I deposited my bag onto my desk and checked my answering machine. A big red zero looked back at me from the digital display. No messages. Shocking.
I walked to the windows and pulled up the shades. Morning light flooded the room, sectioned by the thick metal bars securing the glass. I unlocked the door on the off chance any prospective clients happened by. It was a huge door, thick and reinforced with steel. I had a feeling that if someone fired a cannon at it, the cannon ball would just bounce off and roll down the street.
I went back to the kitchen, flipped the coffeemaker on, came back to my desk, and landed in my chair. A stack of bills lay in front of me. I gave it an evil eye, but it refused to squeal and take off for the hills.
I sighed, pulled a throwing knife out, and opened the cheap brown envelopes. Electric bill. Water bill. Charged-air bill for the feylanterns. Trash collector bill with a threatening notice to do irreparable harm to my person unless I paid the bill. An envelope from the trash collector with the check for the bill returned. The trash company insisted on misspelling my name as Donovan, despite repeated corrections, and when I sent them the payment, they failed to find my account. Even though I put the account number on the damn check.
We’d gone through this song and dance twice now. I had a feeling that if I walked into their office and carved my name in the wall with my sword, they’d still manage to get it wrong.
I leaned back. Being in the office put me into a sour mood. I’d never had my own business before. I’d worked for a Mercenary Guild, which handled magic hazmat, took the money, and asked no questions. Then I’d worked for the Order of Knights of Merciful Aid, which delivered that violent aid on their terms only. The Order and I had parted ways, and now I owned Cutting Edge Investigations. The business officially opened its doors a month ago. I had a solid street reputation and decent connections. I took out an ad in a newspaper, I put the word out on the street, and so far nobody had hired me to do a damn thing.
It drove me nuts. I’d had to rely on the Pack to finance the business, and they had fronted my utility bills for a year. They gave me the loan not because I was an efficient and skilled fighter and not because I at one point had Friend of the Pack status. They gave it to me because I was mated to Curran, which made me the female alpha of the Pack. So far Cutting Edge was turning out to be one of those pet businesses rich men gave to their wives to keep them busy. I wanted it to succeed, God damn it. I wanted to be profitable and stand on my own two feet. If things kept going this way, I would be forced to run up and down the street screaming, “We kill things for money.” Maybe someone would take pity and throw some change at me.
The phone rang. I stared at it. You never know. It could be a trick.
The phone rang again. I picked it up. “Cutting Edge.”
“Kate.” A dry voice vibrated with urgency.
Long time no kill. “Hello, Ghastek.” And what would Atlanta’s premier Master of the Dead want with me?
When a victim of the Immortuus pathogen died, his mind and ego died with him, leaving a shell of the body, superstrong, superfast, lethal, and ruled only by bloodlust. Masters of the Dead grabbed hold of that empty shell and drove the vampire like a remote-controlled car. They dictated the vampire’s every twitch, saw through its eyes, heard through its ears, and spoke through its mouth. In the hands of an exceptional navigator, a vampire was the stuff of human nightmares. Ghastek, like ninety percent of vampire navigators, worked for the People, a cringeworthy hybrid of a cult, corporation, and research facility. I hated the People with a passion and I hated Roland, the man who led them, even more.
Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers. If Ghastek was calling, it was because he wanted a favor, which would mean he’d owe me. Having the best Master of the Dead in the city in my debt would come in handy in my line of work. “What can I do for you?”
“A loose vampire is heading your way.”
Bloody hell. Without a navigator, an insatiable hunger drove the bloodsuckers to slaughter. A loose vampire would massacre anything it came across. It could kill a dozen people in half a minute.
“What do you need?”
“I’m less than twelve miles behind her. I need you to delay her, until I come into range.”
“From which direction?”
“Northwest. And Kate, try not to damage her. She’s expensive . . .”
I dropped the phone and dashed outside, bursting into almost painfully cold air. People filled the street—laborers, shoppers, random passersby hurrying home. Food to be slaughtered. I sucked in a lungful of cold and screamed, “Vampire! Loose vampire! Run!”
For a fraction of a second nothing happened, and then people scattered like fish before a shark. In a breath I was alone.
The parking lot chain I’d unlocked this morning lay coiled next to the building, the padlock hanging open. Perfect.
Two seconds to the parking lot.
A second to yank the padlock off the ground.
Three more seconds to drag the chain to an old tree.
Too slow. I looped the chain around the trunk and worked the other end into a slipknot with the padlock.
I needed blood to bait the vamp. Lots and lots of blood.
A team of oxen turned the corner. I ran at them, drawing a throwing knife. The driver, an older Latino man, stared at me. His hand reached for a rifle lying on the seat next to him.
“Get off! Loose vampire!”
He scrambled out of the cart. I sliced a long shallow gash down the ox’s shoulder and ran my hands along the cut. Hot crimson drenched my fingers.
The ox bellowed, eyes mad with pain, and charged off, pulling the other animal with it, the cart thundering behind them.
I grabbed the chain loop.
An emaciated shape leaped off the rooftop. Ropes of muscle knotted its frame under skin so tight that every ligament and vein stood out beneath it. The vampire landed on the pavement on all fours, skidded, its long sickle claws scraping the asphalt with a screech, and whirled. Ruby eyes glared at me from a horrible face. Massive jaws gaped open, showing sharp fangs, bone-white against the black mouth.
I waved my hands, sending bloody droplets through the air.
The vampire charged.
It all but flew above the ground with preternatural speed, straight at me, pulled by the intoxicating scent of blood.
I waited, my heartbeat impossibly loud in my ears. I’d have only one shot at this.
The vampire leaped, covering the few feet between us. It flew, limbs out, claws raised for the kill.
I thrust the chain loop up and over its head.
Its body hit me. The impact knocked me off my feet. I crashed to the ground and rolled upright. The vamp lunged at me. The chain snapped taut on its throat, yanking the undead off the pavement. The bloodsucker fell and sprung up, twisting and jerking on the end of the chain like a feral cat caught in a loop of a dogcatcher’s pole.
I took several steps back and took in a lungful of air.
The vampire flipped and lunged in my direction. The tree shook and groaned. It dug at the chain noose around its neck, gouging the undead flesh with its claws. Blood spurted from under the chain. Either it would snap the tree or the chain would slice its throat.
The bloodsucker threw itself at me again, snapping the chain taut, and fell to the ground, its leap aborted. It picked itself up and sat. Intelligence flooded into its burning red eyes. The huge jaws unhinged and Ghastek’s voice came forth.
“A chain?”
“You’re welcome.” About time he decided to make an appearance. “I cut an ox to get the vamp fixed on me. You need to compensate the owner.” The ox was its owner’s livelihood. No reason for him to get hurt because the People couldn’t keep their undead on a proper leash.
“Of course.”
You bet your ass, of course. An ox cost about a grand. A vampire, especially one as old as this one, went for about thirty times that.
The vampire squatted in the snow. “How did
you manage to get a chain on her?”
“I have mad skills.” I wanted to sag against something, but showing weakness of any sort in front of Ghastek wasn’t a good idea. I might as well taunt a rabid wolf with a pork roast. My face was hot, my hands were cold. My mouth tasted bitter. The adrenaline rush was wearing off.
“What the hell happened?” I asked.
“One of Rowena’s journeymen fainted,” Ghastek said. “The woman is pregnant. It happens. Needless to say, she’s now barred from navigation.”
The journeymen, Masters of the Dead in training, were perfectly aware that if their control over the undead slipped, the vampire would turn the city into a slaughterhouse. They had nerves like fighter pilots pre-Shift. They didn’t faint. There was more to it, but Ghastek’s tone made it clear that getting any more information out of him would take a team of lawyers and a medieval torture device.
Just as well. The less I interacted with the People, the better. “Did it kill anybody?”
“There were no casualties.”
My pulse finally slowed down.
Several blocks away to my right, a Humvee swung into the street at breakneck speed. Armored like a tank, it carried an M240B, a medium machine gun, mounted on the roof. A PAD First Response Unit. The PAD, part of Atlanta’s Finest, dealt specifically with magic-related issues. The First Response Unit was their version of SWAT. They shot first and sorted through the bloody remains later.
“Cavalry,” I said.
The vampire grimaced, mimicking Ghastek’s expression. “Of course. The jocks got all dressed up to kill a vampire and now they won’t get to shoot the big gun. Kate, would you mind stepping closer? Otherwise they might shoot her anyway.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. I moved to body-shield the vampire. “You owe me.”
“Indeed.” The bloodsucker rose next to me, waving its front limbs. “There is no need for concern. The matter is under control.”
A black SUV turned the corner into the street from the left. The two vehicles came to a screeching stop in front of me and the vampire. The Humvee disgorged four cops in blue Paranormal Activity Division armor.
The tallest of the four cops leveled a shotgun at the vamp and snarled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could’ve killed half of the city!”
The SUV’s door opened and Ghastek stepped out. Thin and somber, he wore a perfectly pressed gray suit with a barely visible pinstripe. Three members of the People emerged from the SUV behind him, a man and two women: a thin brunette and a red-haired woman who looked barely old enough to wear a suit. All three were meticulously groomed and would’ve looked at home in a high-pressure boardroom.
“There is no need to exaggerate.” Ghastek strode to the vampire. “No lives were lost.”
“No thanks to you.” The tall cop showed no signs of lowering the shotgun.
“She’s completely safe now,” Ghastek said. “Allow me to demonstrate.” The vampire rose from its haunches and curtsied.
The PAD collectively turned purple with rage.
I backpedaled toward my office, before they decided to remember I was there and drag me into this mess.
“See? I have complete control of the unde—” Ghastek’s eyes rolled back into his head. His mouth went slack. For a long second he remained upright, his body completely still, and then his legs gave. He swayed once and crashed into the dirty snow.
The vampire’s eyes flared bright murderous red. It opened its mouth, revealing twin sickles of ivory fangs.
The PAD opened fire.
CHAPTER 2
THE GUNS ROARED.
The first bullet sliced into the vampire’s chest, punched through dry muscle, and bit Ghastek’s journeyman in the shoulder. He spun from the impact, and the steady stream of rounds from the M240B punctured the vampire and cut across the journeyman’s spine, nearly severing him in two. Blood sprayed.
The women hit the ground.
The bullets chipped the pavement. Half a foot to the right and Ghastek’s head would’ve exploded like a watermelon under a sledgehammer. I dived under gunfire, grabbed Ghastek’s legs, and pulled him out of the line of fire, backing up to my office.
The women crawled toward me across the pavement.
The vamp twisted around, shuddering under the barrage of bullets, leaped onto the fallen man, and tore into his back, flinging blood and flesh into the air.
I dragged Ghastek’s body over the doorstep and dropped him. Behind me, a woman screamed. I ran back, jumping over the dark-haired woman as she pulled herself through my doorway. In the street, the redheaded girl hugged the ground, clenching her thigh, her eyes huge as saucers. Blood stained the snow with painfully bright scarlet. Shot in the leg.
She was too far out in the street. I had to get her out of here before the vamp keyed on her or the PAD shot her again.
I dropped to the ground, crawled to her, grabbed her arm, and pulled with everything I had. She screamed, but slid a foot toward me across the pockmarked asphalt flooded with melting snow. I backed up and pulled again. Another scream, another foot to the door.
Breathe, pull, slide.
Breathe, pull, slide.
Door.
I pushed her inside, slammed the door shut, and barred it. It was a good door, metal, reinforced, with a four-inch bar. It would hold. It had to.
A wide red stain spread on the floor from the wounded woman’s leg. I knelt down and sliced her pant leg open. Blood spurted out of bullet-shredded muscle. The leg was ripped wide open. Bone shards glared at me, bathed in wet redness. Femoral artery cut, great saphenous vein cut, everything cut. Femur shattered.
Shit.
We would need a tourniquet.
“You! Put pressure here!”
The dark-haired girl stared at me with shocked glassy eyes. No intelligent life there. Every second counted.
I grabbed the redhead’s hand and put it over her femoral artery. “Hold or you’ll bleed out.”
She moaned but pressed down.
I ran to the storeroom to get the medical supplies.
Tourniquets were last resort devices. Mine was the C-A-T, military issue, but no matter how good it was, if you kept one on too long, you risked major nerve damage, loss of a limb, and death. And once it went on, it stayed on. Taking it off outside an emergency room would get you killed in a hurry.
I needed paramedics, but calling them would do nothing. Standard operating procedure said, when faced with a loose vampire, seal off the area. The ambulance wouldn’t come unless the cops gave the paramedics the all-clear. It was just me, the tourniquet, and a girl who would likely bleed her life out.
I knelt by the woman and pulled the C-A-T out of the bag.
“No!” The girl tried to push away from me. “No, I’ll lose my leg!”
“You’re bleeding to death.”
“No, it’s not that bad! It doesn’t hurt!”
I gripped her shoulders and propped her up. She saw the shredded mess of her thigh. “Oh God.”
“What’s your name?”
She sobbed.
“Your name?”
“Emily.”
“Emily, your leg has almost been amputated. If I put the tourniquet on it now, it will stop the bleeding and you might survive. If I don’t put it on, you’ll bleed to death in minutes.”
She clutched at me, crying into my shoulder. “I’ll be a cripple.”
“You’ll be alive. And with magic, your chances of keeping your leg are pretty good. You know, medmages heal all sorts of wounds. But we’ve got to keep you alive until the magic wave hits. Yes?”
She just cried, big tears rolling down her face.
“Yes, Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I slipped the band under her leg, threaded it through the buckle, pulled it tight, and wound the windlass until the bleeding stopped.
Four minutes later the gunfire finally died. Ghastek was still out. His pulse was steady, his breathing even.
Emily lay still, whimpering in pain, her leg cinched by the wide tourniquet cuff. Her friend hugged herself, rocking back and forth and mumbling over and over, “They shot at us, they shot at us.”
Peachy.
That was the problem with the People: most of them saw action only through the vampire’s eyes while they sat in a safe, well-armored room within the Casino, sipping coffee and indulging in an occasional sugary snack. Getting shot at while riding a vampire’s mind and dodging actual bullets were two different animals.
A loud bang resonated through the door. A male voice barked. “Atlanta Paranormal Squad. Open the door.”
The dark-haired girl froze. Her voice fell to a horrified whisper. “Don’t open it.”
“Don’t worry. I got it under control.” Sort of.
I slid a narrow panel aside, revealing a two-inch-by-four-inch peephole. A shadow shifted to my left—the officer had pressed against the wall so I couldn’t shoot him through the opening.
“Did you get the vamp?”
“We got it. Open the door.”
“Why?”
There was a small pause. “Open. The. Door.”
“No.” They were hot from killing the vampire and still trigger-happy. There was no telling what they would do if I let them in.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Why do you need me to open the door?”
“So we can apprehend the sonovabitch who dropped a loose vampire in the middle of the city.”
Great. “You just killed one member of the People in the cross fire, wounded another, and you want me to let you have the rest of the witnesses. I don’t know you well enough to do that.”
The PAD generally stuck to the straight and narrow, but there were certain things one didn’t do: you didn’t turn over a cop’s killer to his partner and you didn’t surrender a necromancer to the First Response Unit. They were all volunteer, and sanity was an optional requirement. If I gave Ghastek and his people to them, there was a good chance they would never make it to the hospital. The official term was “died of their injuries en route.”
The male voice huffed. “How about this: open the door or we’ll break it down.”
Magic Slays kd-5 Page 2
