Was the list even real? It felt real enough. The paper was cheap, thin, slick, and prone to crinkling. It was the sort of stuff given to students in the poorer districts when they were privileged enough to be given a stipend of paper at all.
I made it to the living room before the macaroni and cheese noticed me.
“Mommy!” It bounced in place as though conscious of its tendency to smear neon-orange residue in its wake.
“Hey.” It was my apartment. I would talk to my hallucinations if I wanted to. If I was going to acknowledge my sentient leftovers, I would even give it a name until the narcotics wore off and I discovered moldy noodles scattered all over my kitchen. Until then, it deserved a name.
I went with my favorite cheese. “Colby,” I announced.
“Mommy?” my macaroni and cheese asked.
“Your name is Colby. Please be quiet for a while. I need to work.” I sank down on the couch, slapping the papers onto my coffee table. I grabbed my tablet, unlocked it, and wondered where I would begin figuring out what to do with the list.
I could get used to my mind playing tricks on me if people—and things—listened to me half as well as Colby did. Without another word, it went back to work scrubbing cabinets, although I did hear the occasional squeak out of it.
I regarded the list with disgust.
The list wouldn’t tell me what was going on. The news might, so I grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Instead of a broadcast, I got to enjoy a blast of static. I checked every channel I could with the same results. Grumbling curses, I turned off the set and tossed the remote down.
While I didn’t want to see how badly my face had broken out from Rob’s hand and blood, I forced myself to go into the bathroom to check my reflection. Rob was right; there was a lot of blood on my chin, and grabbing a washcloth, I went to work scrubbing it off.
My elbow where Kenneth had grabbed me hadn’t gone unscathed; my skin was red and raw, and a scattering of hives spread from where he had touched me.
Why hadn’t my face reacted? I checked my chin and stuck my tongue out, but both looked normal. There was no visible evidence Rob had come into contact with me at all.
The tingling that had started on my tongue and spread across my face was working its way to my stomach. It burned, but in the pleasant way alcohol did on the way down. I fidgeted with restless energy, impatient to do something, although I had no idea what I needed to do or why.
I voiced my frustration as a choked-off scream, yanking at my dark hair before tying it back into a ponytail. I stormed out of my bathroom. I needed to get out and do something before I went insane—or dreamed up another sexy older man to drive me to the brink of insanity.
Maybe a walk would do me some good—and I’d get a better fix on reality for my effort. If I hurried, I might be able to find out what Kenneth and Rob were up to. I had tricks of my own, and I knew how to access my boss’s precious tunnels, which gave me a damned good place to listen in on what Kenneth likely didn’t want me to hear. To do that, I’d need to wear black clothing and face paint.
His surveillance cameras were good, but they weren’t infrared. One day he’d learn not to cut corners—maybe.
Sniffing out my boss was a good start, and it’d keep me busy. I changed into dark clothes and gloves, dug my paint out of my bag, pocketed it, and hit the streets.
The roads leading to the Inner Harbor were closed, leaving drivers to find their way through Baltimore’s downtown via narrow side streets bordering the fringe. Fortunately, the cops were letting pedestrians through without hassle.
No one showed any signs of noticing—or caring—that humans had become a minority when compared to the eclectic variety of species now wandering the streets. I kept as close to the buildings as I could, checking my back for anyone who might be following me.
Everyone else seemed far more concerned with the other creatures than they did with me. A herd of the three-headed giraffe clopped down the center of the street, and unlike the one I had met outside my apartment building, they wore no hats and had sharpened their horns.
Werewolves and other part-man and part-animal creatures made up the majority of those prowling around. Sensible people gave them a wide berth, and I was no different. Those who could take to the air did, and the sky was filled with things other than birds.
The winged werewolves were the most normal of the flying beings—and they looked the friendliest, too.
The easiest way for me to enter the tunnels connected to Kenneth’s townhouse was through the sewers. Baltimore’s sewers had two parts. The sewage tunnels, meant to control and direct the flow of refuse beneath the streets, were unfit for rats, let alone people. I didn’t know when the adjacent walkways had been built, but they paralleled the main channels. The city had stopped using them after a better sewage management system had been developed—one that didn’t require human intervention.
Kenneth had claimed them and made them his own, offering their use to the elites seeking drugs.
I smiled at the thought of pulling the wool over my boss’s eyes. Kenneth believed himself so superior. The tunnels were his secret, and an impoverished rat like myself was below being let in on such a thing.
Kenneth kept underestimating me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Not only did I know about his precious tunnels, I had also pinpointed all of his regular entry points. As an added bonus, I had found a few extra off his radar, too.
The entrance I wanted was located in the poorest district of the city, a place Kenneth avoided whenever possible. I knew the streets well enough, although I didn’t know most of the people—or things—taking up the spots old friends once had.
A dragon—a much larger version of Terry Moore—breathed flames down the street, incinerating those in its path. It took to the air, roaring its triumph while those left alive shouted curses at it.
I decided it was wise to take cover before I got caught in the crossfire. The street was lined with shops, and I picked a tattoo parlor as the least likely place for many people—or monsters—to gather. Inside, the neon lights gleamed, and one wall was decked out in black lights showcasing glow-in-the-dark tattoo designs.
The artist, a younger man with more tattoos and piercings than I’d ever seen on one person before, leaned against the glass counter near his register. He seemed human enough, right up until he flashed a grin at me and revealed a set of pointed canines.
Why wasn’t I surprised the tattoo artist was a vampire? I envied him in a way. While Kenneth called me a collie, I was all bark and no bite. Instead of a vampire, I’d rather be a snake, one who packed a lot of venom for my size.
“Looking to buy or dodging the crazies outside?”
I snorted, twisting around to stare out the front windows of the store. The dragon had landed and was licking at the scorched pavement. “A bit of both, I guess.”
“What do you have in mind, sweetheart? Looking for a tattoo or something a little special?”
Why did everyone—correctly—think I was involved with the black market in some fashion or another? I no longer had the gaunt, near-death appearance of a user. It had taken over a year to get meat back on my bones and erase most of the damage the drugs had done to me.
Sure, I looked a little older than my age, but any girl in my shoes wouldn’t look young. Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger of a gun often, but I had killed people all the same. Telling my boss where to hunt someone down and get rid of them was no different from being the one to do the job.
Still, if the tattoo artist could hook me up, it wasn’t a bad idea. Cash wasn’t the only currency on the streets. I’d find a way to pay off any debt.
“If you’ve got a cleaning kit kicking around, I won’t say no,” I replied, pointing in the direction of the dragon. “I don’t know what the hell I’m on, but I never want to touch it again.”
Asking for a cleaning kit was a nice way of requesting one of the full drug-testing kits used to prepare narcoti
cs users for the real deal. Many of the drugs checked for had counters, and all of them could be bought on the black market.
“Buy some ink, and I’ll toss one in on the house. It can run while I work. Business has been slow today, and no wonder. If you show clean, you can either pay cash or with blood samples.”
“Blood samples work.” I joined the artist at the counter, grabbing one of the thick books of designs. I didn’t really have the money for a tattoo, but I needed the kit if I wanted to have a foot up on Kenneth.
If I was clean and could pay back the artist in blood, that’d make my day. Some other addict would use my blood to pass her tests. I’d lived in and out of the system long enough to want to help others out.
I’d recover from blood loss quick enough.
I flipped through the catalog and sighed at the staggering variety of designs available.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
“A snake,” I replied. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. “Just the head, and I want the fangs visible. Stylized.”
My choice of design would be a warning and a promise to Kenneth. The instant he turned his back, I’d sink my fangs in deep and teach him a lesson.
“I think I have just the thing. Come sit down. I’ll draw some blood and get to work.”
I obeyed. A new tattoo to celebrate a new me—one who wasn’t Kenneth’s dog at heel—seemed like a better idea with each passing minute. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain, including the freedom to choose what I would do with the rest of my life, no matter how long or short it was.
Like all good tattoo artists, the shopkeeper worked with gloves on, which prevented him from directly touching my skin. Applying the ink would give me some redness for a while, but it would fade with time. If he did cause a reaction, at least he probably wouldn’t notice.
He started with drawing blood, which was enough to put me to sleep. It was a bad habit, one I’d developed due to associating needle pricks with highs. I relaxed with my eyes closed, waiting for him to begin the painful work of inking my arm. At least, I’d been warned the process hurt.
I’d find out soon enough.
“Sure you don’t want to see the design first?”
“Positive,” I replied.
Maybe latex separated his skin from mine, but the pressure of his fingers on my upper arm near the shoulder felt pretty good, even if the needles he used to apply the ink and draw on me were anything but pleasant.
The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as I expected, and when a timer dinged deeper in the shop, the artist stopped working and got up. “Let’s find out if you’re clean, shall we?”
Having any blood drawn with an empty stomach was a stupid idea at best. The little he had taken left me light-headed and dizzy. I kept my eyes closed, wondering how I’d stagger back to my apartment, let alone gain entrance to Kenneth’s maze of walkways paralleling the sewers.
“You’re clean,” he announced. “I’ll draw a couple of vials, and we’ll call it even. Won’t take long to finish your tattoo, either. You’ll be on your way in a few minutes, in plenty of time to dodge the curfew.”
“Curfew,” I echoed, wondering how I seemed to be the only person who didn’t know about the curfew—if it actually existed.
“Sundown,” he provided before going back to work on my tattoo. “Don’t have yourself a talker?”
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I grunted, allowing him to decide for himself if I meant yes or no. Sometimes getting information was as simple as letting someone say whatever they wanted without interruption.
If he wasn’t going to spill his guts, then I’d start asking questions.
“Not all of us do,” the artist continued, going back to work tattooing my arm. “I do, though he’s pretty relaxed—until dark, that is. You’ll get used to it. Curfew is between sundown and dawn. Human types like you should stick to it. The really nasty dae come out at night, and they won’t hesitate to take a bite or two if you aren’t on your toes.”
The name Kenneth had hissed was back. Who—or what—were the dae?
There was one possibility, and I refused to believe it. If I had truly tested clean, there was a chance Kenneth hadn’t actually drugged me. If he hadn’t, were my hallucinations reality?
There was no way. Dragons, winged werewolves, three-headed giraffes, and sentient macaroni and cheese with an interest in parkour simply didn’t exist. Vampire tattoo artists didn’t, either.
“Great,” I grumbled. “Are you one of those really nasty dae, then?”
“I could be,” he replied. “This tip is on the house, sweetheart. The ones you can recognize as dae at a glance are the weakest. If you’re smart, you’ll keep this in mind: those who look human are usually the most dangerous.”
Chapter Five
The next time a vampire bargained services for blood, I was going to say no. Not only would I say no, I would enforce my refusal with a strand of garlic and a stake driven right up his supernatural ass.
He finished the tattoo as promised, although I had serious doubts on whether or not I’d make it back to my apartment to enjoy it. The hissing snake’s head in black ink on my upper arm was exactly what I had in mind.
I admired his work. “It’s good.”
The artist offered me a stack of bills and displayed his curved and pointy teeth. “It’s good. You’re also delicious. You overpaid. Take the cash, get yourself something to eat, and come back anytime you want to share some of that sweet, sweet blood with me. I won’t even bite unless you want me to.”
I snatched the cash before he could change his mind. “Since when has blood been worth so much?”
“Since dawn brought a lot of dae who love the stuff,” he replied with a shrug. “This morning, to be specific. Get to it, sweetheart. If your dae’s the kind that starts talking once the sun goes down, you better get ready. Baltimore’s going to be a rough town tonight.”
“Just what I wanted to hear,” I grumbled, and testing my luck, I rose from the chair. Years of drugging myself up came to my rescue, allowing me to stay on my feet when I should have fallen. With a wad of cash in hand, I had the means to catch a cab, except the roads were all closed thanks to the madness on the streets. “Those things out there are dae?”
“Sure are,” the artist agreed. He grinned at me one final time, showing off his pointy teeth, and burst into a cloud of sweet-smelling vapor. When the air cleared, a bat fluttered where he had been standing. It flew up to the ceiling and hung upside down from a light fixture.
“Couldn’t you have come up with something a bit more unique?” I demanded. “Really, a bat?”
The man-turned-bat tattoo artist squeaked at me.
I left while I still could, and keeping his advice in mind, I took care on the streets. Thick smoke hung over the city in a shroud, warning me of fires burning somewhere nearby. Really bad riots and disorder hadn’t happened in Baltimore since before I was born, but with the dae rampaging around, I doubted there would be much of a city left when they were finished.
Maybe my apartment, located in one of the better parts of town, would be a safe haven from the chaos. I still wasn’t convinced the tattoo artist was telling the truth. How could so many different and strange species of beings just show up one morning? What had he meant by a dae talking to me?
Colby spoke, although its vocabulary was limited to a single word. Was it a dae? If anything, the fact my macaroni and cheese casserole called me ‘Mommy’ supported the idea I was somehow drugged, likely by Kenneth. An entire city couldn’t change, succumb to chaos, and burn while everyone took it all in stride.
What was the deal with the human-looking dae, anyway? Was Rob one of them?
If so, what made him more dangerous than a flame-puking dog man with wings? Rob didn’t seem all that dangerous at first glance, though there had definitely been something frightening about the way he had faced off against Kenneth without even flinching. Snapping the werewolf’s nec
k had been scary enough. I hadn’t known, until that moment, someone could have the strength in a single hand to do such a thing.
I still had doubts and lots of them. Maybe I was in a hospital somewhere with a cracked skull due to fainting in my kitchen. At least that scenario made some sort of sense.
I had so many questions and no answers. No matter how strange things were, I couldn’t afford sniffing at Kenneth Smith’s door while shaking from blood loss, hunger, and whatever the hell biting Rob had done to me.
The tingling hadn’t faded; if anything, it had grown stronger. My cheeks flushed. Why had Rob been able to touch me? Of all of the things I had seen since leaving my apartment this morning, experiencing someone’s skin against mine made me hope I wasn’t under the influence of drugs.
I’d never met someone who could touch me without consequence. Kenneth couldn’t. The rash from where his sweat had bled through my shirt still itched. By wearing gloves, the tattoo artist hadn’t added to my misery, although my arm was bruising where he had drawn blood.
I needed food, sleep, and some time to think things through. If I didn’t get something to eat, I wouldn’t make it home to sleep. That would be one way to solve my problems—permanently.
First, I needed to get home alive. I’d figure out the rest later.
Baltimore burned, which made getting to my new apartment interesting. The most direct route was cut off by firetrucks and police cruisers. I gawked at them, wondering how anyone could be organized in the chaos of the dae’s appearance.
Most of the firemen weren’t human—not anymore. Some still looked human, but their eyes told a different story. I learned to avoid their gazes. I didn’t like what I saw, and I think they understood I was still just a normal human, a fact that drew far too much attention to me.
Maybe the tattoo artist was right, and something was influencing everyone. The dae? Biological warfare? Could Baltimore have fallen victim to a mass hallucinogen? If we were all under the influence of some insane narcotic, it would explain why people were acting like they were—no one would want to be caught under the influence of drugs.
The Dawn of Dae (Dae Portals Book 1) Page 5
