Marked Clan #2 - Red

by Maurice Lawless

  “I will not hurt you, Margaret,” she said.

  “Well, that’s a fine fucking thing to say, but pardon me if I’m not particularly trusting of your kind. They tend to want to eat me in the most not-fucking-enjoyable way.”

  Was that a hint of a smile on her face? What was this woman’s deal? I pushed myself to the far end of the bed and covered up in the sheets, like that would do anything. She could have taken me in my sleep if she’d really wanted to.

  She set the gun down on my nightstand. “Do you know how old that is?”

  “I’d say older than both of us, but I don’t think that’s true of you,” I said. Did I still have a spare pen on this side of the room somewhere? I used to keep some under the bed. Could I play nice long enough to look?

  “And no one calls me Margaret,” I stalled, “It’s PJ. Why are you here if it’s not to kill me?”

  She tapped the album. “You’ve been lied to, PJ.”

  “I beg to fucking differ. Poppa was the most honest person I’ve ever known. He always told it like it was, whether it offended people or not.”

  The woman nodded. “As do you, I’m sure.”

  My fingers felt the edge of the bed behind me. I slipped my left foot under the covers and onto the floor as quietly as I could.

  “Enlighten me then,” I said. “What do you think you know?”

  She launched herself over the bed in a graceful lunge, landing behind me. I tried to turn around, but her arm was already wrapped around my throat. She spoke softly, her breath tickling the back of my neck.

  “I know that I am not your enemy, Margaret Jane. I know that your blood can kill us all, and that you use it to that end. I also know that without my help, you will die. The last of the clean Mackenzie bloodline will die with you.”

  The clean Mackenzie line? What did she mean by that?

  I slammed my head back into her nose as hard as I could, and she recoiled long enough for me to slip free. I bolted for my dresser and the drawer with my epi pens. I had one out and in my hand when I heard a single curt laugh.

  “God, you’re so much like Da. Blood really is thicker.”

  I turned on her, pen at the ready. Her nose was bloody, but I knew whatever superficial damage I’d caused was already healed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t worry about that right now, PJ. Look, you will at least agree that had I come here to kill you, I could have done it while you slept, yes?”

  “Agreed.”

  She wiped the blood off her nose and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. She wore a tracksuit with the top unzipped, and her feet were bare. She kicked one foot against the wall in an absentminded way. The way she did it…no. Why did my brain insist on going there?

  “I’ve been hunting my kind for a long time, PJ. There are things you need to know to help you finish them off.”

  Wait, what?

  “I’d say you sound like a crazy bitch, but…Why would you help me? Isn’t that kind of, you know, counter-productive?”

  She pushed off from the wall and unzipped the jacket of her tracksuit. I saw she was naked underneath. Was she getting ready to change?

  “Whoa, there, lady! What the fuck—”

  She dropped the jacket and turned around, pulling her long hair out of the way. The tattoos on her back were similar to all the wolves I’d killed, but I recognized the runes. They were the same as Dree, down to the order and configuration. Hers were faded, though.

  “You’re Slate,” I said. “Lupin’s bitch.”

  “Yes.”

  She picked up her jacket, but didn’t put it back on. I gave her a wide berth as she walked around the bed. She held her hands in front of her and moved deliberately slow.

  “I do not wish you harm. On the contrary, I very much want you to succeed. Ours is a cursed line, a blight on the world. You’ve accomplished much in a short time, but you need to learn more about the hunt. I can teach you.”

  “What does Dree think of all this?” I asked.

  Slate sighed and slipped her jacket back on. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She thinks we can live in peace. I am not so optimistic.”

  “Wait, let me get this straight—you don’t just want me to wipe out the other wolves. You want them all gone. Including you, Lupin, and Dree?”

  She nodded. “You have no idea what this life is like. It’s an abomination.”

  “Well that’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with.”

  I kept the pen at my side, but relaxed my grip just a bit. She turned and walked into my kitchen, moving silently.

  “I still don’t want your help,” I said.

  She shook her head and gave another curt laugh. On her way out the door she muttered, “Whit’s fur ye’ll no go past ye, PJ.”

  My brain tried to pound its way past my forehead. No, that makes no fucking sense at all. There’s no way she reminds me of my mother.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Justin sent me directions to our next date in a text message, but I didn’t think he was serious. A skating rink? What were we, twelve? Did he expect me to hold hands with him and do the hokey-pokey under the disco ball? I found the address anyway. I pulled into the parking lot at six, and the crowd that had gathered outside was not what I expected.

  Twenty-something men and women milled around the front door, some in multicolored tights and fishnet stockings. Girls on skates went through the crowd passing out flyers and chatting people up. The girls wore full protective gear – elbow pads, knee pads, and wrist guards. Some carried brightly-decorated helmets as well. What kind of skating was this going to be?

  "Not what you expected, is it?" Justin said behind me.

  "No," I said without turning around. "I can’t say that I saw this coming. What is it?"

  He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. He felt nice and warm. "Roller derby. It’s the season opener for this league."

  "Roller derby? Like that stuff people used to watch in the fifties?"

  Justin laughed. "Not quite. Think less Beaver Cleaver and more Thunderdome."

  "So it’s not real?"

  "Oh, it’s real," he laughed. "And I wouldn’t say otherwise once we get inside. Some folks are kind of touchy. These girls are athletes, and it’s a full-contact sport."

  This I had to see. Justin bought us wristbands and we went inside. At least something was what I expected – the roller rink looked like it hadn’t changed its carpet or wall decorations since about 1985. Neon confetti patterns on a dingy blue background covered the floor and day-glo stars adorned the walls.

  Not all of it was teenage nostalgia. I heard metal music being piped through the speakers in the ceiling, and everyone seemed to have a beer but us. The crowd gathered along the waist-high walls that surrounded the skate floor and watched as groups of those same brightly-dressed skaters made warm-up laps.

  The floor was taped off to create a kind of oval race track, with benches off to one side. I saw that the girls outside had tame outfits compared to the ones already on the track. Any surface that could be tacked with stickers or painted like a custom car was decked out in the girls’ numbers. The names on their jerseys were just as over-the-top.

  "Poke-a-Hot-Ass, really?" I laughed. The girl in question wore frilled socks and had feathers sticking out of the back of her helmet. I had to admit, she wore her name well in spandex hot pants. "I can see why you enjoy this."

  Justin brought us a couple of beers and pushed his way through so we were leaning against the wall front-and-center. "The bout hasn’t started yet," he said with a grin. "It gets wilder."

  I looked around the crowd. Most of the people here were men, but there was a solid gathering of women as well. In the back corner a small stage was set up with instruments for what I guess was a half-time show. How had I never heard of this?

  Justin leaned in and pointed out one of the girls making laps. "See that star on her helmet? She’s the jammer. There’s one for each team, and the
y’re the ones who can score."

  "How do they do that?" I asked.

  "They lap the members of the other team," he said. "It’s not as easy as it sounds."

  I watched the girls circling the track, some of whom looked like they could crack walnuts with their thighs. Easy wasn’t the first word that came to mind. I humored him.

  "Why do you say that?" I asked.

  "Because it’s everyone else’s job to keep them from doing it – by whatever means necessary. Blocks, hits, you name it. There are rules, of course, but you might be surprised what’s legal in this game."

  A set of men in referee jerseys and whistles skated out, followed by a guy that looked like a cross between Elvis and John Travolta from Grease. His worn leather jacket was a showcase of rock band patches, and his hair was slicked back and shiny. He spoke like an old-school radio DJ, complete with a gravelly Wolfman Jack tone.

  "Hey there cats and kittens! Are you ready for some derby?"

  The crowd erupted behind me with cheers and whistles. Justin was among them. I looked up at him and saw he was smiling ear-to-ear. This wasn’t just a random idea for a date – he was showing me something he really loved.

  "Tonight we have a hell of a bout between the Rocket City Roller Girls and a new league that’s just cutting their teeth – The Houston Hell Dolls! These girls are looking to come out swinging, so expect some hard hits tonight!"

  The teams gathered in the center of the track and then broke off to line up along a piece of tape on one end. I noted the two girls with stars on their helmets. I looked closer, and noticed that they were actually fabric covers with elastic bands. I asked Justin about it.

  "They call them panties," he said. "Pretty appropriate, I think. They trade off who plays jammer a lot so they make it easier than, say, having separate helmets."

  A projector was set up on the far end of the skate floor with a timer and scoreboard. As soon as the head ref blew the whistle, the time began and the girls pushed off. Within a few seconds, one girl was already on the ground. She dropped to her knee pads and then popped up like she was on springs. The jammer for the Roller Girls was in the lead by the first turn, and she only gained more distance as the rest of the girls made their way around the track.

  She came up on the rear of the pack and her teammates made a hole. She shot through and scored, then made another revolution. The Hell Dolls clustered together and kept her from passing.

  They danced back and forth for almost a whole lap, but she couldn’t find a way through. The jammer tapped both hands twice in a chopping motion against her hips, and the referee blew his whistle. Everyone skated back around to the line and reset.

  "What just happened?" I asked.

  Justin’s eyes never left the game. "The lead jammer can call it off if she’s stuck, or thinks she’s made enough points for that jam. Sometimes they do it to keep the other jammer from getting a chance to score. They all reset and try again."

  The bout went on for two more jams, and then one of the Hell Dolls was pulled out of the game for penalties. Their coach called up another player, and the emcee announced her as "Laurie Loveless."

  She stood up from the bench and skated to her place at the starting line. Her shoulders were covered in sleeves of tattoos, but that wasn’t odd. Most of the girls had at least some ink on them. I’d have to talk to Connor about advertising at these games. Something else nagged in the back of my brain as I watched her.

  The jam was on, and I kept my eyes fixed on the new girl. She kept to the rear of the pack, seemingly biding her time. The jammer for the Roller Girls broke out from the pack again and came around the track. She skated up behind Laurie, and it looked like she would pass her easily on the outside. Just as the jammer pulled up shoulder-to-shoulder with her, Laurie slammed her whole body into the girl and sent her flying out of bounds and onto the floor. The rink went silent for a split-second – just long enough to hear a crack ring out like a gunshot.

  "Jesus," I said under my breath. It came out louder than I intended. Justin watched the jammer’s still form on the skate floor. One of the referees skated over to her. There was a brief exchange I couldn’t hear, and the girl rolled over onto her side. She let out an agonized scream and held her right arm, but got back up and skated toward the track. Her teammates were still engaged with the other team on the track, trying to keep back the Hell Dolls’ jammer. They boxed her in, and she wasn’t able to score before time ran out for the jam.

  The injured girl handed off her jammer panty to another player and sat down on the bench. One of the refs signaled to someone behind us and a paramedic pushed his way through the crowd. Justin seemed anxious, like he wanted to go out there himself.

  I spoke into his ear over the noise. "I don’t like that new player, Laurie."

  "I know what you mean," he said. "That was a brutal hit. Much more force than necessary."

  "No, no," I said. "I mean, there’s something off about her. The way she moves."

  "What are you saying?" he asked.

  How could I describe it? That Laurie Loveless moved like a wolf? I sighed. "Never mind, it’s probably nothing."

  If ever there was a sport where a wolf could let out their aggression without anyone the wiser, it was roller derby. I watched both teams line up again. This time Laurie was the Hell Dolls’ jammer. She pushed her way through the pack with seemingly no effort, leaving the Roller Girls off balance. They regrouped and prepared for her to come around the second time. This time they crowded together and kept the Hell Dolls from making a hole for her.

  Laurie burst into the pack and slinked past one, two, three of the other team’s girls and under the arms of the front of the pack. She was free and clear without so much as a nudge of the hip. Was I the only one here that thought this was odd? She slipped through them like water, changing direction on her skates with fluid precision.

  I watched Laurie Loveless for the rest of the bout. The Hell Dolls may have been new, but Laurie kept the scores close with every jam. She sent one girl out of bounds on her back, and twisted another one’s ankle. All of this was done with legal–but brutal—hits.

  The first jammer she injured—to her credit—came back and played in the final jam, even though I could tell she was in pain. The Roller Girls banded together and scored enough to tip the bout to their favor, but only just.

  Once the final jam was over, Justin looked at me. "I’m really sorry to do this, but I’d like to see how those injured girls are doing. You can come with, if you want."

  "No, I’m good," I said. "Go do your doctor thing. I want to mingle with some of these roller girls for a bit. Come get me when you’re done."

  Justin nodded, and headed out onto the floor. I threaded my way over to a table where some of the Rocket City girls were selling T-shirts and chatting up the Hell Dolls. For all the ferocity they showed on the track, they laughed and traded war stories like old friends. I approached one of the Rocket City girls who sat off on her own, drinking some water. She was small, almost my size, but solid muscle. Her helmet said "Kat-Aclysm" and was covered in leopard spots.

  "Hi," I said. "I’m sorry to bother you, Kat? Have you seen Laurie Loveless around here? I wanted to talk to her about the game."

  Kat laughed. "Yeah, you and me both. I want to know where she came from. She’s not a regular for this area, that’s for damned sure."

  "I don’t understand," I said.

  Kat took off her helmet and wiped her forehead with a towel. Her hair was blonde, done in a pixie-cut. "She’s a ringer. Somebody brought her in, could be from out of state. There are rules about that. Anyway, neither one of us is in luck. She bailed out the back not two or three minutes ago. If you run, you might catch her."

  I thanked her and did just that, bursting out the back door to see…nothing. I scanned the parking lot behind the rink, but didn’t see any sign of Laurie. Aside from Slate and Dree, she was the first female wolf I’d encountered recently. She was obviously no victim, which meant
only one thing.

  "Fuck," I said to no one in particular. "Now I’ll have to start hunting women, too."

  Somehow I doubted Justin would object to the idea.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Justin got called in on our way back to my place after the bout. He called me and apologized.

  "I had fun tonight," he said. "I want to see you again. Maybe somewhere less public."

  "Promises, promises," I said. "Go play doctor. We’ll talk later."

  I didn’t hear anything from him by the next Friday, so I went out alone. I was not the type of girl to sit pining for a phone call. For the first time in a long while, I visited Thermal without the intention of killing someone. Girl’s got to get out once in a while, right? Henry was behind the bar as usual. I sat down and flipped a scarlet curl out of my eyes.

  “No one for you yet, PJ,” Henry said. He placed a napkin in front of me. “Having your usual?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m feeling old fashioned tonight.”

  He smiled and pulled out whiskey and bitters. “What has you thinking, my friend?”

  “Henry, do you follow your family history?”

  Two cherries and a slice of orange took a swim in the whiskey before settling on the bottom. “Of course,” he said. “It is important to know where you come from.”

  “See, I think that too. My mom didn’t see it that way. She kept me away from Poppa any chance she could. I think she was ashamed of us for some reason. Maybe that’s why she never took back her name.”

  Henry set my drink in front of me. “Perhaps there was more to it than you know.”

  “Like what?”

  He shook his head, and I saw behind the usual smiling man I knew for a brief second. Had I hit on something personal? Another woman further down the bar waved at him. Before he left, he touched my hand and leaned in, speaking quietly.

  “A name has power. It can give you strength, or take it away. An enemy who knows your name is a dangerous one.”