Both Ways

by Ileandra Young

  I trace the thin claw scars on my arm, twin to the ones I know she has on her hip.

  “Tiffany?”

  She grins. “Close. It’s Tina. Hi.”

  “Sorry, I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I bet you’ve got a lot on your mind right now.”

  “No shit.”

  Tina leaves the table and stands close to the bars, her shoulder towards me. When I give her a curious look she directs her gaze up and to the left.

  A winking red light.

  She watches my face and, when I nod, smiles and pulls a chocolate bar from her pocket. She hands it over, blocking the exchange from view of the camera with her torso.

  “You angel,” I whisper.

  “You saved my life. Least I can do.”

  I break the bar into chunks and eat them piece by piece, careful to keep my hands out of view.

  “Why are you here? I asked upstairs, but nobody’s saying much, only that some SPEAR has gone rogue and attacked Mayor Mikkleson.”

  “Wow, the rumour mill strikes again. I’m working a case for Mikkleson.”

  Tina chews the inside of her cheek. “Private hire? Didn’t think you guys did that.”

  “We don’t. We shouldn’t. I never will again, that’s for sure. Do you think you can get a message to his office? Maybe if he knows I’m here, he can help when the shit hits.”

  “What shit?”

  I study her face, trying to decide how much to say.

  She sighs. “I know SPEAR and APF don’t get on, but we’re above that, aren’t we? We don’t have some testosterone-fuelled urge to swing our cocks around.”

  A piece of chocolate shoots from my mouth, propelled by a giggle. “Such a way with words.”

  “Well, we don’t. I’ve no idea why you’re here, but if you’re half the person I remember, then what they’re saying upstairs is bullshit. Give me the full story. Let me help.”

  I open my mouth.

  The door opens.

  Tina leaps back from the cell, standing to vague attention as two men walk in from the right. They might well be clones of each other, in deep blue suits and white shirts. Only the ties are different, one in red, the other in black. Oh, and one is tall and lanky, the other broad and heavy.

  I lean against the bars. “You should have mentioned the dress code. I’d have worn something pretty.”

  The broad one smirks.

  The tall one doesn’t. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Agent. I need you to come upstairs. I’ve got some questions to ask.”

  “Yeah, me too. First up, which one of you jokers took my watch?”

  “It’s customary to relieve supernatural suspects of all possessions when we—”

  “No, it isn’t. And I’m not edane. Clearly you know that, so cut the crap and start again.”

  He looks at his companion, who shrugs and shakes his head.

  “Fine. You’ll have your things back when we’re done talking. When we’ve cleared up this apparent misunderstanding.”

  “Apparent?” From the corner of my eye I spot Tina gesturing frantically, mouthing no and shaking her head.

  No. I’ve had enough.

  “If you guys have a problem with how I work, report it to SPEAR. Francine Quinn is the name you want. But if you don’t want to talk to her, then—”

  “We’ve already spoken to her.” Broad and heavy speaks up for the first time. “In fact we tried to get your people to pick you up, but Agent Quinn thought you might enjoy our hospitality for a while.”

  Bitch.

  I return to the bed and sit, legs crossed, arms folded. “You’re not getting more than two stars out of me. This bed is lumpy as hell, and you didn’t put a mint on my pillow.”

  They laugh.

  A chill ripples down my back.

  For a horrible moment, I’m not sure if they’re laughing with me, or at me.

  Tall and grumpy opens my cell. “If you come without fuss, we won’t restrain you. I’m sure you’d prefer to avoid the embarrassment of shuffling upstairs in chains?”

  Again I open my mouth for a smart comeback, but the look in his eye stops me cold.

  He’d really do it.

  “Who are you anyway?”

  “Inspector Bose, and this is Sergeant Hozier.”

  A brief smile and half raised hand from broad and heavy.

  Bose continues, “Agent Quinn will be here soon, but before that we’d like to question you.”

  I try to smile, but even I can tell it’s not my best.

  I don’t like the sound of this. Not one bit.

  Chapter Twenty

  I hate these interview suites. They’re comfortable and well lit, but I’d be a fool to consider them anything but another selection of cells.

  I sit at a table with Hozier and Bose on the other side. Bose sits, Hozier stands near the wall underneath the clock.

  Half past three. We’ve been in this cramped box for two hours, and we’re all the worse the wear for it.

  Poor Norma must be frantic by now.

  Behind Bose’s shoulder, a small tripod holds a camera complete with blinking red light.

  “Come on, Agent, work with us. Maybe we can help.” Bose clasps his hands and leans in. A plastic cup of tepid coffee stands to his left, another on my right, neither of them touched. “What were you doing at City Hall?”

  “The merengue.”

  Hozier snorts.

  Bose snarls, an almost animal sound, before leaping to his feet. His fist flies up on its way to my face.

  I stay seated, tense and ready to move.

  At the last moment he stops and points instead. “And you wonder why relations between SPEAR and this police force are so strained? It’s awkward, stuck-up, arrogant little bitches like you.” He storms out, slamming the door behind him.

  “I’m not arrogant.” I sip at the cold coffee. “I just like dancing.”

  Hozier claims the empty seat and fixes me with a sceptical glance. “Seriously?”

  “Sure. Hard floors? Great for all those twists and turns.”

  Another laugh, and he rubs his jaw. “You’re something else. In fact, I’m starting to see why Agent Quinn wanted to leave you here.”

  “She loves me, really.”

  “No doubt. You don’t have to tell us anything, I know that. Hell, I’m not entirely certain we can charge you, but something must have taken you into that office. Since you’re a SPEAR, I can only guess there’s some sort of supernatural threat at City Hall.” He watches my face. “We can’t do much about that, we aren’t trained, but civic matters fall on us. Is there something we should know?”

  “Probably. But I have promises to keep. Important civic promises.”

  “Oh. I get it.” He smiles, friendly and understanding, but I can’t help but ponder if he really does get it.

  Probably not.

  “Do you need anything, Agent?”

  I nudge the coffee. “One of these that doesn’t taste like sludge?”

  Another laugh. “Sorry, only so many miracles we can pull around here.”

  A gentle knock at the door interrupts our shared joke. Through it, at last, strides Quinn. Her narrow weasel face is twisted in irritation and distaste.

  Hozier stands and blocks the way to the table. “This is a private interview suite. You can’t—”

  Quinn whips out her ID and tosses it on the table. “I need a moment with my agent.”

  “That’s fine, but let me—”

  “Get out.”

  He blinks, thick lips slightly parted.

  I tap on the table. “I got this, Sergeant. Don’t worry.”

  “Sure?” He actually looks worried, eying my supervisor with a wary stare. “We have a camera in here at all times, okay? Always monitored.”

  This time, when I smile, it’s one of gratitude. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Let me get that coffee.” Though clearly unsure, Hozier leaves the room.

  Quinn shuts the door, drags out the
chair, and sits.

  She glares.

  I stare.

  The clock ticks.

  “Explain. Now.”

  For one crazy second I imagine telling her to stick it up her tight, narrow arse. It would almost be worth it, to see the look on her face. Instead, I sit back, spread my hands on the table, and explain.

  Everything.

  Well, I might have glossed over a few details, like how I got hold of the files from Jack’s office and my heated kisses with Rayne. After a little internal fight, I even kept quiet the extent of Jack’s relationship with vampires. He might be a sly, womanizing, narcissist creep, but underneath all that, he has some great plans for Angbec’s supernatural population, should he be successful in his bid for mayor. From the paperwork I read, he’s a forward-thinking, imaginative, and community driven sort of man.

  By the time I finish speaking, my throat is dry and my voice hoarse. I down the rest of that disgusting coffee and burp away the bitterness.

  Still Quinn stares. “So you’re saying you accepted money from a civilian to use SPEAR resources in an unsanctioned investigation?”

  “After everything I’ve said, that’s what you focus on?”

  “Did you or did you not accept money from—”

  “Yes, I did, and it’s a bloody good thing too.” I slap the table. “Vixen is planning something. Mikkleson and Jack are compromised by her. Vampires can walk the streets by day and there are dozens of them we know nothing about. Are you hearing me? We need to do something.”

  She smiles. It’s slow but wide and flashes all of her slightly yellowed teeth. “You’re right. In fact, here’s something I should have done months ago.” Quinn leans across the table, holding my gaze. “You. Are. Grounded.” She enunciates each word with hard, deliberate emphasis.

  My heart stops. Or it feels like it does. “What?”

  “Grounded, with reduced pay, for a period of fourteen days. In that time you’ll be restricted to desk duties and forbidden from any unauthorized edane interaction, including Link. You’ll report directly to me, confirming each day that you’ve made no attempts to conduct fieldwork.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve warned you, Karson. Again, and again. You’re lucky I’m not taking it a step further.”

  My hands curl into fists. “We need to track down that nest and stop Vixen. You need me.”

  “Yes, you and your miraculous informant. And where is she? This Rayne?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ah. Had a little lovers’ tiff, did you?”

  My head snaps up.

  She’s still grinning, but now her eyes are lively with malice.

  “You think we haven’t been watching you? I gave you the chance to come in and explain yourself. Instead you chose to play kissy faces with that fanger in some café. I should send you to the psychiatric unit.”

  My cheeks burn. “You saw?”

  “You’re such a hypocrite, Karson. All this time you’ve been preaching how dangerous vampires are, and look at you. How long did it take you to stick your tongue in her mouth? I see you’ve cut your hand too—been donating to feed your little pet? Disgusting. You of all people should know, vampires are for killing, not fucking.”

  I’m standing on the other side of the table. Not sure how I got there, but Quinn has shoved her chair back and she’s glaring at me, head tilted to meet my gaze.

  “Do it.” She spreads her arms. “I know you’ve wanted to hit me for years. Do it, then we’ll see where you end up.”

  I lower my fist. Hadn’t realized I’d raised it.

  The door opens again and through it steps Hozier, steaming mug in hand. He freezes at the sight of us. “Everything okay, Agents?”

  Quinn spins on her heel. “Keep her here until I can get someone to pick her up. Gun, ID, and utilities remain confiscated, clear?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Quinn, please don’t do this. Please. Quinn—”

  She lifts a hand. “We’re done talking. One of the team will drop you home and tomorrow you report to me.” Gone.

  I scream, kicking at the table.

  The untouched cup of coffee wobbles, then falls, spilling thin brown water across the surface.

  Hozier sighs. “It didn’t go well.”

  “There are vampires running in the streets without registration details. Some can walk by day. Yeah”—I nod at his stunned look—“I thought the same, but it’s true. We need to get out there and find them, and that crazy bitch just chained me to my desk.”

  “She doesn’t seem to like you much.”

  I snort. “She’s just jealous that I bone more girls than she does.”

  “You—oh. Okay.” Hozier sets the coffee on the table and backs away. “You’ve got another visitor, by the way. Promise you won’t hurt him?”

  I throw myself back into the chair, cracking my knuckles. “I’ll be good.”

  “Try.” He returns to the door and beckons. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  “Agent Karson.” This new voice jerks my head up and draws a gasp from my mouth. “You’ve really cocked this up, haven’t you?”

  “Mikkleson?”

  The mayor sighs and wags a finger at me from his position behind the camera. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Another staring match.

  I’m getting sick of it, but I’ve no idea what to say to the man. In the end, Mikkleson saves me by pushing a button on the side of the camera. The red light stops blinking.

  I sit straight.

  This can’t be good.

  He helps himself to the chair opposite and leans forward, fingers threaded together on top of the table. “What do you think you know?”

  Deep breath. Grit my teeth. “Your son is a fang junkie.”

  “And an addict.” Shrug. “Didn’t think it would take you long to figure that out. And?”

  I match his pose. It’s that or wrap my fingers around his throat. How can he be so blasé and calm?

  “I know Amelia Smythe is a vampire. And that you knew.”

  He sighs. “She’s a very rich vampire, Agent.”

  “She’s paying you?”

  “Not directly.” He strokes his jaw. “Do you own property, Agent Karson?”

  The question blindsides me, and several seconds pass before I catch up. “I rent.”

  “I’d have thought you could afford something more with a nice SPEAR salary.”

  “I’m saving.”

  “Of course. So you’ve no idea what’s happening to property prices right now. Angbec is a fast growing city. We’ll soon match the capital insofar as national migration.”

  I sip from the mug Hozier brought me. This coffee is lovely, hot and strong and laced with sugar.

  “There’s a lot of money to be found in property, Agent.”

  “You authorized that development request from Tall Tails Ltd.”

  “And why shouldn’t I? New homes are just what this city is begging for, and if they arrive during my term? The voting populace isn’t likely to forget how well Mayor Mikkleson looked after them in their time of need.”

  Something hot and heavy seems to settle in my chest. “But you paid me, knowing I wanted that money to buy a house there. Why would you do that, knowing they would be demolished within the year?”

  “Even the most stubborn of mules responds to a dangling carrot.”

  I lay my hands on the table, fingers flat. Deep breath in, another out. “Why send me after Vixen if she’s so great and you’re making so much money?”

  His lip twists beneath the neat brush of his moustache. “I want my son back. He’s a lazy waste of space, but he’s still my son. Not leverage.”

  My fingertips itch. “But I’m a tool you can use?”

  “Supernatural Prohibition, Extermination, and Arrest Regiment.” He sniffs. “Things were different when I served. We knew who the bad guys were and did what we were trained for—destroy said bad guys. Now? SPEAR
is a joke, a bunch of armed, arrogant children fighting fairy-tale monsters. And you’re the worst hypocrite of the lot. What happened to turn you so hard against vampires? Why not the werewolves or the fae?”

  I look away. “None of your business.”

  “No? Nothing to do with Charles?”

  Everything in me seizes. My fists are on the table again, tight enough to make my palms ache.

  “What happened? The reports only said so much—”

  “Shut up.”

  Mikkleson smirks. “Touchy subject, I see.”

  “I said, shut up.”

  “Come on. Tell me what happened that got little Danika so riled up. Wrong place, wrong time?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I hear that’s not something you’d enjoy since I don’t have tits. Or fangs.”

  Ice floods my body.

  Was everyone watching? How many people know about me and Rayne?

  Laughing, he stands and walks towards the door.

  I’m on my feet. Walking. No, running, three long strides that turn into a flying kick.

  My heel strikes him in the back of the neck, propelling him forward into the door. It buckles but holds, so I kick him again, a roundhouse that snaps his head to the side. The door flies open. He falls through, grunting.

  I’m after him, then crouched over him, one hand fisted in the front of his shirt.

  “No—”

  “Stop her—”

  “What’s happening—”

  I hear the voices, in a distant way, but mostly I hear echoes of Mikkleson’s laughter and snide tone.

  “Don’t.” One punch. “Talk.” Two.

  Blood.

  “About.” Three.

  Cracks. Moans.

  “My father.” Four.

  Hands on my shoulders. Grabbing my arms. Pulling my hair. More wrap around my waist. Pin me to the ground.

  I’m shouting now, tears blurring my vision. But I can still see Mikkleson. I can see the pulped, red mess of his nose, the wide, terrified eyes.

  More yelling. Furious screams, shrill and crazed.

  It’s me, oh, Christ, it’s me.