Both Ways

by Ileandra Young

  Fluttering fragments of red fabric litter the ground behind me.

  “Watch it, this is the only dress I own.”

  More snarling and flexing fingers.

  The next charge I’m ready for, ducking beneath groping hands and slashing with the knife. Blood rains across my face and shoulders, then the weapon skitters out of my hand and across the Tarmac. My hand throbs. The shoulder of my dress lists on the right, exposing half my bra.

  “Damn you.”

  I turn. Dart back to the car.

  Thunk.

  She slams into my back and I thrust my hands out. It saves my face and nose, but both wrists creak as I twist on my belly.

  Kick, kick, and kick again. The grip on my left ankle slips away, along with several strips of skin. Blood streams down my leg.

  She snarls, the silver in her eyes intensifying.

  Up again. Run. Faster. Faster.

  I reach the car as the vampire catches me a third time, clawing for my face.

  Jump kick.

  Her head snaps back.

  Elbow strike.

  Down.

  I leave her writhing and pop the boot. Inside, no SPEAR kit, but I do have rope, a hazard triangle, a spare tyre with the wheel missing, and my wheel nut wrench.

  My fingers scrape the latter as she drags me down.

  The tyre tips over the side and hits us both, surprising the vampire enough to give me precious half seconds.

  I grab the wrench and swing it down, a two-handed grip.

  Crunch.

  The large end cracks off the back of her skull.

  She slumps into stillness.

  “Ugh, finally!”

  * * *

  More of my dress tears as I wriggle out from beneath her. Throbbing in my hand and shoulder tells me I’ll be aching in the morning. Blood on my leg is already clotting, courtesy of fast-acting coagulate drugs. The horrific slashes may not even scar. Yay.

  A lone figure hurries across the car park, a quick edane stride.

  I reach for the stiletto, then change my mind as I recognize the uniform of the restaurant waitstaff.

  “Running to my rescue? I didn’t know you cared.”

  The waiter from earlier slides to a stop beside me and the unconscious specimen on the floor. The silver leaks from his eyes, leaving behind the stunning purple.

  Shame. That shade used to be my favourite colour.

  “What happened?” He stares. “Is she—”

  “Not yet. But I caught her attacking a human.” A shrug. “She’s done.”

  “But—”

  “Law is law, Mr. Fangtastic. I’m taking her in.”

  He stiffens, fingers flexing.

  I wait.

  “Fine. Go ahead, Agent. Do your duty.” He stalks away.

  I heave a sigh and study the creature at my feet. Female, young, dark haired, petite.

  Oh, well.

  Without my SPEAR kit I’ve nothing to restrain her. A rummage through my car reveals nothing of use except the rope, which I use to hog-tie her wrists and ankles. For good measure, I force the tyre down over her head and shoulders, further trapping her arms.

  It won’t hold if she wakes, but perhaps I can reach HQ.

  She twitches. Her eyelids flutter.

  HQ is three miles from here, the Clear Blood Foundation a mere two. But I won’t reach either location in a civilian car before she wakes fully, which leaves me with one option.

  Great. Because this night needs to get a little bit worse.

  * * *

  There are groans coming from the boot of my car. The occasional whimper.

  My radio is broken so there’s not much I can do to block it out. After a few minutes, the sounds stop.

  On the outer edges of West Side, a small independent bookshop carries more than local authors and guidebooks. In the basement, a minor SPEAR safe house provides shelter, bed rest, and the occasional handful of mean weaponry.

  I leave the car running as I knock on the door, rapping out a two-one-two-three pattern with my knuckles.

  It opens after a few seconds, revealing a thin sliver of brown, warty face.

  “No, no, no, not you.” The door swings closed.

  I jam my foot into the gap. “Let me in, Shakka—”

  “No, damn it. They don’t pay me enough to deal with you more than once a week.”

  “You get paid plenty, open up. I’ve got a wild fanger and I need to stash her until sunup.”

  Still he leans on the door. “Take her to HQ.”

  “Too far. Open the door.”

  Silence.

  “Fine.” I brace my weight and shove.

  A cry, then the pressure lifts and the heavy wood swings wide. On the other side, Shakka rubs the end of his crooked, misshapen nose with a hand already missing one finger. “You’re a bully, Karson, a sick, twisted bully.”

  It takes a moment to remember what he’s talking about. “I thought you liked cow livers.”

  “Raw, you stupid human, not flambéed to a black, crunchy crust. You cost me my lunch.”

  “And you cost me my favourite flamethrower. I’d say we’re square. Any holding rooms free?”

  The little goblin tugs hard on the remains of his right ear, all mangled and torn. “Sure they’re free, but we aren’t equipped for vampires right now.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “No, we won’t. This is what I’m talking about. What have you got against following rules?”

  With a grunt I return to the car.

  The vampire is as I left her, tied hand and foot, wedged into my spare tyre. I heave her out with effort and drag her towards Shakka by the last dangling three feet of rope.

  “Look at her. You think I can make it all the way to HQ in my knackered old banger?”

  He looks at the vampire. Then me. Clothes, face, bare feet. “Gave you a walloping, did she?”

  “Not as bad as I gave her.”

  He rubs his nose, focused on the deep indentation filled with thick, knotty scar tissue. “I do this, you owe me lunch. And not those awful dried livers either—I’m talking fresh. Twelve hours, max.”

  My stomach turns. “What about immediately frozen?”

  “I said fresh, Human. Take it or leave it.”

  Again the vampire stirs. This time her eyes flicker enough to catch a glimpse of the silver shimmering beneath.

  “Fine, fine, let me in. And get a cell ready.”

  “Of course. And remember, Human, you owe me.” Shakka grins and hobbles into the building, gleefully dry-washing his thin, knobbly hands.

  I follow, fighting hard not to think about what owing him means.

  * * *

  By the time we reach the steel doors at the bottom of the basement, vampire in tow, the creature is lucid and starting to strain.

  “Hurry up, Shakka.”

  Muttering, he leans in and punches a code into the number panel on the right hand side. A mechanical voice requests ID, and he pushes up on tiptoe to peer into the hole above it. A red line scans his eye, left, right, up, down.

  The door hisses open. The scent of bleach wafts through.

  Beyond the steel door, the holding facility stretches far beyond the boundaries of the shop above it. A wide, brightly lit space extends 650 feet, lined on either side by cells of various heights and sizes. All are fronted with bars as thick as my wrist, and a small keypad which activates the opening mechanism.

  Down the centre, a recess in the floor houses weapons. Swords, knives, daggers, guns, and—my favourite—the huge, troll-made battleaxe, all accessed via key code.

  I drag my struggling bundle through the first open door on the left.

  The tyre groans and splits in three places.

  Time to go.

  I reach the other side and slam the door, as the ropes fray and snap. Seconds later, shreds of rubber fly through the air as the vampire frees herself with powerful flexes of her arms and wrists. She dives at me, checked only by the bars that hold fast
against her charge. Then fizzing, cracking, and popping fill the air, and her eyes open wide as two thousand volts pump through her body.

  Why do they always pull on the bars?

  Shakka, hanging back near the main door, chuckles and picks something from between his teeth with a long, pointed fingernail. “They always do that.”

  The current breaks and she jerks away, retreating to the back of the cell with her knees drawn up to her chest.

  “Are we done, Karson? Can I get some sleep now?”

  I yawn, abruptly aware of how long I’ve been awake myself. Bed sounds marvellous. “Sure. I’ll ring it in upstairs, then get out of your hair.”

  “Danika?”

  I spin around, searching for the source of that voice. Not Shakka, he couldn’t sound so soft and timid if he tried.

  The vampire is standing again, close to the bars but far enough back that she can avoid the shock. The silver has faded from her eyes leaving behind a rich, golden brown the colour of ripe acorns. “Danika?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  She hesitates.

  I point to the ceiling of her cell. “Those dots up there are linked to our sprinkler system. Guess what kind of water we keep in it.”

  She shudders. “He said Karson and I recognized the name. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Hi, Danika Karson, grade five, SPEAR. Who are you?”

  She looks away.

  “Fine. Enjoy your stay at Château SPEAR and, if I don’t see you before then, enjoy your execution.”

  “Execution?” Her voice is the faintest of whispers. “I—but—you—”

  “You attacked a civilian. Angbec’s newest candidate for mayor. I doubt they’ll bother with a trial.”

  Her lips wobble. “Mayor? I didn’t know. I was only—I thought it was okay—”

  My steps falter a short distance from the cell. “You thought it was okay?” I’m back at the bars, so close I can hear the hum of electricity coursing through the metal. “You thought it was okay to leap on an unsuspecting human and treat him like some walking Snack Pack?”

  “No—”

  “So maybe you don’t care about the law? Or all the systems we’ve put in place to help you leeches?”

  She flinches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I always obey the law, it’s important, I—”

  “Vampires in Angbec get their food from the Foundation. Remember? The Supernatural Registry? Donations? This ringing any bells?”

  Her eyes widen. “I don’t understand.”

  Behind me, picking something soft and yellow from the depths of his nostril, Shakka gives a low chuckle. “I don’t think she’s lying, Agent.”

  “Bull. She’s a vampire. Of course she knows this stuff.”

  He grumbles but falls silent, leaving me to consider the vampire in the cell.

  I can get a good look at her now, delicate pixie features and small, slender hands. Everything about her is dainty and cute. Except for the mouthful of fangs.

  Vampires, growing more sly and cunning every day.

  “You broke the law. Not only that but I caught you doing it. Then you attacked me. As soon as the sun rocks up, HQ will pick you up and that’s it. Hope it was worth it.”

  My stomach warms with a strong sense of right and justice. Vampires, blood thieving scum we have no choice but to live with. But when one acts up like this, nothing gives me more pleasure than dealing with it.

  I’m halfway to the door before she speaks again.

  “There’s a bounty on you, Agent Karson.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “Among vampires. Anyone who finds you and kills you will be rewarded.”

  “Oh, really? By who?”

  “The queen of our nest.”

  I snort. “This isn’t the States, fang face. Vampires in Angbec don’t nest. That’s illegal too.”

  She swings a hand at the bars, jerking back at the last moment. “Why won’t you listen? I—I want to help.”

  “You’re a vampire.” Again I make for the door. My fingers are on the handle this time.

  “I’m not the only one hunting. We all do it. I thought that was the right way—we were all told…Just look it up. Check with the police. They’ll tell you.”

  “Will you shut up—”

  “Humans are going missing, right? More than usual? It’s my nest, my family. We’ve been taking them from Misona because the public are less likely to care about vanishing homeless people.”

  I miss a step. Think back to Quinn and her irritating reassignment to The Bowl. Or, as it’s officially named, Misona.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “You can check, can’t you? SPEAR must have links with the local police force.”

  I fiddle with a loc falling loose from my mangled updo. “If this is all some sick joke—”

  “It’s not. Please. I didn’t know. I don’t want to be bad.”

  “If this doesn’t check out, I’ll cut your head off myself, understand?”

  She nods, timid and drawn in. “It’s the truth.”

  “We’ll see, fang face.” I slip through the door and let it slam behind me.

  * * *

  Back upstairs, Shakka sits in the cubby outside the steel door. Thin slicks of pink drool slide down his chin as he munches through bite-sized pieces of something small, brown, and squishy.

  “How did it go?” He slurps a gobbet of the gooey stuff off his fingers.

  “Fine. Where’s the hotline?”

  He points to a landline unit against the wall.

  I enter my ID and wait for the line to connect.

  “SPEAR switchboard,” says the mechanical female voice. “Please state the agent or extension you require.”

  “Quinn, Francine. Agent A20191125A06.”

  “Please wait.”

  The line chirps, then rings. And rings.

  I hang up.

  “What the hell, Karson?”

  “Quinn already hates me. I can’t call in the middle of the night with conspiracy theories about vampires snatching humans off the street. She’d have me suspended.”

  Another slurp and Shakka is done eating. He sighs, burps, and slaps his stomach. “What now?”

  I dial again.

  “Angbec Police Force, this is Officer Tina Marks.”

  I press the phone tighter to my ear. “This is SPEAR agent Danika Karson, A20240119A05. I need to check a couple of details on a case I’m working.”

  Shuffling papers. A slurp of some fluid, probably coffee, if I know the civvie bashers.

  “Don’t you guys ever clock off?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What do you need?”

  “An outline of all open missing persons cases.”

  Tina splutters into her coffee. “All of them? How long do you think I have?”

  “That many?”

  “Why do you think we asked you guys for help? Three of our team are off, and now all these people just vanish from The Bowl. We’re good, but we aren’t trained to deal with the people living down there, especially when short-staffed.”

  My chest tightens. “Ballpark figure?”

  “This week?” She sighs. “Five. Last week, seven. And there’s three outstanding from last month.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “Not unless you come in. I shouldn’t be sharing this on the phone as it is.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Thanks.” Disconnect and put the handset back on the cradle.

  “What happened? Hey! Karson?”

  I pause on the stairs back to street level. “It’s not enough. I need to check it myself.”

  “I thought you were off tonight.”

  Shrug. “So did I.”

  Chapter Five

  The drive to Misona takes half an hour, even so late at night. Outside my windows, Angbec transitions from beautiful, modern city to filthy, broken-down hovel in the space of half a mile. Deeper into
the district, brightly lit shops and bars give way to boarded-up doorways and shattered windows. Figures wrapped in blankets curl beneath any available overhang and cars lining the pavement are rusted, dented, or burnt-out.

  I slow the car, studying the slouched figures walking the otherwise abandoned streets. It’s dark too, any moon- and starlight blocked by the height of the buildings in this area. And the street lamps certainly don’t work.

  The road branches left, angled towards a small play area between two blocks of flats. The swings and slide are mangled and broken, but the climbing structure offers some shelter. Beneath it, three figures huddle together, passing a bottle wrapped in carrier bags.

  I stop the car and lean through my window. “Wendy, is that you?”

  One of the figures bolts upright and dashes away from the climbing frame, stooped and round-shouldered but faster than most humans. Straight up to my door then crouching to peer through the opening. “My name is Wensleydale.” A puff of whisky-scented breath gusts across my face.

  “I need your help.”

  He glares and the meagre light from my overhead illuminates the golden glow in his eyes. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—”

  “But not a lot of time. Anything weird been happening down here? People disappearing, increased fanger activity?”

  “Not on my watch. This territory belongs to my pack and—”

  “That’s why I’m here. You’re alpha, right? Shouldn’t you know everything going on?”

  Wendy cocks his head, scratching the tangled nest of wiry grey-black facial hair masking the lower half of his face. “I forgot how ballsy you are, girl. Yes, something weird is happening, but not with us—the humans. Someone or something is picking them off. Can’t figure out who.”

  I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “I really hoped you wouldn’t say that.”

  A shrug. “Told the coppers, but they don’t much care for a bunch of homeless wasters and druggies. Nearly blamed us, as if we have any use for a handful of piss-weak humans. No offence.”

  “None taken, you filthy mongrel.”

  “Meat sack.”

  “Puppy.”

  “Bitch.”

  “You wish.”

  He laughs and looks me over. “What’s up? And who have you been fighting this time? Not another handsy date?”