“Be glad he did it,” I said. “That was Ethan’s big mistake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once his blood was in you it gave you immunity from his hypnosis. He couldn’t control you that way anymore. He must not have known.” Vampires don’t wake up dead knowing all the ropes about the condition. They’re only as good as their teacher—if he or she bothered to say anything. Jack was still learning.
“It was like waking up,” said Katie, “but I was alone. The only one awake in a town of sleepwalkers. No one else … I couldn’t talk to anybody, not even my mother. She’d have told him.”
“Don’t blame them. It’s his fault.”
“I do blame them. Why didn’t they wake up?”
I reminded myself she was barely sixteen and feeling betrayed by those who were supposed to protect her. “Is that when you ran away?”
“First thing in the morning. I got a bus to Cleveland, then Toledo, then I ran out of money and had to do something. The only job I could get that paid right away and kept me moving was chorus-line work. I had tap classes when I was in school. I lied about my age, and Big Maggie and the others looked after me, but I couldn’t tell them anything or they’d think I’d lost my mind.”
“You’re awful darned lucky, kiddo.”
“Lucky?”
“That you fell in with Big Maggie and not white slavers.”
“What are those?”
“Never you mind. Who are those guys who came to the club? Did you see them?”
“The man in the suit is the mayor. I don’t know the others, but they’ll be from Sheldon. After I left, that picture of me, and a reward offer, appeared in all the newspapers. I changed my hair and wore lots of makeup and hats with veils, and it worked till now. Someone must have recognized me and sent word to Ethan.”
“This might be the first time he’s left Sheldon since his arrival.”
“So?”
“The town will wake up, given time. The hypnosis wears off unless he reinforces it, especially if it goes against what a person would normally do.”
“How do you know this?”
I had to bend the truth. She was in no shape for my life story. “I used to know a vampire. He was not like Ethan. He was a real man, good and decent. He helped me out of a jam and told me things. I wish he was here, because he’d kick this four-flushing dewdropper into the next state.”
Hefting the broom handle, I wondered if Duvert was due for another crack on the noggin. Vampires could recover fast from otherwise fatal injuries and not give a clue until it was too late to do anything. Even weakened and half conscious he could snap us in two a hell of a lot easier than I’d snapped the broom.
“Decision time, Katie. We can get on the train and head south or—”
“He’ll keep looking for me. What if he goes back to Sheldon and hurts my parents? What if he finds another girl and makes her do things she doesn’t want?”
“You’ve been thinking about this, huh?”
“Ever since I ran away. I want to go home. I want to be me again, not his puppet.”
“There’s always a Reno divorce,” I said, making a joke before raising a far more serious alternative. Katie beat me to it.
“Or I could be a widow,” she said in a low, steely voice. Her pale eyes were too hard for a sixteen-year-old’s face. “I thought about that. A lot.”
“Yes…”
“It’s better than killing myself. I thought of that, too, but he’d go turn someone else into a puppet, and I’d be dead.”
“There’s no advantage to it,” I agreed.
My tummy did another queasy flip. We were talking murder. Just thinking about the actual, physical act of killing someone, anyone, made me sick. I’d shot a man dead once, in the heat of a white-hot rage and to save others, but it bothered me. Every day it bothered me—I kept busy so as to not think about it.
But I knew people who weren’t bothered by killing. One of my gangster friends would help out gladly as a favor, but he was miles away down the tracks in Chicago. It would take time to get him here, but if need be I could keep Duvert out for the count.
I’m no movie heroine. I’m just Bobbi Smythe, a blond chicken who’s happy to let someone else do her dirty work. If you can’t bring yourself to go down in the sewer, call a rat.
“Katie, I’m gonna get us help. We’ll have to hole up. With him. It won’t be bad during the day but—”
For the second time that night someone crashed through a door to what I thought was a private place. Katie yelped and scrambled toward the window. I faced the threat.
Threats: badly dressed hometown guys. The banker looked punch-drunk, and I couldn’t tell if it was from his beating or months of forced hypnosis.
The four men stared at Duvert, silent.
Was now a good time to scream? It would bring the porter and stationmaster. But cops would get involved, because Duvert was a dead body, and here I was holding the murder weapon. They’d never believe anything about him being a vampire. They’d toss me in the tank, and I’d be a sitting duck for Duvert if he decided to invisibly float in to teach me a lesson.
I pulled the .38 from the purse still hanging from my arm. I didn’t want to kill them, but a shot in the foot would slow them down. “YOU! Listen to me!”
Their heads moved my way in unison, their eyes utterly empty. I’d half recognized it back in my dressing room. The people Jack hypnotized got that same look. On one person it was disturbing; four at once was intimidating as hell.
“Out of here. Now.”
Oh, my goodness. They were leaving. Shuffling out backward.
“Stop.”
They stopped.
“What are you doing?” Katie squeaked.
“I think I’m directing traffic, honey. Maybe all you need is a firm voice. Pick him up.” I pointed at Duvert’s body.
Each of them grabbed a limb, and then awkwardly they got through the door.
“Take him to the car,” I ordered. I didn’t know if they had a car, but they’d gotten to town somehow. It seemed a good bet.
They carried him across the station while Katie and I hung back. The porter lay on the floor, feebly moving. Oh, hell. I went to the ticket grill. The manager was likewise abused. I urged Katie to grab her little case, and then we slipped out to the street.
Duvert had a paneled truck. A smart choice: he could ride in back during the day, protected from the sun.
His minions had the back open to lift him in. Sure enough there was a trunk, looking uncannily like the one Jack used when he went on out-of-town trips.
I abruptly saw a problem about to happen. Duvert could not have contact with his earth or he’d recover quicker. I shot forward, Katie at my heels.
“Get in the front cab,” I told her, and poked at the mayor of Sheldon with the broomstick. “Stop! Put him inside, but not in the trunk.” I repeated that until it got through, then ordered them to climb in and shut the door. We had to get clear and fast. The two men in the train station would set the law on their four attackers when they woke up. Waterview cops would notice a truck with Ohio plates and check it.
Then I hoisted into the cab, pushed the stick and purse at Katie, and fumbled for the key. The last driver had thoughtfully or—being unable to think—thoughtlessly left it in the ignition.
I found the starter, then coordinated things until the motor rumbled alive. The gears were just bigger than I was used to; we jerked into first and rolled south on Route 23, heading for Cheboygan, about six miles away.
“What’ll we do if someone catches us?” Katie asked.
“They won’t.” I shifted again and floored it. The truck was almost new. Trust Duvert to help himself to the best. We shot down the road at fifty, then fifty-five. I liked Cheboygan; I liked saying the name and did so, repeating it like a chant. This was great, nothing but tall trees on the right, Lake Huron on the left, and clean night air.
“What about Cheboygan?” Katie demanded, her voi
ce high over the roar of the motor.
“Bigger town, easier to hide in.”
It had been a few years since I’d played there. I wouldn’t remember much; all I’d have seen would have been the stage, the hotel, and cheap eateries, but every town had places where a truck could park unnoticed until sunrise. With Duvert safely dead for the day, I’d call my friend in Chicago. Heck, I could probably drive there; this wasn’t so hard.
Icy gray fog flooded the cab.
Duvert materialized between us.
He damned near broke my foot slamming his own on the brake pedal. He shoved me from the steering wheel. It was like being swatted by a giant, he was that strong. I cracked my head against the window and saw sparks.
Katie screamed and screamed, but none of it impressed Duvert. He quickly and efficiently brought us to a halt and cut the motor. She ran out of voice, falling silent except for trying to catch her breath. I couldn’t move. Too stunned.
Duvert’s good-looking face loomed into view. This close all I saw was his nose going in and out of focus. There’s a reason why I close my eyes when I kiss.
He reached around me and opened the door. I tried not to fall out, feebly grabbing at anything, slowing the drop to a woozy slither. I sat hard on damp pavement, rubbery legs every which way, my back to the truck’s muddy running board. Duvert dropped lightly next to me, bent, and looked me straight in the eye.
“Sleep, you dirty little trollop,” he ordered. “You will sleep.”
My lids shut all on their own, but I didn’t go out. My head hurt too badly to be bothered, though Jack’s blood in me had something to do with it.
It was too much for Katie. She’d been so brave, but her only friend was down for the count. She began making that awful toy machine gun hiccuping. In another second she’d cut loose, but all the tears in the world wouldn’t save her from the handsome vampire here on the side of the road by the dark, dark woods.
“Be quiet,” he snarled.
She gasped and shut down, probably staring at him.
“What the devil did you do to your hair?” he demanded. “You’re ugly now, and after I made you so beautiful—”
“Shut up,” she said in the steely tone she used when talking about becoming a widow. “You just … shut up.”
He thought that funny to judge by his brief laugh. “You’re not the first to show a little spirit, sweet Katherine. I’ll bring you around. I like my girls calm and quiet. Keeps them prettier longer.”
“Who cares what you want, you—you four-flushing dewdropper.” She put enough acid into the borrowed slang to make it sound like real cursing.
Atta girl, I thought, trying to think of options. I was in no shape to run and hide in the woods. He’d spot me, night was day to him. But across the road—yup, Lake Huron. Miles and miles of it stretching into a black forever. He couldn’t come after me. Vampires and free-flowing water don’t mix. I could outswim his helpers.
It would leave Katie in a tough spot, but I had to look after myself in order to come back to fight another night.
All I had to do was get clear until dawn. If his hypnotized gang drove them back to Ohio, so be it. I’d find a way to follow. Thinking about killing no longer made me sick. For him, I’d do it with a grin.
He wasn’t done scolding Katie. “What have you been doing all this time? Dancing onstage like a drunken harlot? How many men did you let—”
The flat, businesslike crack of my Detective Special interrupted his ego. She’d found it in my purse. Oh, good girl.
It cracked again. Duvert staggered, looking surprised at two spreading patches of blood in the center of his chest. Point-blank range made it easy for her. She fired a third round, hitting his shoulder. Lead wouldn’t kill him, but it did hurt like hell.
He vanished. An agitated gray maelstrom spun in the air where his body had been.
Seconds, just seconds before, he returned. He’d come back, healed and hungry.
I lurched up, determined not to be his first-aid nurse. Blood hammered the top of my skull. My damned eyelids did not want to stay open. I leaned into the cab. Katie was backed against the passenger side, my gun in her shaking hands.
The broomstick was on the floor, within reach. I yanked it clear and turned toward him. The grayness was beginning to thicken as he eased back to solidity.
I sagged, dizzy and sick, no strength in my arms. I was barely able to hold the damned stick, much less knock him silly with it.
Katie, I need help, I tried to say, but weird mumbling drivel spilled out instead.
He was halfway back, taking his time. You could see through him. He waved tauntingly at Katie, and she wasted the last three bullets. They zinged harmlessly through his ghostlike form. He went back to being a gray cloud.
It drifted toward the truck cab, oozing inside. She moaned disgust as the chill grayness covered her. He’d re-form on top of her, perhaps to feed, and drain her into a blood-exhausted stupor.
I reeled toward them, leading with that broomstick, hoping to buy time until I could recover enough to do him real damage.
He went for another instant materialization. I stabbed in just before he was fully solid—then, oh my God, the shriek he gave knocked me right over.
The wood skewered him in midchest, front and back, like a pinned bug. He screamed and roared and clawed at the makeshift spear, finally falling from the truck. He slammed hard on the pavement, thrashing violently, trying to pull the thing out, but he’d re-formed right around it, and it was firmly stuck.
And wood kept him from vanishing.
Strangely, there was no blood. Just as well, this was bad enough.
But he might force it out … yeah, he was trying to do just that, lifting up and dropping on his back. He howled each time, but it pushed a few inches of wood along, and he was desperately pulling with his hands.
I looked for a rock or more wood to stun him with … nothing. Maybe there’d be a tire iron in the back of the truck.
Katie came sliding out, her face determined. She had her little suitcase in hand.
She swung it low like a croquet mallet, hitting him square in the head. She used so much force that the handle broke, the case popped open, and her things scattered.
But it got quiet again. Duvert lay sprawled and still in the middle of the road. Maybe there was wood in the sides of the case. I wondered why vampires were so vulnerable to it, but no matter, so long as it worked.
Katie came and dropped next to me and had herself a good long blub. I joined her; it had been a hell of a night. When I felt better we’d clear up the mess and drive into Cheboygan, and I’d have her call her mother.
But for now we leaned on each other, not speaking, and sometime later we watched the sun come up over the lake.
Rapid aging shriveled Duvert’s features. Jack had once told me what he knew about the slow process of dying for vampires, not giving much detail. With good reason.
Duvert must have been old. He went from beautiful young man to dried-out mummy, and by full sunlight he was a shrunken husk with blackening skin and bones.
Soon not enough was left of his rib cage to hold the broomstick in place, and it swayed and fell over into the growing pile of dust.
I grinned and hoped, really hoped, that it had hurt.
NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW
Jenna Black
Nothing good ever comes from private citizens visiting my office. Which was why I looked up from my pile of paperwork and scowled when a middle-aged couple stepped through my office door without knocking.
I guessed the man’s age at about fifty, though it was a well-preserved fifty. His neatly trimmed hair was a dark blond that camouflaged a hint of gray, and he had rounded apple cheeks that would always give him an aura of boyishness. The woman was considerably younger—late thirties, early forties—and beautiful enough to qualify for trophy-wife status. Both were impeccably dressed, and obviously tense.
“Are you Morgan Kingsley?” the woman asked tentativ
ely, looking me up and down with a little frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. All right, I don’t dress like a corporate clone; so sue me. It was hot as hell out today, so I’d gone for a clingy camisole top and low-rise capris. Just as well Ms. Stick-up-her-ass couldn’t see the drugstore flip-flops that graced my feet.
“Yes,” I said, smiling tightly. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
“May we sit down?” the woman asked.
My knee-jerk reaction was to tell them to call for an appointment and then ignore the phone calls. I don’t much like being sneered at.
You need the money, Lugh chided gently in my mind.
You’ve got to love the irony of an exorcist possessed by the king of the demons, don’t you? Once upon a time, ours had been a silent partnership, Lugh residing deep within the recesses of my mind, able to communicate with me only when I let my mental barriers down in sleep. Now, he was my constant companion. And, apparently, my business manager.
He was right, though. Ever since he’d possessed me, my life hadn’t been my own, and the day job had been on the back burner. In a separate house. Ten miles outside the city.
Long story short, it would be beyond stupid for me to send potential clients away, whether I liked them or not.
“Please, have a seat,” I invited with a wave of my hand.
They sat in the chairs in front of my desk. The man was fidgety, and seemed disinclined to make eye contact. I suspected that wasn’t a good sign.
“What can I do for you?” I asked again.
“I’m Patsy Sherwood, and this is my husband, Scott,” the woman said. Her husband nodded a greeting, but still didn’t make eye contact. “We have reason to believe our daughter is possessed.”
“Against her will you mean?” I asked, just to clarify things. If their daughter was a legal, registered demon host, then there was nothing I could do to help them.
The woman’s eyes flashed dangerously, and her hands clenched in her lap. “She would never accept the Spawn of Satan into her body,” she said with a curl of her lip.
O-kay. Not a big fan of demons. Having been a champion demon-hater myself once upon a time, I knew where she was coming from.
Chicks Kick Butt - Rachel Caine, Kerrie Hughes (ed) Page 13
