Bone Hunter

by Thea Atkinson

  I didn't think. I didn't rationalize. I just let that instinct take me wherever it would. I didn't stop running long enough to catch my breath or check to see if Maddox followed me. My feet knew the streets, my night vision knew the alleyways, the trashcans, even the rats that skittered along the walls of the buildings. Familiar smells of garlic and onions and the occasional waft of toast and cigarette smoke wrapped around me like a shawl. I felt safer in that darkness with each step.

  I would have been surprised to find myself anywhere but Fayed's bar.

  By the time I saw its neon sign above the door, and the distinct smell of urine and blood prickled its way up my nose as I crossed the threshold, I was winded and exhausted. Far more than spent. The adrenaline that had soaked my tissues when Alvin died and then propelled me along the streets finally wasted and fizzled out.

  The result was a complete collapse into the first chair I saw upon entering. Without looking to see who was in the room, I dropped my head onto my arms and let go a monsoon of tears onto the table.

  Judging by the way chairs scraped the floor and the patrons mumbled in confusion, I guessed the men were pretty uncomfortable witnessing a human woman's misery.

  I laughed into my arms at my own description of the patrons being men. What a hoot. I knew now these were not men. I'd discovered just how inhuman they were once Finn had set me to his impossible task. My blinders were no longer on. I knew every single man in this place was an otherworld creature of some sort. Witches, warlocks, Yeti's. Who knew what.

  I only knew I was a human in a room full of things that weren't. For all I knew the bar was filled with blood-sucking vampires.

  "Isabella?"

  The voice was soft and thickly accented. Fayed. I knew it without even looking up.

  "This is the only place I'm safe," I said, mumbling into my shirt sleeve.

  A chair scraped the floor and I felt him settle beside me. He smelled of fragrant spices and copper wire.

  "This is the first time I've heard of a bleeder bar being safe for a human woman," he said, and his palm settled between my shoulder blades.

  I lay my cheek on my arms as I looked at him. "Bleeder bar?" I said. "This is the first time I've heard it called that."

  His thin smile disappeared as he shrugged. "Humans pay attention to the alcohol in the bottles; creatures of the night pay attention to the humans seeing the booze. You're human," he said. "Do you think we would advertise this place that way for the beings who are not?"

  A furtive survey of the land showed me three wiry men clustered around a standing bar at the back. Fayed was watching them intently in between stealing glances at me.

  I sighed. "Why tell me now?"

  "After what we went through together here, what's the point in hiding it from you?"

  He was talking about the way Kelly the assassin had hunted me down and nearly killed me here.

  "You saved me then."

  He leaned back in his chair, propping his boots up onto the table next to me.

  "Oh yes," he said. "That I did. More times than you know. It's why you shouldn't have come back."

  "Maddox is a murderer," I blurted out and while I might have expected Fayed to protest or look surprised, he just pulled his boots back off the table and leaned close, brushing my hair from my temples.

  "Many of us are," he said as he peered into my eyes.

  I felt slightly woozy looking into them. I planted both palms on the table and sat up straight, trying to gather my thoughts into a skein that I could thread to a palpable knot of conclusion. One that articulated exactly what was bothering me when I had run to a vampire for help.

  "I just saw him kill a man."

  His eyebrow cocked ever so slightly but he said nothing. Instead, he flicked his wrist toward the cluster of men who snarled and prowled their way to the pool table, well out of earshot, I hoped.

  "And you chose to come here, where you know the place will be filled with other preternatural creatures who will kill before the night is out."

  "I feel safe here."

  "You shouldn't."

  CHAPTER 17

  My throat grew tight. How many times had I drank here, quietly assuming it was no more dangerous than Scottie's seedy bars.

  "I am safe here," I squeaked out, insistent. I had to be. I had nothing else.

  "This place is not safe for mundanes," he said and squeezed my hand. "In fact, this whole quarter is more supernatural than mundane. Those who find their way here often don't find their way home again."

  Someone placed a glass of water down beside my hand on the table, a youngish woman. She was mid-height, which meant she would be taller than me if I stood next to her. Brunette.

  She held a pitcher of water in one hand and something about the way she did it looked familiar.

  "Thanks," I said, catching her eye. "Have we met?"

  I scanned through my memory to find a match.

  She glanced briefly at Fayed as though requesting permission to speak and yet there was something behind that expression that bespoke cunningness and not demureness. I wondered if Fayed saw it.

  Fayed cleared his throat. "Ismé," he said. "Isabella, Ismé is our new server."

  My glance fleeted unwittingly to her wrist. I should have remembered the face, but it was the bruises on her skin that did it. I knew right then who she was: the server from the gala, the one I was supposed to meet for drinks. I noted that two more 'cat bites' had bloomed on her arm.

  "We have met," I said, remembering where I'd seen her before. "The museum gala. You were serving."

  I made my best effort to scan past the bite marks on her wrist because now that I knew she'd got them from feeding a vampire, I also connected just who the vampire was.

  I wasn't sure I liked knowing that.

  "You were the champagne lady," I said to cover up the way I couldn't look at her all of a sudden.

  I reached for the glass and noticed my fingers trembled. So. No less panicked than when I'd arrived despite having a good view of the door and a companionable ear. I hated that I had to clutch the glass to keep my hand from shaking.

  She gave me a narrowed eye outlined in far too much eyeliner.

  "I was there, yes," she said. "But we didn't meet."

  Then I realized she wouldn't know me. I'd been dressed as Ginger, the hot chick with the rose tattoo.

  And I'd stood her up.

  "Ouch," I said with a pitiful chuckle. As cover ups went, it wasn't my best, but I figured there was less harm in seeming to be an unnoticed and unremembered plain Jane than give away my alias from the night before.

  "Don't worry, hun," she said. "There's a lot I don't remember from that night. Things went to shit pretty quick back there if you know what I mean." She shook her head as though she were remembering it.

  I nodded. I did. It was a hell of a night. A hell of a morning. And I didn't want to go there again because that memory led me straight to Maddox.

  I turned Fayed's hand upside down on the table and laid mine against his palm. "You have to let me stay here," I said. "Just for a couple of days. I don't have anywhere else to go."

  I stared him straight in the eye. "I've gotten mixed up in something over my head and I can't go home."

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the panic at saying the words aloud suppressed.

  "Isabella," he sighed. "I can't keep my clients away from you forever. Sooner or later, one of them is going to challenge me for you. And some of them are older than I am. Some aren't even vampires. You're going to have to figure it out."

  "That's just it," I muttered. "There's nothing to figure out. There's no puzzle to solve. I'm just stuck between a rock and a rock."

  I'd lost the safety of my apartment. I'd spent all my bug-out cash on a lead that ended up taking me nowhere. I'd lost the chance to keep the glamor that kept me safe.

  If I even wanted to help the sidhe warlord now, even if I begged, how would he hear? It's not like I could call him up with my cell p
hone. I had my bug-out bag. There was an alias ID in there. I could leave the city. Scottie might not even think to look for an alias until it was too late and even then, he might not have intel on the name I used. He'd find me of course; I'd be fooling myself if I thought he'd ever give up looking, but it would take him months. Maybe years. Heck, Alvin might not have even passed on my address to Scottie before Maddox...

  "Well, before Maddox took care of that loose end."

  "Maddox? What did he do?"

  I stared at Fayed. Apparently, that last I'd said out loud. I took a drink of water; it was icy and it felt good going down, almost like putting out a hot fire in my throat. Fayed said no more, just watched me. Judging by the way his face softened, I must be looking better by the minute. Less frantic.

  He laid his hand on mine when I put the glass back down. I expected his touch to be cold, but it was searing the way ice can be if left on your skin too long. I ran my gaze along his forearm to his face. He caught my eyes with his and held them. When he spoke, a pin dropping in the room would have been louder than his voice, and yet I could hear each word as though they were my own thoughts.

  "What does this someone want from you that you would run here to a blood bar instead of your own home?" His gaze narrowed, and I thought behind those gorgeous lashes the eyes had turned blood red. "What did Maddox do to you?"

  "Not Maddox," I said. "Not really." I wasn't sure why I was defending a murderer, except that the murderer had relieved me of some pretty horrible physical pain. He didn't deserve for me to imply he'd done me harm when he hadn't.

  "Who, then?" That heavy weight of his gaze again, seeing beyond my eyes to the back of my skull. "What's going on?"

  I felt compelled to explain everything, but the long habit of secrecy instilled by fists and barbed words kept my tongue silent. I had to weigh the consequences, figure out if things could get worse or better.

  He waited patiently, as though he fully expected me to answer and it was that expectation that did it. I told him everything I knew, everything that had happened.

  Talking it out helped some. It helped me see I had few choices anyway, the way I saw it. Two, to be exact.

  "I can either help the fae warlord and get my glamor back, or I can leave the city," I said.

  "Helping any fae is not a good idea."

  "Leave the city it is, then," I said and pushed myself to my feet. "I've already seen what owing the fae means." I looked down at him. "Pinning my hopes on magic to help me was my first mistake. I won't make it again."

  He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Be sure you don't," he said. "Fae magic can't be trusted."

  "You sound like you speak from experience."

  He got to his feet, too, and laid his hand on my shoulder. The way he looked down at me, I knew he understood the sense of hopelessness and wanted to at least make me feel less alone.

  "There's always a cost you don't expect, Isabella. One that's hidden within the request. They ask things in riddles so it can be twisted and tainted to their own ends. More bang for their magical buck."

  "Got it," I said. "Do not help the fae find his bone." I laughed out loud at the words. They sounded sexual, and the thought that I could laugh meant I was beginning to feel as though a crucial decision had made its way through my psyche.

  I leaned over to plant a kiss on Fayed's cheek. I did feel a thousand pounds lighter. I felt as though I could put it all behind me: Scottie, the fae warlord, Maddox.

  I clicked my heels together the way Dorothy did at her own decision. It wasn't as though I could pretend a supernatural realm didn't exist; I'd never be able to forget that, but I could at least start over. Out of Scottie's reach. And without that threat, I wouldn't need the fae or Maddox.

  I should have left weeks ago.

  "I'm glad my feet brought me here." I smiled for him, so he'd know just how glad I was. Especially since I wouldn't see him again.

  "Think nothing of it," he said and tapped his fingers on the table top. He looked uncomfortable, awkward. It was best I just leave now, and I tilted an imaginary hat before spinning on my heel.

  "Isabella?" he said, catching my wrist.

  I halted and faced him, expectant.

  He heaved a sigh that shuddered all the way down to his shoulders, then he went to the bar and hit a button on the cash register. He pulled out a wad of cash and when he came back, he stuffed it into my hand. I knew what he was doing, and I felt a rush of gratitude that he would fund my departure this way.

  "I'll pay you back," I said.

  His mouth twitched, and he shook his head.

  "Don't take this the wrong way," he said. "But don't come back."

  I glanced at the men in the corner and saw they were watching us intently. I shivered without meaning to.

  "Don't worry," I said. "I'm good as gone. Colin will have to fetch his own bone from a bunch of vampires. I won't be his towel-girl."

  "Seethe," he said, correcting me. "A bunch of vampires is called a seethe."

  "Got that too," I said. "Not that it will matter if I'm lucky."

  "Vampires exist right here, Isabella. We don't travel world to world like the fae or the gods. We used to be human. Our energies exist here with our bodies. It's our souls that are in a different realm."

  "So you have souls?"

  "Used to," he said. "And I feel its loss like a phantom limb. Many of us do."

  He leaned against the bar.

  "Sometimes the best of us find a way to use that specter soul as a sort of replacement. Most of us don't. But make no mistake: we are everywhere."

  As I strode to the door, I could hear him behind me rattling glasses. I didn't need to turn around to know he was back at the bar.

  I was out into the cool night air before I realized I'd left my bug-out bag on the table and I turned with a grin toward the door, a joke about being gone too long on my tongue.

  But some movement caught my eye and I paused, trying to see out into the alley past the garbage bins and shadowy trees.

  The girl from the museum crouched in the middle of the alley, looking for all the world like she was handwashing a bit of laundry in a dirty puddle left over from the rain.

  I wasn't sure if it was the neon lights, but the water didn't look right. It had a cast to it, a reddish glint where the light hit it. And the garment she was rinsing looked familiar. It was silky and khaki green.

  The dress I'd worn to the museum, I realized, and even as my mind cast about for the explanation why she would have my dress and how she might have gotten it, she stood in front of me.

  She pulled the dress along with her and it snaked down her side like coils of entrails.

  That's when I noticed she was naked.

  And covered in blood.

  CHAPTER 18

  My first reaction was a protective one. Whatever she was doing standing there in the middle of the alleyway, naked and covered in blood, would come second to making sure she wasn't fatally hurt.

  I started to dig through my bug-out bag for my cell phone but realized I must have left it on the table inside. I had no idea what to do for her. Even if she wasn't in mortal danger, she had to be traumatized and rushing her would no doubt send whatever vestiges of sanity running for the exits.

  Whatever had done that to her couldn't have made it an easy go.

  I called over my shoulder to Fayed and then regretted it. I was too shrill. It would scare her.

  My stomach was in knots at the way she looked. Maybe it was already too late.

  I took my time advancing on her and she held her ground like a deer about to bolt. I splashed through the puddle and a spray of water shot up beneath my T-shirt and soaked my clothes. It seeped in over my shoes. I didn't expect it to be so cold.

  If it was that cold on my feet, shod in sneakers, no doubt she was freezing. How long had she been out there? Had one of the vampires from inside accosted her?

  I held my hands out toward her, reaching in a way I hoped wasn't threatening. Th
e last thing I wanted to do was spook her.

  "It's okay, honey," I said, keeping my voice low and calm. "It's okay. You're safe now."

  I had no idea if that was true, but it could be. And it certainly seemed the right thing to say.

  "Are you a vampire?" she said.

  "No," I said. "Nothing like that. I just want to help you."

  She twisted her head so that it faced the door to the bar and yet still somehow managed to show me full view of a face lacking any expression. Deadpan. That's what it was. She was in shock. If she wasn't so obviously hurt, I'd be creeped out by that look.

  I was only a few feet away, so close to touching her, but not close enough. I tried to see past all the blood to find wounds or bruises, cuts or bite marks. My mind was already reeling with what I'd have to do if she had some unseen gusher somewhere. I tried to flicker back to my First Aid training and came up with nothing but CPR instructions. Where in the hell was Fayed?

  Her gaze flicked from the door back to me. "Not a vampire," she said. "But a friend of vampires."

  Whatever knots had twisted through my stomach were nothing to the sound of accusation in her voice.

  "I'm no friend of anything that would hurt a young girl."

  Incredibly, she took a step toward me. A rush of hope made me gasp. I nodded at her stupidly.

  "That's it," I said. "I want to help."

  One more step. This time much steadier. I felt my heart slow down.

  "That's right, honey," I said. "I can help."

  I took another step through the water and this time it got me close enough that I could touch her with my fingers if I reached out. I swallowed. Nervous.

  She held out the bloody dress to me and I plucked it from her grasp with a rush of relief. The worst was over. She was going to let me close. Let me help.

  The cloth was cold and wet and still slimy in my grip, and all I could think to do with it was to toss it at the nearest dumpster. It landed a few feet away, coiling into a thing that looked like wet viscera.

  With careful, quiet movements, I pulled off my coat and held it out to her with one hand. I waited to see if she'd run, faint, or collapse.

  She did none of them. Buoyed, I leaned close so I could wrap it over her shoulders, pulled it tightly together. I had the presence of mind to run my hand along her throat and wrists, checking for wounds or gaping cuts or something that would account for the amount of blood. But even as my fingers touched her skin, I realized that the blood was nothing but a trick of the light. There was no fluid on her skin. It was dry and unblemished and soft like the fuzz of the newborn's. Perhaps too soft, the way the foam of dishwater feels as you plunge your hand in beneath the bubbles.