Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume Two

by Short Story Anthology

  “Bingo, but I’m a human on their radar. If it was just me by myself and I killed one of the territory heads in combat, the Others there still wouldn't pledge their loyalty. It would just fall apart. Or, you know, someone would assassinate me in my sleep and claim the position for themselves,” he said. He spread his hands wide in a frustrated gesture. “But if I've got you, it's not disputable. We might lose a few groups who decide they'd rather forge their own little territory rather than declare loyalty, but it would hold together for long enough to stabilize the situation.”

  “You're right,” I said. He shifted, patting his pocket, and drew out a pack of cigarettes. I waited while he put one to his mouth and, glancing at me, lit it theatrically with a tiny flame at the tip of his finger. “Why are you interested in this? You're not part of a territory. It doesn't affect you.”

  “I could say the same to you. But—” he paused, blowing out a lungful of smoke. Contrasted with this easy conversation, his earlier rudeness was out of place. It must have been all nerves. That was a relief. “Really, I’m waiting for the revolution when we all get to come out of the fucking closet and the territories go away. Until then, this is the best I've got. Some of these leaders treat their citizens like slaves, and there's fuck-all they can do about it but leave, if another territory will even have them. No rights. I don't like that. We're people, too.”

  The fact that he didn’t count himself as a human, and that he saw himself at war with the Others who abused their power more than anything else, raised my opinion of him.

  “I agree,” I said. “Real freedom would be nice, if a revelation went well with the mundanes. Though I have my doubts about that.”

  I felt wistful, and I let the emotion show in my voice. I had been born an American and died one. To be a citizen again and to legally serve my country was a fine dream, if they didn’t decide to burn us all when we revealed ourselves.

  “But it's not just about the humans freaking out. The Others won't take an upheaval easily either,” he said, a touch defensive.

  “The powerful benefit from being outside the law, certainly,” I said.

  “How old are you?” he asked suddenly, tucking his hands in his pockets.

  “One hundred and thirteen,” I said. “Give or take a year.”

  “Jesus,” he sputtered. “I thought the only vamp hunters taking contracts from the government were babies. The old ones usually hate us too much. You really can play Queen wherever we go kick in doors.”

  “I am the oldest to ever turn to your people for work,” I said, lowering my voice. “And the most powerful. I will be an asset.”

  “Yeah, I kind of thought that,” he said. “But can you do teamwork?”

  “We'll see,” I said.

  “Damn, but I can’t turn you down,” he said. He thumped me on the back, grinning at the look I gave him, and walked past me toward the old bay doors. “Test run, first job together, me and you. Tomorrow night. My handler set it up. You in?”

  “Of course,” I said. He didn't seem to notice that he'd switched from using the phrase commanding officer to handler, but I had.

  At the door, he paused to call back to me, “Hey, what’s your special vampire trick?”

  I smiled at him, and he left when it became clear I wasn’t going to answer.

  My phone buzzed against my hip as I curled a lovely girl’s hair around my fingers. I listened to her breath deepen as I kissed her throat. Tiny kisses, feathered kisses, to taste sweat and glitter on my tongue. We sat on a small velvet-covered couch in a niche of the club, hidden by shadows from the blitz of flashing colored lights and writhing bodies out on the floor. The music blasted loud enough to hurt my ears, but I blended so well in these places—just another woman with black hair, long nails, and a dangerous look. I dressed to impress for dinner-nights; a balance of threatening and pretty that never failed to entice one person or another. The vinyl vest and shrug I wore also kept her curious fingers from too much of my cold skin as she petted me and traced the small curves of my breasts with her fingertips.

  My hand found its way beneath her skirt as I licked the point of her pulse. I bit her gently, at first, so the pinprick of fangs went nearly unnoticed. She did cry out as I pierced her flesh but I made sure to provide her with as much pleasure as pain. I drank, heat searing from my mouth down my throat and throughout my body in a rolling wave. My heartbeat sped, the only time it would do so. Life filled me like liquid in a cup. When I was satisfied I eased away from the wound I’d made and rubbed my wet lips across her black shirt.

  She met my eyes, dazed and smiling, and I pressed a thankful kiss to her cheek. The smallest tweak of power would convince her of what I said: “You are a lovely, kind woman. You had a good night with a stranger and nothing odd happened. Nothing odd at all, my dear. Thank you.”

  I left her there to recover from the befuddlement I’d laid on her and escaped outside, my skin nearly warm to the touch and my nerves thrumming. It didn’t always happen. Sometimes I left starving and disappointed, but I wasn’t willing to trick a person into wanting me. That smacked of things I didn’t approve of, wouldn’t have wanted done to me in return. I was glad I’d fed tonight if I was going to be with the pyrokinetic on a job for who knew how long. Not knowing his feelings on donating blood, it was best to be prepared.

  I opened the phone, taking in a breath of cool air, and returned the missed call.

  Cal answered after one ring. “You ready for tonight?”

  “I’ve just finished my preparations. Where are we going?” I slid back into my car and eased out of the parking space. The too-small lot was packed. Already, another car waited to take my spot.

  “I’ll tell you in person,” he said. “Where are we getting together and who’s driving?”

  “I’ll meet you at my hotel, if that’s acceptable. You can drive,” I said, then gave him directions to the place I was staying. It was in a bigger town than the one we'd had our meeting in, more of a city. Technically it was on the edge of a territory, but they wouldn't notice me for a day or two. Plus, the steel town hadn't had any available guest accommodations.

  “Got it. See you in a bit.” He hung up.

  The drive was quick, and when I reached the hotel, the lot was half-empty. It was a small building, four stories with intermittent lights on throughout, probably all travelers passing through. I couldn't imagine coming here for a vacation, decent club-scene aside. I passed through the lobby, attracting a curious look from the night-clerk thanks to my outfit, and rode the elevator up to my room.

  I stripped out of the vinyl as soon as I made it inside, dabbing the slightest bit of sweat off my skin with one of the white towels. It came away pinkish; the staff would probably assume hair-dye or makeup. I slipped into a pair of slacks and a button-down men’s shirt that hung loose enough on my frame to hide the holster and gun at the small of my back. A knock sounded at the door.

  “Cal?” I called out as I rolled my sleeves up.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  I flipped the latch on the door and opened it, stepping aside to let him in. The fatigues had been replaced by dark jeans and a loose t-shirt. I looked him over but saw no weapons, unless he had a knife in his boot. He took the moment of silence to inspect my room, his eyes roving over the closed suitcase and neatly made bed.

  “Well, what's the job?” I asked.

  He pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down, ankles crossed, one arm dangling over the side. It was a pose of relaxation, but his muscles were tight, and faint tension lines showed at the edges of his mouth.

  “The situation’s gone downhill a little since yesterday. It was going to be a simple job where we settled a dispute about leadership,” he said.

  I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. “What changed?”

  “There were three contenders for the territory, after the old boss died,” he said. “Now there are two. The third one managed to get himself nailed to the first one’s door. Literally.”r />
  “Are we intended to investigate the murder and execute the guilty one?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cal said.

  “Think?”

  “We have full discretion,” he said, shrugging. “I just have a feeling there’s something going on that I don’t know about, and it’s going to bite us on the ass when we get there.”

  “The murder's extraneous, then. Figure out which one did it, propel the other one to leadership, let them handle it amongst themselves.” I pushed away from the wall, gathering up my suitcase in one hand and the duffel bag I used for weaponry in the other. “And isn’t the purpose of this contract to see if we make a good team?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  The silence that settled between us held a sharp edge, a tautness brought on by uncertainty and eagerness in equal measures. If I performed well and the trial run was a success—whether that was decided by Cal, his direct superior, or the “higher-ups” who had done the initial interviewing, I didn’t know—it would be a positive mark for vampires as a whole. They must have had trouble finding any of us willing to even speak with them, but I was willing, and I would show the value that we represented. We were strong, fast, and nearly all of us past our first fifty years were gifted with intensified abilities, woken from our mortal lives. I could be the one to help us take a step toward legality. I had to dosomething; I couldn't bear waiting for it to happen on its own any longer.

  The moment passed as Cal stood and brushed past me, trailing the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke. I followed him to the door and he held it open for me. I noticed as I passed that my head only came up to his chin, which put him at a little over six feet tall. I must have seemed dainty in comparison, but he knew what I was, and what I wasn’t. I hoped that would keep him from underestimating what I could do during the job. The fact that he hadn’t offered to carry my bags was a point in his favor.

  “What do you do during the day to stay safe?” he asked as we walked down the hall.

  “In hotels, I put out the do-not-disturb sign and wedge a chair under the door, as well as latching the inside bolt.” I hesitated. My face flushed, warm with borrowed blood. “I prefer to sleep in a confined space, but I’ve found that a tarpaulin bag keeps out the light well enough. The zippers have locks on the inside.”

  Cal stared at me for a moment, grinning again. “You sleep in a body bag?”

  “Would you prefer I carted a coffin with me?” I retorted.

  The blush still burned artificially under my skin. For a moment I wished I hadn’t fed at all. He seemed to notice as soon as I thought of it, and his smile faded at the edges, his eyes losing some of their previous humorous warmth.

  “You already, ah, had dinner, I guess.”

  I sighed and pushed past him out of the lobby doors. “Where’s your car?”

  “That one,” he said, pointing to a dark green sedan.

  “Where is the job?” I asked.

  “About three hours from here,” he replied. “Edge of Mississippi.”

  I calculated in my head. “We should beat dawn, but if we don’t, I’ll have to bed down in the trunk.”

  He opened it for me and I loaded my suitcase and bag inside. They would need to be moved to the back seat if I had to use the space, but it was big enough to fit me.

  “That has got to be fucking inconvenient,” he said after a pause.

  “The things I’m paid to hunt generally keep the same hours I do,” I replied. “It’s not so difficult.”

  My chest tightened as I spoke, belying the lightness of the words. Lamplight, moonlight, firelight—none of them replaced what it would be to see the sun rise or set again, or to sleep a sleep with dreams. I lived as well as I could, as happily as I could, but there were some losses too large to forget. If Cal didn’t understand that already, explaining it was both painful and pointless.

  “Do you have a case file I can read?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “The files are in the back seat.”

  I settled into the front passenger seat, snagged the folder, and plucked the rubber band off of it. A sheaf of photos spilled into my lap as I opened the cover, lurid images of a man’s body liberally spattered with blood. It was pinned, butterfly-like, to a door. I angled the photo to the outside light and inspected it. There was no blood under the body, only on it, so he had presumably been killed first and then tacked up.

  “A nail gun?” I murmured. “Or was it done by hand?”

  Cal glanced at me, pulling the car out onto the road with a flick of his wrist. “The depth of the nails when they pried him off suggests that it was by hand. Some of them didn't go in at a good angle, some of them just didn't go all the way through. A nail gun would have been uniform. Even the ones that penetrated the wall only took one hit, though.”

  “Supernatural strength,” I said. “As if there was a doubt.”

  The first few pages covered the leadership situation. According to the notes, the old King had died of reasonably natural causes. Death by combat was easier; the winner was the new leader of the territory. In these circumstances, with three potential new leaders and none of them clearly capable of taking power, things could get ugly.

  One candidate was an alpha werewolf named Ben Haldeman, recorded to have an even temperament. He was alpha of the local pack. The second was a woman, Carly Lejourna, a—here the notes were scrawled, scratched out in blue ink pen—shaman, or possibly a shapeshifter, or just a very powerful psychic. No one seemed to be entirely sure, but her supporters were almost worshippers. The message, so to speak, had been left on her door.

  Which left the victim and third contender, Adam Anderson, a werebear. That was a surprise; they were rare. The small collective of werebears in the area were unspeakably angry about his disappearance and subsequent discovery as décor.

  “What do you think?” Cal asked, his eyes turned to me briefly.

  I caught the flash of light in them, like sparks, before he turned away again to watch the road. “I believe you might be right.”

  “About?”

  “Something is missing from this information,” I said, tapping the files. “Who gathered it for you?”

  “I—“ He stopped, jaw muscles clenching. ”I can't be sure.“

  “Would it be safe to assume the gatherer is also your, shall we say, boss?” I asked, discomfort rolling over me.

  “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, all right. Assume that. It’s really important to my wellbeing that we don’t fuck this up, okay? I can’t say any more.”

  I took in a slow breath. “Are you really a volunteer for this team?”

  He laughed. The edge under it was not pretty. That was answer enough, if he truly couldn’t tell me more about the person. The information, if this was as much a test for Cal as it was for me, was faulty. I tossed the folder into the back seat again and stared ahead at the dark road. The town had disappeared already, leaving rolling fields and the occasional tree. We passed under a green highway sign advertising an exit three-quarters of a mile away.

  I had thought the official policy was to leave humans with abilities alone unless they became too much of a nuisance. I had also thought that hunters, human or not, always freely chose to be hunters, be the work government-sponsored or from Others. Cal’s tension, and the fear that smelled rich under his cigarettes, indicated something outside the official policy, and that made me terribly uncomfortable.

  “I need to stop, okay?” he asked suddenly.

  Without waiting for a response, he pulled off onto the exit ramp that had come up on the right side. The end of the ramp didn't seem to lead much of anywhere, just a lone road with no restaurants or neighborhoods, but there was a gas station further down it. He turned into the station's lot and parked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him crooking a finger toward the building. He pointed at me and then at it, so when he climbed out of the car, I followed. The clerk gave us a cursory glance and went back to reading his magazine as Cal wove thr
ough aisles of snacks and knickknacks. As soon as we were out of sight, he grabbed my arm and pulled, which was not terribly effective. I stared at him and he made an irritated noise, stepping up close to me instead.

  I moved back and bumped into a shelf, hands up in front of my chest. He pursed his lips. “Stop moving, dammit,” he whispered.

  “Why?” I whispered back.

  He crowded up against me again, bending his tall frame over mine so his mouth was against my ear. I froze with my cheek pressed to his jaw, my mouth near the tender parts of his throat. I ran my tongue over the points of my fangs, the little ridge of sharpness catching on my own skin. I wasn’t hungry but my muscles rippled with a shiver all the same at the temptation.

  “The car’s bugged,” he murmured, shallower than even a whisper. “I’m pretty sure my cell phone is rigged, too, so I have to be pretty damn quiet. I need this team to come together, because if it does, I get my own command post. I get freedom.”

  I moved, pushing my face against his to whisper back, “Freedom from what?”

  “My handler,” he replied. “His bosses will make him let me go if I prove I’m of use and under control. It’s the deal. I hit the age point.”

  The shelf rattled and Cal flinched, lifting his head.

  “You two need to buy something or leave,” the clerk said from behind us.

  I worked a hand up between his chest and mine to cover my face, hiding an unstoppable grin. How ridiculous. Cal cleared his throat, shuffled away from me, and tucked his hands in his pockets. I turned on my heel and walked out, listening to the tap of Cal’s shoes on the tile behind me.

  I had more questions, but if he was right, I would have to find a better time to ask them. Age point—like an indenture contract? And, more interesting yet, what experience had taught him to suspect that he was always being spied upon, and what had taught him to fear it? The mystery itched in the back of my mind.

  As I climbed in the car, he shot me a look, and I nodded. No talking, not here. In the quiet that settled afterwards, I realized that the taste lingering on my lips was the flavor of his skin from the brief moment of contact. I laid my head back against the seat and wondered if wiping my mouth would be too obvious.