoping to deliver a coma-inducing blow.
“Watch out!” Alex shouted.
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Too late. Something hit my neck, sharp as a knife thrust. Lightning exploded behind my eyes, and every nerve ending was on fire. My heart raced, and I could barely breathe fast enough to compensate. I lost muscle control and fell to my knees. A hot flush broke across my skin. Then the agony ended as abruptly as it began, and all I felt was cold. I shrieked as I fell.
Broken glass cut into my right arm. I smelled sizzled flesh. A flash of something long and black entered the periphery of my vision. Cattle prod. Nice move. Didn’t see that one coming.
“We’re better trackers than you realize, little girl,” Tully said.
Little girl? I rolled onto my back, hoping for a good opening, but he gave me none. He stood out of arm’s (and foot’s) reach, the cattle prod in his left hand and a revolver in the other. Pointed not at me, but past me. Over my shoulder, Alex was sitting up with both hands braced around the butt of his acquired gun, muzzle pointed at Tully. His hands trembled ever so slightly.
“Put it down,” Tully said.
“Hell no,” Alex replied, but without the necessary force. His fear was betraying him. “You broke into my apartment. You’re intruders. I can shoot you.”
Tully’s nostrils flared; he didn’t like the threat. “My superiors know where I am. If I don’t check in on time, they come here looking for me. You don’t want that.”
“He’s not kidding,” I said. My hand investigated my neck and found a quarter-sized burn.
The gun’s aim didn’t move, but I came under Tully’s scrutiny. “We know you’re helping a fugitive named Wyatt Truman. Why? Who are you?”
He didn’t know me, which meant the brass didn’t know about my resurrection. I didn’t know how Wyatt kept it secret, but he had. Advantage one for my team. Behind Alex, Wormer groaned. He seemed to be struggling to sit up. Maybe I’d whacked him good after all.
“Where’d they take Wyatt?” I asked.
Tully’s nostrils flared. “Do you really think you’re in a position to ask me questions, lady?”
“Yes.”
He fired. I felt the heat of the bullet as it passed by my cheek. Behind me, Alex cried out. I twisted around, coming up on my hands and knees, stomach knotting as I prepared for the worst. Alex lay on his side, one hand pressed against his right temple. Blood oozed between his fingers, but he was very much alive. Alive, aware, and swearing colorfully enough to make even me blush.
I lunged for the gun he’d abandoned. More lightning, this time in my lower back. Cursing my own idiocy, I collapsed by Alex’s feet. My stomach muscles spasmed. Bile scorched the back of my throat and left a sour taste in my mouth. An unexpected whimper tore from between clenched teeth.
The jolt ceased. I didn’t move, choosing instead to simply breathe. Stupid; goddamn stupid.
“Still think you’re the one asking questions?”
A sardonic retort formed in my mouth, but thankfully died a quick death before I could utter it. I needed my wits about me, not volts of electricity coursing through my body. “No,” I hissed. “You’re in charge.”
“Good girl.”
I drew my knees up to my chest and rolled, hoping to sit up. A sharp kick to the middle of my back felled me again. I took the hint and stayed low, choosing to roll onto my back and prop up on my elbows. I disliked the prone position, but at least I could glare right into Tully’s eyes. It also gave me a better view of the room.
Pale, but very much alive, Alex scooted closer to me. Blood stained the side of his face, neck, and shirt collar. Wormer loomed above us, once again in charge of his own firearm, and apparently very much in favor of using it.
“Now,” Tully said, “let’s try answering my questions. Who are you?”
Smug. I hated that. Self-preservation took a backseat to annoyance. “I’m the thing that the shadows fear.”
Confusion creased his forehead. It was a line Triad members used jokingly amongst ourselves. We hunted the creatures that haunted others’ nightmares. Tully seemed to understand the reference. I could see imaginary wheels turning in his mind.
“Truman tell you to say that?” Tully asked.
The burn on my neck began to itch. If I was lucky, it would heal fast and freak Tully out just a little bit. “Wyatt didn’t tell me to say anything. He never expected us to be separated.”
“That right?” Tully circled to my left, positioning himself closer to Alex and farther from me. The cattle prod bounced in his hand. “Don’t make me ask your name again.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “I’m disappointed in your partner, Wormer,” I said, tossing the silent Hunter an over-the-shoulder look. “He doesn’t recognize me. That hurts my feelings, Tully; it really does.”
They exchanged looks, sharing their confusion. Time ticked onward. They couldn’t stay and question us for very long. The scuffle and gunshots should have aroused the neighbors. Surely someone in the building would know to call the police and report suspicious activity.
“Her name’s Chalice,” Alex said. “She works in a coffee shop. We’re not who you think.”
“You’re not?” Wormer said. “Guess we’ll just have to kill you, then.”
“Cut it out,” Tully admonished. “We don’t kill humans, and you know it.”
Tactical slip. Wyatt would have reamed me a new one for saying that in front of a civilian. Admitting to not killing humans blatantly said that you killed something else.
Tully studied me, still trying hard to see past the unfamiliar exterior to the person hiding inside. “We’ll take them with us. We can’t break her here; we’ve already made too much noise.”
“No, leave her here,” Alex said. “I know things; you want me. Not her.”
Wormer nudged the back of Alex’s head with the muzzle of his gun. “What things do you know?”
Alex glared at Tully, but wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I know that the downtown power outage two years ago was caused by gremlins, and not what the public was told.”
My mouth fell open, but the pair of Hunters misinterpreted my annoyance as shock. Tully crouched down, putting himself at eye level with Alex. Still out of my range, though. The candlestick lay nearby, within arm’s reach.
“Who told you that?” Tully asked.
“I’ll tell you everything,” Alex said. “Just leave Chalice here. She doesn’t know anything.”
“Oh hell no,” I said. “Alex, I know you feel terrible about Chalice, but trying to be a hero and save me isn’t the way to atone for it. She wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed.”
Tully pointed the gun at me. “I thought you were Chalice.”
“And I thought you were an asshole. Too bad only one of us is right.”
Tully swung the cattle prod toward my left arm. At the last moment, I blocked it and kicked him square in the groin. The second direct hit in five minutes sent him to the ground like an anvil. I twisted the cattle prod out of his grasp with the intent of using it on Wormer. Turned out I didn’t need it.
Alex had grabbed the abandoned candlestick and cracked it across Wormer’s jaw. The trigger-happy Hunter squeezed off a round that shattered the room’s only other window before he slumped to the floor. Satisfied, I shoved the tip of the cattle prod into the hollow below Tully’s Adam’s apple. He gurgled and twitched. When I pulled it away, he lay still.
I watched and waited, expecting a miraculous recovery and second attack. It never came.
“Oh my God,” Alex said.
“You okay?”
“I’ll live.” He dropped the candlestick. It cracked against bits of glass. Still sporting a frightening pallor, he studied me with the eyes of a trapped deer. “You’re bleeding.”
“So are you.”
We helped each other stand and wade through the sea of broken glass. The sole of my cut foot stung and left prints on the carpet. My trail followed us back to the sofa, a safe distance from our disabled attackers. Alex sank into the cushi
on. His slight tremble turned to full-on shaking.
“Who were they?” he asked, the tremor reaching his voice.
“People I used to work with, others like me, only in the bodies they were born in. I’m so sorry; I don’t know how they followed me. I thought I was careful.”
“And you’re sure that you’re the good guy?”
“I know I didn’t do what they’re accusing me of doing.”
“Murder?”
“Right.”
He hung his head. I pawed through the first aid kit. Found more gauze and a small bottle of peroxide. I sat down on his right side.
“I need to clean you up so we can get out of here,” I said.
“And go where? This is my home. Where am I supposed to go?”
“Look, you can call the police, only I won’t be here when they arrive. And good luck trying to explain how you took out a pair of intruders on your own, not to mention the bloody footprints I’ve left all over the place.”
I dabbed at the drying blood with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball. He hissed and pulled away from my touch. I grabbed his chin and held him still.
“This isn’t going to go away, Alex. As much as I know you want to curl up in bed and wake up last week, with Chalice alive and your life not in shambles, it’s not going to happen. This is reality, pal.”
“So says the reincarnated dog hunter.”
“Dreg.”
“I know.” Heartache tinged his words. He grasped my hand, pulled it away from his chin, and squeezed. His liquid blue eyes held steely determination. Bright spots of color had flared in his cheeks. “I believe you, Evangeline Stone. So what’s our next move?”
“We clean up and change. Tie them up, gather whatever cash you’ve got around, then get back to the east side of the river.”
“Why the east side?”
“Because that’s where Wyatt is.”
His nostrils flared—an odd reaction. “And we need to save Wyatt, correct?”
“Very correct.”
“Do you have a plan for that?”
“Working on it.” I released his hand and continued cleaning his face. “Now hold still so I can get this done.”
