by Kim Harrison
Her eyelid twitched. “Explain.”
Joseph had to look away. Her reaction did not surprise him, not entirely, though its effect was powerful. Tough woman. Real tough. He hoped it would be enough.
The tickle in his brain intensified. Incoming. Close and fast. Not something he was used to, but this whole situation was out of hand. Unexpected rivals were terrible for carrying out long, uneventful lives. Joseph bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at Six. She still watched him, her expression inscrutable.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said.
“Your word is not enough,” she replied.
“My word and my actions? It’ll have to be enough.” Joseph held her gaze for one brief moment. “We are going to help each other, Six. You and me.”
“You know my name.”
“Not your real name,” Joseph said quietly. “But then, I’m not even sure you know that.”
Again, her eyelid twitched. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe.”
“No such thing exists,” Six told him. “No place, ever.”
She was right, of course. Joseph sighed. “Pessimist?”
“Realist.”
“Trust me,” he said. “Or don’t. But listen. That’s all I ask.”
“You are not saying anything I want to hear.”
Story of my life, he thought, and pulled off the main road, away from the glitter and digital advertisements of several large shopping complexes. He smelled grease, exhaust; his stomach rumbled. They were near the French District; the street rolled into a tree-lined avenue where the architecture was full of quiet clean lines. There were some bars, all lit up, but the fireworks remained, howling and crackling with each ignition. A ball of fire shot into the sky, exploding too low. Sparks rained down the crowd of men and women huddled just outside an iron gate. Joseph saw bottles of liquor. He heard screams. The sensation of being hunted overwhelmed.
“I may have to free you,” Joseph said. “Are you going to hurt me if I do?”
“Yes,” Six said.
He blew out his breath. “Any way I can convince you not to?”
“No,” Six said. “Absolutely, no.”
He was close to home. No parking, though. Joseph had to settle for a spot some distance away. Not terribly ideal. He got out, walked to the passenger side, and opened the door. Six could not turn her head to look at him. Not for lack of trying, though. He could feel the force of her will pushing and pushing against the compulsion. If he let her sit long enough, it was possible she might be able to break it. Joseph had never met anyone quite so strong. Or stubborn.
“If you scream,” he told the back of her head, “you know I can make you stop.”
“And if I simply talk?”
“Talking is good.” Joseph unbuckled Six’s seat belt and hefted her up into his arms. His back hurt. He needed to lift weights. “Ask me anything you want.”
“How long have you been a terrorist?”
Joseph stopped and gave her a look. Six sighed. “Fine, so you are not a terrorist. Perhaps I can believe that. I am not convinced anyone else will, though.”
“No one else is going to get close enough to need convincing.” Joseph walked fast. His apartment building was a block away. “Besides, I’m going to help you catch the people you’re looking for. Once I do that, you’ll hopefully be so distracted—and appreciative—you won’t ever think of hunting down poor me.”
“Unlikely.” Six narrowed her eyes. “And how will you help? If you know something—anything—it merely substantiates your guilt.”
Joseph ignored her. The tickling in his brain was worse. He turned, searching. This was a residential neighborhood, not close to any major shopping center, though the tourist trap of Xin Tian Di was certainly within walking distance. Still, there were quite a few people on the street. Young women, mostly, dressed in skinny jeans and narrow jackets, tall boots stacked with sharp heels. Bodies backlit by bursts of sparks, firecrackers spitting and hissing into the road, dancing beneath the tires of cars, bicycles, scooters dripping exhaust—
“What is wrong?” Six asked.
“Quiet,” he murmured, listening hard. He hugged Six close, not even thinking of it until the scent of her hair drifted into his nose. He became aware of roses, warmth. It disconcerted him for a moment, distracted his mind, which suddenly wanted more of Six, less of everything else.
Bad timing. He felt the rush before he saw it and ducked low, dropping Six on the ground, releasing the compulsion that bound her. He expected her to be ready and she was, rolling the moment her muscles were free, and she got on her feet so fast he almost got knocked out before he could explain. No need, though. A black Audi screeched to a full stop on the road beside them. Doors slammed open. Vampires emerged.
There were three of the creatures, making the air cold as ice around their bodies. No way to know for certain how they looked when fully human, but like Chenglei, the flesh had sucked away until all that remained were skeletons racked by skin, hissing as though a great black wind lived inside their mouths. Ugly bastards.
Unfortunately, they also had guns. Guns pointed directly at him.
Joseph never saw Six move. One moment she stood beside him—and in the next she vaulted off the hood of a car, managing a one-two blow with nothing but her feet—practically walking on heads—catching the last creature in the face with her fists as she came down, whirling through the air like a dancer. She was beautiful, a blur, almost as fast as the vampires themselves—and Joseph wondered if it was just their surprise that was letting her go so far, or if she was truly that good.
He flung out his hands and a low rumble rose from his throat, splitting tones like the deep hum of a long mountain horn. The vampires went still. Six grabbed their guns and backed away. She did something with her hands; two of the guns fell into sundry parts, the third she tucked into the back of her pants alongside Chenglei’s weapon. Six glanced at him, a question in her eyes, her breath puffing white in the cold air.
Joseph did not answer. Not with his voice, not with his mind. He edged forward, staring at the vampires, matching gazes as his voice coiled hard around them, channeling his will. The vampires were empty on the inside, but with enough spark left that it was hard to bind three at a time. So hard, Joseph did not notice the tickle at the back of his skull until it was almost too late.
Six saved him. He felt her move against his back, heard flesh smack, something crack—a hiss—and then she danced into sight with another vampire hopping and lunging, skin white as ice, hollow and brazen. Joseph’s voice remained strong, but it was an effort—nor did he try to extend his control to the fourth vampire. He did not dare. He reached over his shoulder, beneath the neck of his shirt. Touched steel. Listened to the hiss of a sharp edge as he pulled the long dagger free. He felt like his heart was going to fly out of his chest. He had never been attacked like this. No one in his family had, not for years.
Joseph cut off heads, chanting as he killed. The vampires could not fight him, but he felt no remorse. Cold blood, in this case, made no difference. Not when he knew the alternative. Their flesh was brittle, crumbling into clumps of thick ash. No bulky evidence. The remaining sparks of their souls fled.
Six still fought. She did not shoot the guns in her possession; she merely used her fists and feet, never staying in one place long enough to be touched. But her opponent was a vampire—fast—and she was only human. Joseph saw her make a mistake—one pause, a second too long—and he changed the chant, trying to save her life.
Too late. The vampire grabbed her. But Joseph felt no pull, no internal strike to Six’s life. Instead, the creature stared at the scratch on her cheek, and touched it with its tongue, delicate, savoring the taste. She struggled, face twisted with disgust.
Joseph pressed harder with his words and the vampire holding her finally froze. Six wriggled free, slamming her fist so hard into the creature’s chest, its sternum snapped. The vampire, paralyzed, could not even
flinch.
Six backed off. Joseph did not try to touch her. He glanced up and down the street. There were people on the sidewalk, staring. Cars had stopped in the road. Beyond them all, a rain of sparks and fire flooded the night, a series of hard bangs rocking the air. Joseph could feel the explosions in his chest. The sensation felt right at home with his pounding heart.
Joseph did his best. He altered the chant once again, isolating everyone he could see, turning his will on them, spreading a compulsion to leave, forget, to remember only as a dream. He glanced at Six and found her watching him, then the people, who obeyed without question, turning and walking away. Cars started moving again.
He still held the long dagger in his hand. Six glanced from it to the vampire, frowning. She touched her cheek. Her eyelid twitched.
“I need answers,” she said, and Joseph sensed she was not entirely speaking of her old investigation.
We both need answers, he told her silently, and Six gave him such a sharp look he wondered if she heard his mental voice. He had wondered earlier, too, at the massage parlor. He had never been able to speak inside another person’s mind—not outside the family, at any rate. It required a strong connection.
But even if he did agree with Six, this was not the place to ask questions. Nor did he have the skill to force the vampire back into its human body. That could only be done by choice.
Joseph cut off its head. Six was not fast enough to stop him, though he cheated just a little by slowing her down. He thought she might have tackled him, otherwise. Instead, Six watched that wiry body collapse on itself and blow away in the wind. The ashes mixed with street trash. She turned on him, furious. “Why did you do that? I told you I needed answers. I could have questioned it.”
Joseph kicked at the clothes left behind on the sidewalk. “Too much time involved. We need to leave. This place is too exposed.”
“Not your decision. I am calling in my team.” Six reached for the wire beneath her shirt, then hesitated, looking at him. “You disabled it, didn’t you? There was also a tracking device. They would have already been here by now if it was working.”
Joseph shrugged, sheathed the dagger, and walked to the abandoned car, which was blocking traffic and generating some very loud honks. Joseph wondered how much the drivers had seen, if any of them had taken pictures with mobile phones. Not that it mattered. Cameras never did well with him.
The car doors were still open. He hesitated, thinking about his apartment with its nice safety features—like walls and doors—and then strode around the sleek hood and slid into the driver’s seat. Six leaned into the passenger side and gestured.
“Get out,” she ordered. “You are ruining evidence.”
“Just a little,” he admitted. The keys were still in the ignition. Joseph started the car.
Six stared. “What are you doing?”
“Parking this thing. If I leave it here, the police will come.”
“In case you have forgotten,” she said coldly, “I am the police. In fact, I have far more authority than the police, and I am better trained.”
“So arrest me,” Joseph said. “Take me in. Try to explain everything you’ve seen. Accuse me of terrible crimes. That won’t help you catch your terrorists.” Nor would it save her life. He stared at the scratch on her cheek. The skin was flushed, slightly swollen.
Six slid into the car. She sat for a moment, staring at him, dark eyes sharp. “You just killed people.”
“I suppose,” Joseph said warily, recalling the feel of steel cutting through flesh, the crackle of papery skin. “It’s complicated, though. I’d hoped you would know that by now.”
Six’s jaw tightened. No other warning. She grabbed his throat before he could blink, and squeezed so hard he choked. He grappled with her hands, but her fingers were like iron. He struck at her face; she grabbed his wrist and pinched. Fire ran up his arm; he would have cried out if he had a voice.
Her expression never changed. “You need your vocal cords to control me. I could just rip them out. With my fingers. I could do some other things to your body. Nothing pleasant.”
Joseph had no doubt of that. Six was stronger than he had imagined.
I understand, he said, using his mind to speak to her. He was not entirely certain the message would go through—he still thought those earlier moments might be flukes—but a furrow formed between Six’s eyes and she licked her lips. Joseph remembered kissing her. Felt like a lifetime past. He wondered if he would ever get another chance.
“I heard you,” she said softly. “How?”
It’s a skill like any other, he told her, feeling inside his chest an unfamiliar sense of panic and warmth. You know how to do things I don’t. I know how to do things you don’t.
Six leaned back. She did not let go of his throat, though her fingers loosened just a fraction, making it easier for him to breathe. “And those…things? What Chenglei became?”
The Jiangshi. Hopping ghosts. Vampires.
“No such thing,” she said immediately. “Tales of old stupid men who do not know better.”
Then call them a virus, if that makes you happy. Think of them as your biological weapon. Your terrorists. Either way, you know they’re dangerous. You can’t ignore that.
Six’s jaw tightened. Joseph did not look away. He studied her eyes as closely as she studied his, and felt her thoughts press against his mind. He tried not to listen. He did not want to. Still, he knew a moment before she acted that her fingers were going to loosen once again, and he fought the urge to rub his throat as her hand slid down to press hard against his chest.
“Drive,” she said. “If you try to paralyze me, I will rip out your throat.”
“What about destroying evidence?”
“The car is still evidence.”
“I’m not turning myself in,” he said, keeping his hands in his lap.
Six narrowed her eyes. “All I want are answers. You will drive. I will talk. You will speak only when spoken to.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, and put the car in gear. He tapped the accelerator and drove down the street. He took a right at the first intersection, weaving around pedestrians and motorcycles and other cars running the red light. Paper lanterns had been strung across the road; he saw, in front of the shops, men and women sweeping furiously with their brooms. Cleaning out the bad luck, making way for good. He wished it were that easy.
Six said, “What are you? How do you control people?”
“I use my mind,” he said.
“Who taught you? Were you part of a government program?”
Joseph almost laughed. “My family taught me.”
“So what you do is…genetic.”
“Somewhat.”
Six remained silent. The surrounding buildings became larger, newer, opulent in their modernity, glittering shopping centers and sidewalks crammed with young people. Shanghai—the largest mall in the world, a city devoted to business and commercialism. Shallow, but pretty. Joseph had a weakness for bright lights, especially now, when most of them were red for the New Year holiday. There were fireworks here, too, set off by kids, laughing and screaming in front of monstrous hanging billboards decorated with foreign celebrities hawking watches and designers.
Six’s fingers tapped her thigh. “You called them Jiangshi. Hopping ghosts. Like in the stories.”
“Not quite like the stories,” Joseph replied. “Those creatures are not lost souls. You can’t stop them with a block of six-inch wood at the threshold of a home—they are not scared of sunlight—and you can’t hide from them by holding your breath. That is fantasy.”
“All of it is fantasy,” she muttered. “But if I were to pretend it is not, then what of the rest?”
“That they’re dangerous? That they kill by stealing a person’s life essence?” Joseph gritted this teeth. “That, unfortunately, would be true. It’s why I call them vampires.”
“Western folklore. Vampires steal blood.”
“
World folklore,” Joseph corrected her. “And blood is the same as life, no different from energy.”
Six studied him. Her hand was still on his chest. Her palm felt warm. “How do you know all this? Did your family teach you?”
Joseph glanced at her. “Yes.”
“And these…creatures? What do they want with you? And what do they have to do with the terrorists? Chenglei—”
“Was unexpected,” he interrupted. “That man was not always a vampire. In fact, the last time I saw him, he was very human. He worked in conjunction with a terrorist organization run by members fresh out of Central Asia, Indonesia, and Xin Jiang. Business matters. A money man. No ethical qualms, either. Chenglei himself was not a native Chinese. He was born in Jakarta. His uncle could be considered one of the most radical clerics in Southeast Asia.”
“I know most of this,” Six said. “We had Chenglei under surveillance for quite some time. We wanted his contacts.”
“You didn’t get them, I assume.”
“Some. Not enough. Tonight, after seeing who he was meeting with, I planned on bringing him in. Permanently.”
“Ah,” Joseph said. “Too late now. Not that you need to worry. I suspect everyone you’re looking for will be easy enough to find.”
“And why is that?”
Joseph sighed. “Because the man the vampires recruited wants me dead. And you’re becoming one of them.”
Chapter 3
When Six was only five years old, she remembered quite clearly being led into a small office that was extraordinary in its luxury. Two wooden chairs with patched cushions on the seats; a dark wide desk covered in pens and paper, one lamp; a small ink painting of a tea pot; and best of anything, a window with a view beyond the gray concrete walls of the gymnasium training center. She remembered caring more about that view than the people she had been brought to see.
There were three adults in the office. Two men. One woman. All wearing dark pants and dark jackets, buttoned just so with their short collars straight and pressed flat against their throats. The men wore caps. The woman had black hair shot with silver, cut to her chin. Six had never seen any of them before.
