Holidays Are Hell

by Kim Harrison

  His Mandarin was spoken perfectly, without accent. Smooth tones, full of the North and its soft curves; an elegant voice. More cultured than criminal, certainly educated.

  Six continued massaging the foot in her hands. It jerked once, then stilled. “But you came.”

  “I came because you’re trouble,” said the foreigner. “I came because I keep my eyes on trouble.”

  “Trouble.” Chenglei’s foot twitched again. “Look to yourself, then. Look, and regret.”

  “I have no regrets.”

  “All you had to do—”

  “I told you no.”

  “You did,” Chenglei said. “But we found another. And he did not say no.”

  The menace in those words was unmistakable, though Six did not understand their meaning. Nor did she need to. She was not an interpreter. Just muscle, a soldier, though at the moment even that did not give her pride. Too much distraction. She could feel the listening wire taped between her breasts. It had been warm, part of her, but now the thin casing was cold—she was cold—the whole room like ice, all the heat sucked away in one breathtaking punch that made her shudder with more than a chill.

  Six could see her breath. Her breath, clear and white as a ghost puffing from her mouth inside a room where the thermostat was set for sweat.

  Her hands stilled around Chenglei’s foot. She stood up. Neither man looked at her. She backed away, just enough, and took a slow, deep breath so cold her throat hurt.

  The newcomer’s gaze flicked in her direction, then settled again on the old man. “There are no others.”

  Chenglei’s smile was strained. He resembled a fat slab of pork, sprawled on his reclining chair. Six watched his hands, his white knuckles, his fingers twitching toward his sides. She recalled his file, old surveillance videos. She knew the signs.

  Six moved fast. She grabbed Chenglei’s creeping hand and yanked him off his chair, using his momentum to slam two fingers into his throat. He started choking. Spit flecked her cheek. She wiped it away, reached beneath his suit jacket, and removed one gun, silencer already screwed on. Very illegal. Life imprisonment, just on that alone. But for everything else in his file, she could shoot him now and no one would complain.

  The room was still cold. Six quickly checked Chenglei for more weapons, then dumped the wheezing man back on his chair. She looked over her shoulder, and met a dark hard gaze. Blown cover, but better than shots fired. Chenglei had been intending to kill this man. And she needed answers.

  “Do not try to run,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t run,” said the man.

  “Over there.” Six pointed. “On your knees, hands above your head, palms and forehead flat against the wall.”

  “No,” he said, gaze flicking to Chenglei, whose gasps were quieting. “This isn’t over.”

  “I am with Squad Twelve,” Six said in a hard voice. “It could be over with a bullet, if you do not obey me.”

  “No,” he said again, but this time she knew he was not talking to her. She stepped sideways, cautious, and turned to look at Chenglei.

  His skin was blue. Cold blue, corpse blue, the flesh around his mouth cracking and flaking. His eyes were wide open, unblinking, and his chest was very still. Not breathing. Six stared. She had not hit him hard enough for that. She had not done anything to cause the rapid physical reaction she was witnessing, which suddenly reminded her of forensics class, time spent in the military’s morgue, learning how to understand death, to create death, on an endless supply of corpses. Cold air, cold bodies. Decaying on a schedule. Only Chenglei’s schedule appeared to be accelerating in a most unfortunate manner. His eyes were caving into his skull. As was his mouth, lips shrinking inward, shriveling.

  “You need to leave,” said the man. “Right now. Run.”

  “I do not run,” growled Six, echoing his words. “What is this? A disease of some kind?” SARS had created enough difficulties; it still did, despite government attempts to suppress the disease and keep it out of the media. But that was nothing more than some advanced flu—easy to comprehend. What she was seeing now was something else entirely.

  Biological weapons, she thought. That is what this is all about.

  The wire taped to her chest transmitted a live feed. Just one word, and this place would be overrun by military. Her team was in place. Ready. Quarantine was not an option they had discussed, but it would be just as easily delivered: brutal, swift, the cleanup efficient. No questions asked.

  Six opened her mouth to give the order. The man held up his hand—as if he knew what she was about to do—and though she did not trust him, there was something in the urgency of that movement that made her hesitate. That, and the look in his eyes. He stared at her as though he could see right into her heart, and as such, could speak to her heart, and what she heard in his eyes was Wait, please, wait.

  So she did, feeling a momentary hush that fled with the cold. The air warmed, a flush of heat that curled over her skin and made her nose run. She ignored it. Stared at the man. Tried to watch Chenglei at the same time, which was why she saw his body twitch. Just once. In a manner as subtle as flexing three muscles: in his eyelid, his finger, his naked toe.

  “He’s alive,” Six whispered, horrified. From man to cadaver to a ghost in a shell: she tried to imagine a similar fate, and it terrified her. “He’s sick. Poisoned.”

  “Wrong,” said the man, and it occurred to Six that he should really be facedown on the ground, unconscious and drooling. One tap against his head would do it. She had strong bones, good technique.

  Except she could not move against him. Choice, instinct: She wanted him able to talk. She needed information. Right now. More than she wanted to be safe. More than she wanted to prevent any attempt to escape.

  No chance to ask questions, though. Chenglei moved again. This time, fast. So fast that it was not until much later that Six found herself able to recall any details of what happened—not the flash of his teeth, not the darkness of that shriveled mouth—because in that heartbeat when Chenglei moved, all Six had was training, instinct, and it saved her life.

  She ducked. Pivoted low on her right foot, spinning, then launched herself sideways so hard she was able to kick off the wall into the air. Gymnastics, martial arts, a body hardened by years of repetition and exercise; no expense had been spared to turn her into something that could move fast, with accuracy. She saw a blur pass close, gray as dirty ice, and found her feet again, ready to fight.

  She did not have to. Chenglei was in the corner, backed against the wall. The young man stood in front of him, hands outstretched, lips moving in a low rumbling chant that made the hairs rise on the back of Six’s neck—as did the sight of Chenglei. Only minutes before he had reminded her of a greased wrinkled pig—but the fat was gone, sucked dry, clothes hanging from his frame like rags tied to a line, flapping, flapping, stiff and cold. All bone now, sinew, less even—only a hint of his eyes remained, only a taste of a mouth, only a grinning skull, hissing like the sizzling lines of fireworks burning so effortlessly on the street.

  Six forced herself to step close. The young man did not stop chanting. She glanced at him, wary, and had to bite down hard on her tongue. Despite the warming air of the room, his breath still puffed white. Six stared. She did not rub her eyes. She did not call herself crazy. She knew her mind, her training. Her lack of imagination.

  The young man looked at her, and though his chanting did not falter, she heard his voice inside her head, clear and strong.

  Go, he said. Please.

  She almost did. Instinct, primal. But she stayed still, swallowing hard, and touched her blouse to feel the wire running beneath. One connection. Lifeline. She wondered how much the others had heard, what they made of it. She wondered why she did not call them in.

  She looked again at the man beside her. She could see his eyes past the white cloud of his breath. Black eyes, with a hint of red, like his hair, standing stark and hot. An intense gaze, rocking down to her heart.<
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  Too much. Six turned her focus on Chenglei. Looked hard, deep, and found nothing human. Nothing comparable, not even to an animal. There was too much hunger in that face. Too much violence.

  “Tell me,” she whispered to the man at her side. He ignored her, still chanting. She touched his arm. Flinched as her fingers burned with electric shock. Little lightning—in her head, as well. She saw a memory. Not her own. A pit of bones and flesh.

  The man’s voice faltered. Chenglei lunged. Six knocked the young man out of the way and took the blow, dropping and rolling backward, kicking up. She caught Chenglei in the chest, but not before his head snapped close, his gaping, cracking mouth sucking the air around her face. Terror cut, as did disgust; she felt a tug inside her mind, a violent yank like her soul had strings, and then Chenglei was kicked off, slammed into the wall. Not before his hands flung out, though. His nails were long. They scraped her cheek. Six snarled and rolled on her stomach, grabbing the gun she had taken from him. She fired.

  It was a good shot. She caught him in the forehead. He went down. But only on one knee. Six fired again. Struck what was left of his right eye. The bullet passed through his head into the wall. She heard screaming outside the room; apparently, she was not the only girl in the massage parlor who still had her hearing.

  Chenglei hissed. She glimpsed a tongue inside his mouth. A hand touched her shoulders and she rolled again, bringing up the gun. It was the other man, eyes dark, face white.

  He crouched over her. One hand was outstretched against Chenglei. The other hovered above her face. She saw writing on his palm, a circle.

  “Back away,” Six rasped.

  “No,” he murmured. “It’s too late for that.”

  He touched her. She tried to shoot him in the shoulder but her finger refused to pull the trigger, and she could not kick him off before his hand grazed her hand. The effect of his touch was immediate, terrifying. Her body stopped working. As did her voice. Muscles locked, trapped. Buried alive in her own body. All she could do was stare into the man’s eyes, fighting with all her heart, all her mind.

  You are dead, she told herself. Everything, for nothing.

  “Not yet,” whispered the man, leaning close enough to kiss. And then he did kiss her, softly, on the lips.

  His mouth was unfamiliar, but hot, like raw ginger. Six found she could close her eyes. She did not want to, but she could not keep them open. She could not see at all. She could not hear.

  And when, some time later, her body was lifted and carried by two strong arms, all she could do was wait, and imagine, and plan.

  You are dead, she told herself again. But until then, fight.

  Fight to kill. Fight to win.

  Chapter 2

  Joseph Besud was a quiet man of middling youth—barely out of his twenties, hardly worth being called thirty—and while he had been educated in some of the finest schools in Europe and America, the most enlightening aspects of his life had come from moments such as the one, quite literally, at hand. There was nothing, after all, like carrying the dead weight of an elite counter-terrorist officer to make one appreciate the finer things in life. Like having a car.

  He was rather less appreciative of the vampires hunting him, but he knew better than to complain about those parts of his life that could not be changed. And really, given that it was the holidays, he thought he could muster a little good cheer. He was still alive, after all. Whether he lasted long enough to make it home to his family’s Spring Festival dinner was another matter entirely.

  The woman was small, but heavy. All muscle. Joseph could still taste her lips. Kissing her had been unnecessary, but no one had to know that but him. Frankly, given that she was probably going to attempt murder or arrest after he released her, it was best that he take his chance while he still could. She was cute and tough. He liked that.

  The wire taped between her breasts was no longer functional. It had been like that from the moment he stepped into the room. One look into her eyes and he had known what she was, why she was there. It complicated matters, though if Chenglei and his cronies had found someone else to do their dirty work—someone like him—then his life had surged beyond complicated into pure, unadulterated chaos.

  No one paid Joseph or the woman in his arms any attention. He made sure of it. A simple mind trick, easy to accomplish given the festivities. No one wanted to pay attention to anything but themselves—or the small bombs in their hands. Firecrackers were technically illegal inside Shanghai, but as with most of China’s regulations, the laws were merely guidelines unless someone said otherwise. And given the deafening blasts rocking the streets and sidewalks, no one was saying a word. Not one that could be heard, anyway.

  He made it to the car—a tiny red Mini Cooper—beeped it open, and tucked the woman inside the passenger seat. Again, he tried to search her mind to find a name, but all he came up with was a number. Six. Nothing else. No memories of early childhood, unless images of some cold concrete dorm counted. To Joseph, they did not. He wanted warmth, love, some sign of normalcy. Anything to humanize this woman. All he found was solitude, duty, and an unbending sense of honor. Which meant one thing only.

  She was going to be very difficult to deal with.

  He got in the car, started the engine, and pulled out of the alley beside Lucky John’s massage parlor. Inside his head he sensed the edge of an inquisition: Six’s team, growing restless with her silence. It was a sign of their faith in her that they had waited so long to check on her status. He could feel it. The men trusted her. Had learned to trust all the women in her unit.

  Squad Twelve. China’s first all-female counter-terrorist team. Twelve women, hand-picked, trained by the very best. Little had been spoken of them in the media, which made sense, but there was enough government pride in their formation that some publicity had been generated. Enough to instill fear. The women were dangerous. They meant business. Good to know he was skilled enough to take one of them down, though he suspected her distraction was the cause of that. A distraction that concerned him, in more ways than one. He was not comforted that a vampire had almost managed to get the best of Six. Not at all.

  Not when the creatures were working with terrorists now.

  Joseph drove fast, but traffic was terrible. Too much activity in the streets. The world was red—red lanterns, red lights, red banners etched in gold. New Year’s Eve, the edge of Spring Festival. Time for a new start, time to chase the monsters back with sound and fury. Fireworks, making violence and beauty.

  Joseph glanced at Six. Her face was more delicate than her body. High cheeks, large eyes, shining hair. A scratch on her cheek. Broken skin. Which was, to use the American colloquial, a real bummer.

  He opened himself for a moment, checking the surrounding area for anyone following them, and when he found nothing, snapped his fingers. Six’s eyes flew open. Her mouth moved. She could not turn her head, but her gaze flicked sideways to his face, and stayed there.

  “Stop the car,” she said hoarsely.

  “Sorry,” Joseph said. “It’s not safe.”

  He felt her consider an impressive list of threats. “Where is Chenglei?”

  “Dead. Really dead.” Joseph gripped the wheel a bit harder. “I finished killing him.”

  “Alive would have been better.” Six licked cracked lips. “He is a terrorist. He could have answered questions. I suppose you will have to do.”

  “I’m no terrorist.”

  “You were meeting one.”

  “That’s not the same thing. I refused to work for them. You might have noticed that part, if you were listening to our conversation.”

  “I was.” Her eyes narrowed. Joseph tried not to be intimidated. “What did he want with you? Bombs? Plans? Biological weapons?”

  Joseph bit back a bitter laugh. “No, though I suppose that last one comes closest.”

  “Indeed,” Six said, with such menace Joseph thought briefly of paralyzing her vocal cords again. “And what I saw…wh
at Chenglei became…Is that a new weapon? Something that will be used on the Chinese people?”

  Joseph said nothing. He was talking too much. Dumping her on some sidewalk suddenly seemed like a good idea. Followed by running like hell. Mongolia was always a good place to hide. As was Russia.

  On the other hand, he was in deep now. Deeper than before. So was Six. Even if she did not realize it yet.

  “Everyone is in danger,” Joseph finally said. “Not just the Chinese.”

  “The Chinese are all I care about,” she said flatly.

  He shrugged. “Fine, then. The Chinese are in danger. Happy? Beijing and Shanghai go boom.”

  Six stared at him. She was very good at it. “You think this is funny?”

  “Of course not,” he snapped, wondering how one look could make him feel like an asshole.

  Six pressed her lips into a hard line. “Who are you?”

  “Joseph.” He reached over and shook her limp hand. “And you?”

  “I do not answer the questions of criminals.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Compliment me again. I love it.”

  Six growled. Joseph bit back a smile. He had never heard a woman growl. Not really. It was kind of sexy, even if it was an indication of how much she wanted to rip out his throat.

  A car cut in front of him. Joseph slammed on the brakes and horn. A boom rattled the car; he heard screams of laughter somewhere near, and glimpsed sparks rising into the sky. He opened his mind again, searching for threats. Felt a tickle. Something inhuman, on the move.

  “You’re in danger,” he told Six.

  “Really,” she said dryly. “What a remarkable surprise.”

  “Not from me,” Joseph replied gruffly. “From men and women like Chenglei. His associates.”

  He noted a subtle shift in her eyes. Interest. “I am always in danger from such individuals. There is no difference now.”

  “You’re wrong.” Joseph reached out, and very gently touched the scratch on her cheek. “You’ve been poisoned. That makes all the difference in the world.”