by Sharon Green
"Here comes the ambulance," one of the uniforms announced. They'd opened a couple of the wide doors of the warehouse, probably to let in some daylight to dispel the gloom, and the ambulance drove in almost up to where the two detectives stood in front of me. Two men with large carry-bags got out, one going to the moaning man and the other coming over to me.
"Just take 'er easy and we'll have you fixed up good as new in no time," the paramedic said to me, but the look in his eyes didn't match the lighthearted dismissal of his words. He saw all the blood that soaked my shirt, and probably thought I was dying. With someone else he probably would have been right.
"If you'll just bandage me some I'll be fine," I told him as he carefully rolled under the bottom of my shirt to get a look at the wound. "The slash started out being pretty bad, but I've had a few minutes to heal."
The paramedic looked at the wound, glanced at me, then quickly reached to his bag for another pair of plastic gloves to add to the pair he already wore. He should have known he couldn't catch what I had just from touching my blood, but I'd be the last one to blame him for wanting to be safe instead of sorry.
"It's not possible to heal from a wound like that in just a few minutes," Bill said, staring at my side while the paramedic brought out gauze and tape from his bag. Wilson had gone over to supervise the other paramedic and the man who would end up being arrested, which seemed to be a relief to Bill as well as to me. "The only thing that would let you heal so fast is - "
"Now you know why I'm not still with the force in New York," I said, smiling wryly at the way his words had broken off. "George here and I were partners, but we got a little too close to a gang of rogue shapeshifters. George was killed in the ambush, but I lived."
"Lived to become one of them," Bill said, and the horror was clear in his voice. "How can you - "
"How can she keep living and protecting people?" George demanded from where he "stood," turning his anger on Bill. "Just because she's a shapeshifter now and I'm dead doesn't mean we're different people! We don't blame the force for not keeping us on, or at least she doesn't blame them. Personally I think they were assholes for letting her go, but their loss is everybody else's gain."
"The bounties I collect is what lets me and our other partner keep eating while we hunt," I put in, refusing to mention that the paramedic's rush to get me bandaged was on the painful side. I also didn't mention the really weird part of my "condition." Bill was spooked enough; adding to it would have been stupid. "George doesn't need to eat, but he likes to watch while Freemont and I do. Can I take my weapons with me when I leave? You don't really need them for evidence when there's no argument about my having used them."
"I think that would be pushing it," Bill answered, glancing quickly in Wilson's direction to show what he meant without actually saying it. "If you have a local address you can be reached at you can go as soon as the paramedic is done with you, but we'll need a formal statement before you leave the area. Will you be available for the statement?"
"I'll be in to your station first thing in the morning," I assured him, finally able to breathe a little more freely now that the paramedic was through with me and packing up. "By tomorrow this gash in my side ought to be almost completely healed. I'll also need a signature on the bounty forms, so you know I won't just take off. If I don't get the signature I don't get paid."
"A reason for believing her that anyone ought to understand," George put in, his tone very dry. He was also talking about Wilson, and had chosen to be as discreet as Bill was being. "And where we are is the Embassy Suites just off route 65, between here and Nashville. You ought to know where that is."
"Do you need a ride back to the motel?" Bill asked with a nod of agreement as I got slowly to my feet. "You lost a lot of blood, and it isn't smart to drive when you might pass out."
"If one of your people will drive my rental, I'd very much appreciate the help," I said, pretending I didn't know the real reason Bill wanted to send some of his people with me. It's easy enough to mention some place as where you're staying, but that doesn't mean you're really staying there. Bill was cop enough to know better than to take my word for it, which raised him a notch in my opinion. And as soon as I agreed, Bill relaxed just a little.
"Let's get that taken care of right now," he said, gesturing me after him as he walked toward two of his patrolmen. Actually, one of them was female, but that didn't make a difference. Good cops are good cops no matter what flavor they happen to be.
The male half of the team was really quick to say he'd drive the patrol car, but all the female did was give him a dirty look before agreeing to drive my car. She and her partner were both about my size, five-seven or eight, and she had the attitude that said she had no doubt about being able to take care of herself. I'd had the same kind of confidence once, which was probably why I was now a rogue hunter. But I didn't say that.
Instead I pretended I was a little too weak to walk all the way to where I'd parked the car out of sight of the warehouse, so the two cops told me to stay where I was while they brought the car over. Once they were gone I could see/feel the way George looked at me, as if he didn't like that I'd decided to play weak and wounded.
"Stop glaring at me, George," I muttered, knowing he'd be able to hear me. "They're all happier thinking of me as an invalid, you know they are. Can you really blame them?"
"Yes." The single word was as soft as a breath of air passing on a breeze, loud enough only for me to hear it. He hated the idea that I was usually treated like a rabid animal by people who found out what I was, and I couldn't honestly say that the attitude didn't also get to me most of the time.
But these Masson police weren't really treating me that way, and so far no one had even made George's most hated joke about a black ghost. George had been pretty dark-skinned when he was alive, but as a ghost he was just as pale - in a manner of speaking - as any ghost. It also seemed to be his choice whether his clothing - usually a red turtleneck shirt, black pants and shoes, and black leather jacket - was clearly seen or nothing but a misty background.
Whichever, it wasn't easy to see him in full daylight outside, and even indoors he seemed to have the choice of being almost fully visible or no more than a wisp. I'd tried to ask him questions once about being a ghost, but he'd disappeared rather than answer. I still didn't know if he didn't want to answer or just couldn't.
When the female cop drove up in my rented Saturn, I got into the front passenger seat and immediately put on the seatbelt. That made my driver feel a little better, but there was nothing in the way of smalltalk on the way to the motel. The woman seemed to be holding herself as far away from me as she could, and as soon as she pulled the car into a parking space I expected her to hand over the key and then leave really fast with her partner. Instead she turned to me after releasing her own seatbelt.
"My partner and I will walk you to your room," she said in a totally neutral voice as she handed me the car key. "We'd hate to have you pass out in the hallway before you get to the room."
"Appreciate that," I said in the same way, then waited for her to get out of the car before I released my seatbelt and picked up my shoulder bag from the floorboards near my feet. She'd probably been given orders to make sure I had a room the way I'd said I did, but just wasn't admitting why she and her partner were going with me. But that was okay. I also hadn't mentioned George's presence in the back seat, and she hadn't noticed.
Walking up the steps to the second floor was harder on the two cops than on me, but the actual walking had very little to do with how they felt. They just didn't like being that close to me, and it also bothered them that Freemont opened the door before we reached it.
"Taz, I was so worried," Freemont said, putting out a hand toward me. "Thank you for bringing her, Officers. I'll take care of her from here."
Freemont's delighted smile made the two cops smile as well, the usual reaction Freemont got from people. He was a little smaller than me and on the thin side, but hi
s blond hair, soft blue eyes, and beautiful face made him look like an angel. But Freemont wasn't an angel, he was a human being with some of a human's very human faults, but that wasn't all he was. He was also a psychic and a very powerful precognitive, but my two escorts never stopped to ask how he'd known we were out here.
"Thanks for the help, Officers," I said as I walked toward the door Freemont held open. "Right now I need to get some sleep, but I'll be at the station tomorrow morning to make my statement."
The two cops nodded before turning away, and then I was inside the room with Freemont closing the door behind us. George was already inside, of course, and Freemont shook his head at me.
"I don't have to see it to know that you're starting to sweat," he said, putting out one hand. "Give me those clothes and I'll take care of them, and then you can sit down and eat the burgers I ordered for you."
I already knew about the burgers, and since Freemont was right about the fact that the heavy scent of blood was starting to make me sweat, I just took off the shirt and tossed it to him, then unhooked the belt that held both my holster and my knife sheath. With the belt gone and my sneakers kicked off it was easier to take off my slacks, and then I went in my underwear to the left where the food sat waiting for me in the sitting area of the suite.
There had been a time when Freemont wouldn't have been able to touch anything, let alone a shirt and pants covered in blood and shoes dotted with it, without sharing the experience, so to speak. But now, thanks to the heavy shields he'd learned how to generate, Freemont didn't get anything from what he handled unless he wanted to. Somehow my underwear had escaped getting bloodied, so I didn't have to strip down completely.
"It isn't her fault that the scent of blood is starting to get to her," George said before Freemont could turn away. "The closer to the full moon it gets, the more the scent of blood affects her. If they'd kept us much longer…"
"Of course I know it isn't her fault," Freemont answered, his tone faintly outraged. "But those very rare hamburgers will help her regain her balance, and then she'll be able to clean up without being pressured… I wasn't going to say anything until you finished eating, Taz, but you and George might as well know now. In just a few hours we're going to have visitors, but that's all I know."
"How can you know that much and nothing more?" George demanded while I finished chewing the bite of very rare hamburger I'd taken. If my mouth hadn't been full I might have gotten the same question out first.
"I - think someone might be blocking me," Freemont said with a good deal of hesitation, balling up my shirt between his hands as he half turned away. "I have no idea how they could be doing that, and I'm not sure I want to find out. I'd suggest that we leave, but I already know it won't do any good. Whoever it is has found us, and they won't lose us again."
And then he did walk away, heading toward the bathroom where he'd soak the shirt and pants until there was nothing more than a stain left. George stared after him and so did I, and if I'd been eating because of my appetite I would have stopped. But I wasn't eating just because I was hungry, so even the idea of an unavoidable meeting didn't ruin my appetite.
I just wondered how much worse our visitors would make things for us.
Chapter Two
I ate slowly enough to give Freemont enough time to be done in the bathroom, and once we'd finished our various chores I went in to wash as well as I could. By tonight I'd be able to take off the bandage and shower, although what I really wanted was a bath. But it isn't smart to soak a wound that hasn't been closed for long, so I'd shower tonight and save the bath for tomorrow.
Once I washed my face and hands I stood holding the towel and staring into the mirror above the sink. My light brown hair was almost to my shoulders and looked kind of mussed, but my face was no different from the way it always looked. Most people agreed I was pretty, and not just because of hazel eyes that changed from blue to green almost on a whim. My breasts were full compared to the leanness of the rest of my body, and it was impossible to tell what I was just by looking at me.
Closing my eyes at that point didn't change anything, but in a small way the darkness helped. Getting wounded myself first had actually been a blessing, because I hadn't noticed all the spilled blood until I began to heal. I have complete control over myself, I do, but all but wallowing in blood tends to test that self control. By the time I got back to the motel I'd been flashing on what the people around me would taste like, wondering if their blood would be as sweet as what I'd spilled in the warehouse.
And I hated to feel like that, I hated it. Having really bloody hamburgers to eat helped me push away the need to tear into someone's body, but that was just for right now. I knew damned well the need would come back, especially on the night of the full moon. George thought I was being too understanding when people were afraid to be around me, but it wasn't understanding. What I felt was the same kind of fear all those other people felt, just from a slightly different point of view.
I muttered some nasty words under my breath as I got rid of the towel, hating it almost as much when I started to feel sorry for myself. Almost as soon as I'd opened my eyes in the hospital I'd known what the score was, and once they released me I'd spent a few days holding my gun and thinking over my options. I'd almost ended it right then and there, but then I began to wonder how much my new … condition would let me accomplish.
George had already shown himself to me by then, one of the main reasons I put the gun away. A ghost isn't supposed to look drawn and worried, but that's just the way George looked when he first showed up.
"I … don't want to interfere," he'd said after I tried to throw my arms around him and discovered I couldn't. "This is a decision you have to make, Taz, but I have to tell you that I can be here for you - if you want me."
"Try disappearing for good and see what happens," I'd said, just short of crying from a mixture of disappointment and happiness. "I know you're a pain, George, but I think I'm in the process of proving just how big a masochist I am by not taking the quick way out."
"Only you, Taz, only you would threaten a ghost," he'd said with a delighted laugh. "As soon as you get back to work we'll be partners again, but this time we'll do a hell of a better job of it."
That was when I'd had to tell him I wouldn't be going back to work, at least not to my old job on the force. At that time no one had actually come out and said anything, but the signs were perfectly clear. If I didn't end my career by killing myself, others would take care of the career-ending part. No one wanted to work with a shapeshifter who might chomp a partner's back instead of watch it.
It had been a couple of months before George and I … ran across Freemont. There had been some trouble, I'd pulled Freemont out of it, and once the dust settled I ended up with a second partner. Not that I was complaining, just the opposite. Freemont's abilities as a precog and psychic made the hunt ten times easier, which in turn added to our bank account. But the only real interest we had in money was to keep us eating with a roof over our heads while we hunted.
But the more rogues we hunted down, the more there seemed to be left. I thought about that as I left the bathroom for the bedroom to find clothes that weren't covered in blood. Rogue shapeshifters, rogue vampires, rogue demon-worshippers, and rogue ghouls. I'd even heard about a rogue free-roaming ghost, but hadn't told George. He would have wanted to go after the ghost first thing.
"Ah, good, you're dressed again," Freemont said as he walked into the room. I sat on the end of one of the beds putting on another pair of white sneakers to go with the plain gold T-shirt and gray slacks I already wore. "I wanted to tell you that your belt is beyond cleaning, but the holster and sheath are all right. We still have a couple of belts left, but it's probably time to lay in a fresh supply."
"Are you really that nervous about our soon-to-be visitors?" I asked, only glancing at him while I finished tying my laces. "I usually have to threaten you before you do inventory, and then you spend the time mutterin
g in the beard you don't wear."
"Nervous doesn't cover it even a little," he admitted, slumping down on the end of the other bed and leaning his elbows on his thighs. When I looked straight at him I couldn't help noticing how drawn he now looked. "I can't get much from that upcoming meeting, just that these are powerful, dangerous people. Someone isn't letting me get more, and that's more frightening than you can possibly imagine. I'm not used to feeling as psychically dead as George."
"Hey!" George exclaimed from where he hovered near the dresser across from the beds. "I'll have you know that I was very sensitive when I was alive. If you don't believe me, ask Taz."
"Absolutely," I agreed as I exchanged a small smile with Freemont. "Why, I can remember George saying that we'd be able to take those shapeshifters in without the least trouble - No, wait, that's the wrong example, isn't it?"
"You're not very funny, Taz," George grumbled as Freemont's smile widened to turn his face beautiful again. "It so happens we were able to take the shifters without any trouble - the second time we went after them. Obviously my time sense just got a little … confused."
"Sometimes a little confusion keeps you from getting arrogant," I said as I stood. "But once the confusion clears away you can be as arrogant as you like, as long as you're not tangling with the cops. And maybe sometimes even if you are. I think I'm in the mood to be arrogant."
"You're looking for a fight, and I don't know if that's such a good idea," Freemont said, back to fretting where he sat. "I also don't know if you ought to arm yourself for the visit. Damn it! I hate not knowing!"
"If the rest of us can live with the lack most of the time, I think you can handle it for just a few hours," I said, having decided that sympathy was the worst thing I could give him. "I'm going to get the bounty paperwork done right now, and later we can go out to eat. Why don't you spend some time deciding what you're in the mood for, and then see if you can push through the fog far enough to find the best place serving whatever it is. I can't imagine our enemies being so completely dastardly that they'd make us eat just anywhere."
