Running in the Dark

by Regan Summers

  “I have to go,” he murmured in my ear. “This damn job. I wish I could stay.”

  “Sure,” I breathed, not releasing him.

  “You’ll be careful?”

  “When am I not careful?” I raked a hand down his chest and leaned my head back. I only meant to look at him, but the second my throat was exposed one large hand fisted in my short hair. The other pressed hard into my lower back and a cold jolt rushed up my spine.

  His fangs lengthened, sliding hard and wet against the skin of my neck. I breathed shallowly and started building a slow mental list of the defects of the Tercel, doing my very best to fade away and allow him to control himself. He made a low frustrated noise, then brushed one fang back and forth against my pulse point. The tip pressed against my skin, and I flinched.

  And then he was gone.

  I staggered back, bumping hard against the counter. At the rear of the house, a door slammed. I let out the breath I was holding, walked to the sink and rubbed my hands together under a stream of cold water. In the mirror, outlined with delicate ivy leaves in a stylized imitation of the window an aboveground kitchen would have, my reflection was pale. I turned my head and ran my fingers over the small, red mark on my neck. It wasn’t much, like I’d scratched at it or a mosquito had bitten me.

  My brain calmly reminded me that Malcolm didn’t bite me, and my heart—fluttering in a bad way—offered up a single rebuttal. Not yet. He’d been a little off when I arrived, and not because we hadn’t seen each other for a few days. I was late and he’d waited for me. He’d kept waiting when he probably should have been off feeding. Maybe I should tell him that I wouldn’t mind if he kept blood around the house. Of course, that meant I’d live in a house stocked with blood, and worse, that we’d have to talk about it.

  I filled my glass with wine and climbed into an oversized butter-soft chair. The walls made creaky little house sounds around me, but otherwise the place was silent. I had no lover. No dinner. Nobody to talk to. God, I was a lost dog away from being the main character in a country song.

  My fingers itched for my phone, safe in my car. I wanted to call Innsbruck and Oester, regardless of what time it was back in Anchorage. To argue routes with McHenry while he tried to calculate payroll. To gossip with Rogers and ask how many ice-parkour runs he’d managed during the winter. If he’d broken anything snowboarding. If he was pining for some new and inappropriate girl. To tell them what I’d been up to and see how they’d react to news of their grizzled vet shacking up with a vampire. Probably not well.

  Not that it mattered. Calling home was tantamount to shooting off a flare gun. Master Bronson still had a mole in his organization, and I&O worked alongside him, the sole courier in the small city. Calling home equaled suicide, and I’d always been a “die another day” kind of girl.

  I fetched my iPod from the car, settled back into the chair and cycled up my Spanish immersion podcast. An overly chipper woman with endless black hair stared at me expectantly. Might as well learn something useful while I had the time.

  “Buenos dias, Carmen.” I saluted her with the glass as she assured me we’d have a great time finding la biblioteca. I glanced sidelong into the darkened kitchen.

  Yeah, Malcolm was everything I’d hoped for.

  Everything but here.

  Chapter Four

  “You just got some luck,” Jace called out as she leaned on her hood with tented fingers and eased it closed. “La rubia got herself…” She yelled a question at Carla through the open door to the office. My mind cycled through things the blonde could have gotten herself. Killed. A speeding ticket. A pet dog.

  “Drunk,” Carla said, bustling into the garage in a red leather skirt and satiny gold blouse. “La niña is smaller than a…a piece of grass, tries to drink along with Jacinta. Es tonta, pero esto es una suerte para ti.” Yeah, Tilde’s state certainly was good luck for me.

  She tossed a rolled-up sheet of paper to me. I caught it with one hand and snapped the rubber band off.

  Some of the listed names I’d picked up in the shop or from talking with Malcolm. There were no small fish like Livia in sight, and the list fit on a single page. I fought back a grin. It was Tilde’s route, all same-night deliveries and a couple of handwritten add-ons.

  “Hells, yeah,” I muttered.

  “Aerin,” Jace said, dropping a heavy hand on my shoulder and grinning through her skull makeup. “Check it. Heard from a runner at Perralta’s shop that they’ve had two dead-enders this week. On their regular maps. You know what I am saying?”

  “Bodies?” I tried to sound casual, as if I stumbled upon dead people all the time, but my stomach soured at the thought. Malcolm was dealing with this too, no doubt. Rogue vamps chewing up their feeders, dead-enders and a headless nest of recluses, and he’d still tried to make me dinner. I fought down a small smile and refocused on Jace just in time to be patronized.

  “Sí. If you have any trouble, call for tia Jacinta. I’ll take care of the scary runs. Maybe I’ll even split the money with you.”

  I plucked her hand off my shoulder and dropped it. “The day I split my earnings with you is the day—”

  “Take it to the streets,” Carla said, handing Jace a stack of signature slips. The boss scowled at me and tilted her head toward the door. I followed her into her office.

  “I divided Tilde’s jobs for the night between you two. Prove to me I didn’t make a mistake.” She closed and locked the door to the garage, then opened a second door, heavy, metal, with two locks on the inside. An off-line desktop computer hummed away in the dusty closet.

  In the garage, Jace started her car and backed out. She winked through the open window. I blew her a kiss off the end of my middle finger. No doubt she’d gotten the more valuable of the jobs, but this was an opportunity. If there was one thing I’d learned in life, it was to grab opportunities and throttle the shit out of them before someone comes along and steals them.

  “I like you, Aerin,” Carla said. “I think you might be good at this job. But do not start a fight with Jace. You cannot win.”

  “I don’t know, Carla. Challenges bring out the best in me.”

  “Idiota. You have ten minutes to pull locations from the maps.”

  “I can only hope that someday I will be as good as Jace,” I said piously before shutting the door on Carla’s irritation. I matched the locations to the deliveries, plotted primary, secondary and oh-shit routes, and tried not to think about walking up to a new haunt only to find a body.

  Four dead humans in one week. I should have asked what condition the bodies were in, and why these latest hadn’t made the news. Unless the Perraltas were spreading rumors just to shake the rest of us up.

  Outside the closet the phone rang and Carla snapped out a greeting. I closed my eyes and ran the routes in my head, sliding my teeth together. There were a lot of gray spots, and I wasn’t certain the maps were current. Some of the roads around the city were in such disrepair, they were almost undriveable. Others… Carla’s voice wound tighter and louder until I opened my eyes and leaned toward door.

  The phone crashed into its cradle. Carla muttered a single curse before the office fell silent. Through the barrier of the door and the language, I couldn’t tell if she was talking to her significant other or a mail forwarder, but she sounded unhappy. Running a little shop in a city full of leering competitors had to suck. Which was why I’d never go into management. That, and because I’d probably have a mutiny by the third night.

  I powered down the computer and slipped out while Carla banged away at her keyboard. At least the higher-end vamps were considerate enough to live on roads with things like signs and multiple means of approach.

  Things were looking up.

  The first two deliveries were small, a handful of thin envelopes each. The vampires were cold and calm, barely acknowledging me, and my clipboard practically made a ka-ching noise as I drove away from them. The third was a challenge. Señor Vega was not at his upscale pentho
use, with its view of the entire Santiago bowl, and his primary residence was in the foothills east of the city. I wound my way past large cookie-cutter houses to a series of compounds set back from the road. The car whined pitifully as the road grew steeper, setting me apart even farther from the smattering of luxury vehicles that rumbled past.

  I pulled into a circular drive and leaned over the wheel, squinting at the square structure—possibly a garage—with a larger building lurking behind. It was chilly in the hills, that humid kind of cold that seeps into your muscles and sets your nose dripping. I zipped my jacket and flipped my laminate out. My bag bumped reassuringly against my hip and I held the clipboard out as I walked toward the house. The lights on the outside of the garage building raised the wavering silhouette of a courier beside me.

  A black limousine purred idly in front of the house, a shadow of a driver visible through the dark tint. It had fat tires and a low, square profile and probably weighed fifteen hundred pounds more than a human model. The low vibration it gave off spoke of strength, and called to me on a primitive level. Vampires ruined normal vehicles, but they occasionally traveled in these enhanced cars, full of steel and some kind of insulation that kept them from disrupting the electronics. I wouldn’t mind getting behind the wheel of one of those babies someday, just to see what a V-12 feels like.

  A ten-foot-tall door swung open in front of me. The sucker who came through it was bald, mean looking and disconcertingly dressed in a short-sleeved, pastel argyle sweater.

  “Tengo un paquete para Señor Vega,” I said, hoping he would hear my wretched accent and speak slowly. His brown eyes narrowed on the eyeliner spiderweb veiling the top half of my face. His arm rose slowly; then his hand flicked out and I realized he was gesturing for me to enter. The door banged closed when he followed me in.

  Two young wine-palm trees flanked the door, and I stopped sharp at the sight of three more vampire guards just beyond them. Light rolled through their eyes like multicolored headlights through dense fog, and their energy ricocheted off the high walls. I swallowed and made a show of looking around. It wasn’t a building so much as a courtyard. The doors I’d come through, as well as the ornate metal set facing me, were large enough to drive a Hummer through. The ground was stone—blues, greens and reds set in a circular pattern that darkened toward the center. The guard behind me pointed over my shoulder, silently herding me to my right, past more trees and a merry fountain. It would have been a pleasant place if it hadn’t felt as if everyone inside of it was waiting for shit to go down. We stopped in front of a Dutch door, the top half ajar.

  I hoped that this Señor Vega didn’t have a temper. He wasn’t a master, but he must have been powerful to have such a sweet setup and multiple, capable-looking guards. Master Bronson had a temper. I’d never directly experienced it, but I’d seen his people when he was in a snit. They acted a lot like this, and on nights when they were keyed up, bad things happened. Blood lounges were turned inside out. Punishments were meted out to disappointing members of the community with that detached sadism that vampires were so good at. Nervous couriers wet themselves in elaborate courtyards. Okay, that had never happened, but we don’t have a lot of courtyards in Alaska.

  The half door swung the rest of the way open and a slender, greasy-haired vampire leaned out, his eyes dancing from person to person. Vamps come in all shapes and sizes and, more importantly, abilities. This one looked like he could smell anxiety, and that he liked it.

  He unlatched the bottom half of the door and strutted out, his pelvis somehow moving slightly ahead of the rest of his body. I didn’t roll my eyes. I didn’t snort. I didn’t do anything except repeat the delivery line. Because I am a goddamn professional.

  “I am Lalo,” he said, his eyes fixing on my chest. “And you are new.” I was endlessly glad I was wearing my coat. He flicked his hand and I held up my laminate. He shook his head and pointed higher, toward my zipper. Shit.

  “Take it off.” He smirked, the expression saturating his words. “Muestranos lo que tienes.”

  He wanted to search me. It was within their rights, and the new kid always gets a hard time. I’d been questioned to the point of interrogation, patted down, and made to wait for hours. Of course, that had been in Anchorage, where I was part of the only shop in town—and therefore treated with some instant respect—and where I’d spoken the language. Unlike Livia and Muttonchops, these boys knew security, which meant I might soon find myself in a bad position. I couldn’t give the right answer if I couldn’t understand the question.

  “Bueno,” I said with forced cheerfulness. I dragged the zipper slowly, pulled back one side of the coat and shrugged out of it, then transferred the clipboard to my other hand and repeated the gesture. My coat fell to the ground.

  The vamp behind Lalo stared at the back of the weasel’s greasy head with a flat expression on his face. It was that poker-face thing suckers do when they’re hiding their reactions, and whatever this guy felt for Lalo, it was strong, and it wasn’t positive. Interesting.

  “Turn,” Lalo said. I kept my mouth clamped shut and turned, but only got a hundred and eighty degrees before he said, “Stop.”

  I was face to burly shoulder with the stoic guard who’d brought me in. The dude was massive, but that I didn’t mind. What I did mind was shifty little Lalo behind me. He moved closer and the cold prickles of his energy made goose bumps rise along my arms. His breath heated the back of my neck.

  “These clothing…they is too large. Move your hands onto your head.” His hand brushed my side between my underarm and ribs, right at the level with my bra strap. One of the males murmured something, but fell silent when Lalo snapped back a response. So that’s how it was going to be. I bit the inside of my cheek and raised my arms, trying to go to my happy place. Of course, right then my happy place consisted of a room in which Lalo was encased in cement from the thighs down and every woman he’d ever encountered got to throw darts at him for all eternity. It wasn’t happy for everyone.

  Voices sounded from farther back in the house and the vampires stirred. Their energy rose, slithered over me like snakes. I shivered, and Lalo’s hand slid up my back, then bit down on my shoulder. At the other end of the courtyard, the double doors leading to the house flew open. A man backed out, hunched forward, his arms out and gesturing in a way that matched the pleading quality of his voice. The vampires around me zeroed in on him. Had they been dogs, they would have pointed as their hackles had risen. That, if I’d had to guess, was Señor Vega. And they did not like to see him bowing.

  A shadow crossed the space between the sets of doors and went outside. The fleeting afterimage in my eyes indicated a vampire, male and carrying a large box. God, but they could move fast when they weren’t trying to blend with humans.

  The vampires froze as a female stepped into the courtyard, stopping just outside the doorway as she scanned the place. Even across the twenty feet dividing us, I could see she was gorgeous. Tall and dark in loose black trousers and a fitted ivory turtleneck, her black hair was shaved close to her scalp. She had round cheeks, a red rosebud of a mouth and moved like a hunter who could bench-press a Buick.

  Her dark eyes fastened on me and an orange spark flickered in them. I must have flinched, because Lalo’s fingers dug in harder. Vega’s voice rose. His attention wasn’t on her, but rather back inside the house. The female’s eyes remained on me as she opened her mouth.

  And then Malcolm walked out. His expression was passive, his stride long and sure as if he were just walking down the street instead of past a supplicating vampire. He wasn’t strictly normal though. His hair was slicked back and he wore a floor-length black coat with some kind of feathery mantle that extended sharply upward. Like he’d decided he needed to go Goth and start wearing more raven. I tilted my head to the side, following the flapping lapels until my eyes reached his hand, wrapped around the head of a turquoise cane with a knobby chrome head. I inhaled sharply, every cell in my body going rigid.

/>   I hadn’t encountered Malcolm while he was working. He was Bronson’s sanctioned proxy—carrying the Master’s authority—and tonight his duties apparently included intimidating the local vampire gentry. It had always been a possibility that I would see him while working or that I’d deliver to him, and we’d agreed to ignore one another if that were to happen. I’d never anticipated that he’d be too freaking ridiculous to ignore. I bit my lip, making a short, choked sound as I swallowed laughter.

  And he, unexpectedly, forgot that he wasn’t supposed to know the green-haired courier in the process of being patted down. He stopped dead and glared at me over Vega. My heart began thumping and the big argyle vampire stepped closer, as if seeking to shield me. Vega, realizing he was no longer Mal’s focus, spun around, searching for the source of the distraction. Even after he stood, his body remained slightly twisted, the limbs too long and not quite straight, his stomach testing the strength of the buttons on the expensive suit. His reddish beetle face twisted up into a sneer.

  “Solo es un mensajero, don.” My mind tripped over the words, rearranging them until I realized he was pointing out to Malcolm how unimportant, how insignificant I was. Only a messenger. Thanks a lot, dick. He pointed at me, then the door. “Quiten el humano.”

  Ordering his guards to get me out of Malcolm’s sight, like I was the one making a spectacle of myself. I would have laughed then, but Lalo pinched the area between my neck and shoulder. I winced, and the other guard grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the Dutch door.

  I glanced back, and nearly tripped over my own feet. The female, obviously with Malcolm, raised one elegant hand and touched his cheek, turning his face toward her. She leaned close, her mouth an inch from his, and spoke to him. Without another glimpse in my direction, he walked away.