by Shéa MacLeod
I brought my knee up again, this time smashing it into his nose, and then used the force of his backward stagger to drag the stiletto out of his chest. I swiped at him, but he moved too quickly and the blade just managed to cut a line across his chest, ripping open his shirt and leaving a thin trail of dark blood. He snarled again.
Then he was gone too fast for even my eye to follow. He must have been an old one. Only the really old ones could move that fast. Dammit. Now I was going to have to go on the hunt. It was so much easier when I could dust them the first time around.
I turned back to my date, expecting to find horror in his eyes. I didn’t. Instead, he looked a little too over excited for my taste. “You really do kill vampires for a living. That’s hot.”
Oh, crap. Don’t tell me he was one of those weirdos that got off on vampires and violence and stuff. Ew. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I told him, wincing as I parroted the government’s line, “Vampires don’t exist. Even the President says so.” There’d been a Presidential press conference just last week after some paramilitary group issued a statement claiming vampires were responsible for an attack on the New York subway.
He laughed. “Come on. I saw the fangs. That guy was way too strong and fast to be human. Everyone knows the government is only trying to hide their existence from us.”
Great. He was some kind of conspiracy nut and I’d practically handed him living proof that vampires were real. I could only hope he didn’t have a blog. “Fine then. I told you I kill them for a living. You just didn’t listen.” I started toward my car.
“Well, you didn’t kill that one,” he pointed out.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking.
“So, hey,” he said eagerly, trotting along behind me. “I had a really great time. I’d love to take you out again. How about tomorrow?”
Say what? Was he serious? I unlocked my car door, hopped in, and slammed it behind me. He knocked on the window, so I rolled it down.
“So, how about it? Are you free?”
“Sure I am. When hell freezes over.”
Chapter Five
“So, how was your date?” Kabita slid into the booth opposite me at our favorite restaurant. It was the only Indian restaurant in town, and as such, had become practically our second home. The bhangra music thumping away on the stereo in the kitchen made me a little homesick for London.
I gave her an eye roll and reached for a chapati. “Don’t ask.”
She raised her brow.
“OK, fine. It was just some idiot accountant who thought he was superior to me until I kicked a little vampire ass right in front of him. Now he thinks I’m the best thing since Xena.”
Kabita snorted. “Look out world, Morgan Warrior Princess, has arrived.” She reached for the bowl of poppadoms and snapped off a piece.
“Shut up. Anyway, he’s called me five times since last night even though I told him I’d rather be eaten alive by fire ants than go out with him again.”
One silky black eyebrow rose toward her hairline so high it nearly disappeared under her hair. She stopped munching on the poppadom. “You actually told him that?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, no. Not exactly.”
She rolled her eyes and smacked her hand on her forehead. “What exactly did you say?”
I let out a sigh. “I told him to go forth and multiply,” I mumbled around a mouthful of curry. It was a clever little British-ism that was essentially the same as telling someone to fuck off. Unfortunately, it didn’t translate well on this side of the Atlantic.
“Morgan,” she groaned, “we’re not in London anymore. You can’t tell American men that. They take it too literally.”
Well, duh. I didn’t need her to tell me that. And I definitely didn’t need her to know that he’d doubled the amount of calls since I told him that. Some people just don’t get sarcasm. Fortunately for me, I cut my eye teeth on sarcasm. Most of my mother’s side of the family ate sarcasm for breakfast. My mother tolerated us for the sake of peace and unity and most likely her own sanity. Truth be told, she probably ignored our verbal sparring most of the time.
“I’m hoping if I don’t call him back, he’ll get the point.” It sounded totally chicken-shit even to me.
I wondered if a person’s eyes could actually roll right out of their head. I might find out pretty soon if Kabita didn’t stop rolling hers. I often wondered if Kabita could see her brain when she rolled her eyes. “Morgan Bailey! You are horrible. You are a chicken. You are … you are …”
“Going to hell?”
She glared at me. “Neither one of us believes in hell and you know it, but you definitely deserve it. How on earth can you go around slicing and dicing the undead and yet be completely incapable of dealing with ordinary mortals?”
She had a point. Except that it wasn’t all mortals. It was just mortals of the male variety. I simply had no idea what to do with the male of the species. They … befuddled me. If they were undead, I could kill them. That was easy. If they were related or friends or clients, I could handle that. When it came to actually dating them, I was completely useless.
My face heated. Maybe I could pretend it was the curry. I hated blushing. Badass vampire hunters did not blush. It was so completely embarrassing. The absolute curse of the fair skinned. Kabita took pity on me. “Honestly, Morgan,” she said as she stabbed at an onion bhaji with her fork, “we need to sign you up for lessons or something.”
“Why? We both know I’d just embarrass myself.”
Kabita smirked. “That’s very true.”
I glared at her. “Gee, thanks a lot.”
“Eat your curry and I’ll buy you an ice cream.”
“Oh, goodie! Thanks, Mom!” Sarcasm, thy name is Morgan Bailey. Kabita just gave me The Look.
“By the way, I should probably mention that as we were coming out of the restaurant last night, this random vampire attacked me. Out of nowhere.”
Kabita shrugged. “Yeah. You’re a Hunter. Vampires tend to do that.”
I shook my head. “This one was different. He had red eyes. That’s a little weird, right?”
“You’re right. That is weird.” She sat lost in thought for a moment. “I’ll have to go through the files and check, but I don’t recall coming across anything about vampires with red eyes before.”
“It’s got to mean something.”
“Something besides the usual strange that is your life? Probably. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Anyway,” Kabita said in a rapid subject change, “I need your help tonight.”
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Kabita prided herself on solo hunts. “My help? With demon spawn? You’re kidding, right?”
Kabita sighed and dug around in her curry, mixing it with the pilau rice before taking another bite. She chewed a bit, shrugged then said, “Yeah. This one’s a bitch.”
I blinked. Kabita using a swear word, well, it was rather like hearing the Pope advocating pole dancing. It just didn’t happen.
“Right. OK. What are you not telling me, Kabita?”
She didn’t even have the grace to look shame faced. “They’re nesting. And they’re Zagan demons.”
“Well, shit.” I hated Zagan demons. They spat slime. It was totally disgusting, not to mention lethal. The adults were nearly impossible to kill.
She nodded. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
How Kabita could kill those things without blinking, yet go all squeamish over vampires was beyond me.
“Fine, what time?”
“Say about ten tonight, in front of the Central Library. The nest isn’t too far from there.”
“Gotcha.” I stood up, grabbed my jacket and threw a twenty on the table. “But girlfriend, you so owe me.”
Kabita glared at me over a forkful of curry. “Oh, yay. Can’t wait.”
***
I wasn’t entirely sure what else I should be doing to piss off the Sunwalker. I mean, Inigo seemed convinced that bandying my motives about a ce
metery in the middle of the night was sufficient, but Brent Darroch was paying the firm good money to find his amulet and take out the Sunwalker permanently. It didn’t seem very professional to sit around doing nothing. Not to mention I’d never been particularly good at waiting.
I decided to take a walk in the Park Blocks to clear my head. There was something so bizarrely soothing and at the same time energetic about the Park Blocks. They were simply a narrow strip of park running through the middle of downtown Portland, filled with the usual parky sort of things: grass, footpaths, roses, really weird art, and the occasional bum sleeping on a park bench.
To walk through the Park Blocks was to step out of oneself, out of time, and travel a different path. Or at least it was that way for me. Nobody else seemed to wax particularly poetic about it.
Today the blocks were quiet. A few bees hummed busily about and sunlight warmed the roses sending heady perfume into the air. I strolled slowly, eyes half closed, reveling in the solitude.
As I walked, I shoved my hands in my pockets and felt the edge of a business card. I pulled it out. Cordelia Nightwing. Why not? What harm could it do? Not that she’d been terribly helpful the first time around, but she was nice and you didn’t often meet nice people in my line of work. Even better, according to the card, her apartment was right near the Park Blocks.
A shaft of sunlight through the trees made my eyes water. Obviously I was spending way too much time in the dark. I pulled a pair of sunglasses out of my black shoulder bag and shoved them on my nose. Better.
Cordelia’s building was one of the old brick ones built in the early part of the 20th century that lined the north side of Park Blocks next door to the Portland Art Museum with its artistic water features and creative lighting. Its Art Deco style was very funky and a bit bohemian. Not to mention ridiculously expensive. Having a view of the Park added a hefty chunk of change onto the monthly rent. Crystal balls must pay well.
Personally, I preferred my own house in the Hawthorne District. For the same amount of money, I got my own four walls and a garden. Not that I gardened much, but it was a nice place to have a barbecue and it gave Kabita a place to grow herbs for her spells since she didn’t have a garden.
I pressed the button on the intercom and waited until Cordelia’s unforgettable voice chimed out. She remembered me though, granted it’s hard to forget the hair, and buzzed me in.
The lobby smelled vaguely of an odd combination of mildew and new carpet. No amount of refurbishment ever completely covered the scent of age in these old buildings. I wrinkled my nose and desperately resisted a sneeze. It got the better of me.
I skipped the elevator and took the stairs. I used to live in one of these old buildings and knew from experience their elevators were in no way to be trusted despite their cool Perry Mason vibe. I rapped on Cordelia’s door which swung open a minute later.
I had to admit to some relief at the absence of flowing Chinese robes and chopsticks in her hair. Instead, she was wearing jeans which showed off her slender frame, a pretty blue sweater, and bare feet. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she had reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked so … normal.
“Welcome, Morgan. What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in! Living room’s that way.”
“Hi, Cordelia. Thanks.”
I followed her pointed finger down a narrow hall lined with bookshelves. The shelves were full to overflowing with all manner of books and knickknacks. It was vaguely claustrophobic, but in a nice way. Not unlike those really old book shops like Cameron’s that had been cramming books into every nook and cranny since 1972 so you had to step over piles of vintage copies of National Geographic to get at the poetry section.
The hall emptied into a living room that was, if possible, even more jammed with stuff than the hall had been. I was only slightly startled to see a pair of golden cat eyes glaring at me from under a mound of multicolored pillows. I hadn’t known cats liked to burrow. Apparently this one did. It closed its eyes in a haughty manner and went back to sleep. Obviously, I was beneath its notice.
Cordelia waved me to the couch half lost under pillows, throws and books. I shoved a few things aside. The cat eyes opened and glared at me some more, before drifting closed again. I noticed there were already two cups and a teapot steaming away on the coffee table.
I raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?”
She laughed, that bright music spilling its way up and down the scales. “Of course. You.”
“You said it was a pleasant surprise.”
“Well, of course I did. And it was. Until about ten minutes ago.”
Ten minutes. Just about the time I decided to go see her. I’d heard of the talent, but it was rare. “So that’s how your gift works. You can’t actually see anything until somebody makes a decision that sets them on a particular course. Then you can see the outcome of that decision.” If she was really talented, she might be able to see possible outcomes of other decisions, as well, but her gift was rare enough as it was.
She flashed me a brilliant smile. “Yes exactly!” I forced a smile back. I was used to Inigo’s gift, of course, but this was a whole new ball of wax for me. “The minute you made the decision to visit me, I knew it was time to put the kettle on. You’re worried about the Sunwalker.” It was a statement, not a question.
I blinked at the abrupt change of subject. Creepy how she did that, read my mind or whatever it was she did. “Well,” I hesitated, “not about him so much as how to find him. I’m not really sure what I should be doing. I feel like I should be doing something, but I just can’t come up with anything clever. I think I’m a little lost.” That was the understatement of the century.
She poured a cup of tea and dropped in two lumps of raw sugar and a splash of milk, just as I liked it. She handed it to me and poured another for herself. “You seem quite capable to me.”
I laughed wryly. “Well, sure. I mean, vampires are pretty straightforward, you know. They’ve got patterns. They’re not exactly subtle.”
“So you follow the pattern to find the vampire you’re hunting,” she said with a nod, sending a swath of dark hair tumbling out of its binding and swishing around her face. “Like reading animal tracks in the wild.”
“Exactly, then you stake it, take its head if it doesn’t dust right away, and you move on to the next one. Easy.” It seemed so weird to be chatting about killing monsters while sitting in her bright, cheery living room with Igor the Cat glaring at me. Seriously, he was creeping me out.
“She.”
I blinked again. “Excuse me?” I was starting to think she really was a mind reader.
Cordelia smiled gently at me. “The cat is a she. And her name is Bastet.”
Of course. Who else to name a cat after but the Egyptian goddess of war? Granted, Cordelia had struck me as more the pacifist type, but then I supposed it had more to do with Bast being a goddess in cat form than anything else. And, heck, it was no weirder than Cordelia reading my mind. “OK. Bastet. She is creeping me out.”
“She likes you.” Cordelia’s smile was warm. “I knew she would. She’s very particular, but she always knows a good person when she meets one. She especially likes your kind.”
I could only assume that by ‘my kind’ she meant hunters. I couldn’t imagine she met many of us, but you never knew. “Uh, yeah, right.” I could so totally tell. You know, what with the evil cat eye and the glaring and all. She’d pretty much done everything but hiss at me. “So about the Sunwalker?”
“Relax.” Cordelia waved her left hand around, coming dangerously close to dislodging a stack of tarot cards from their precarious perch on the desk behind her chair. “Everything is in motion. You’ll meet soon enough, when the time is right. Now enjoy your tea and tell me all about vampire hunting. It’s so fascinating.”
***
I met Kabita in front of Central Library as planned.
“You bring extra salt?”
I nodded. I was armed to
the teeth with holy water, salt and a machete. Contrary to popular myth, holy water didn’t do a thing to vampires. It did, however, cause Zagan demons some serious grief. It was more or less the equivalent of pouring sulfuric acid on human skin. It was nasty, but effective.
Kabita had her thick black hair pulled back in a ponytail tight enough that not a single curl dared escape. She was in her demon hunting uniform of black cargo pants, a black long sleeve tee, and black steel toe boots. She was nothing if not eminently practical.
“The nest is down there,” Kabita whispered, nodding toward the alleyway that ran behind the library. “You stand guard while I cast the circle.”
“Got it.”
The alley was weakly lit by a streetlight half a block away and littered with empty boxes and sacks of garbage. The tang of old urine stung my nose and sent my gag reflexes into overdrive. I struggled to ignore the stench as I scanned the shadows for anything that moved. Nothing did, not even a rat. Smart rats.
The nest was tucked away at the back of the alley. The old cardboard box looked like any other makeshift shelter the homeless erected around the city. Only this box housed something a little less harmless than an old man needing a bath and a run of good luck.
While I stood by with machete and holy water at the ready, Kabita cast a circle with the salt. She was better at spell casting than me. My vampiric abilities wreaked havoc with the magic, but she was a natural born witch.
“Salam kepada penjaga,” she whispered as she walked the circle around the nest mumbling a few words under her breath. It sounded like Hindi or something, but then I wasn’t very good with Asian languages and she was multilingual, so it could have been just about anything.
The minute Kabita finished casting the circle, the young Zagans felt the spell hit and spilled out of the nest, snarling for all they were worth. They were so young they weren’t even secreting slime yet, though they were fortunately old enough that the adult demon that spawned them had already left them to their own devices. If mama had still been around, we’d have been in serious trouble.
