Someone really has their tighty-whities in a knot.
The mental image makes me giggle.
The voices fall silent.
“Did she just—”
“Yeah, she did. Danika? You awake?”
There’s only one person who says my name like that, a mix of lust and confidence encased in awe.
I open my eyes.
Wow, that’s bright.
Close them. Prepare. Try again.
Sloooowly.
Blue and white room, plain walls, one with a tasteful art print framed in dark wood. No windows. Chair beside a low cabinet topped with a jug of water and a single glass with a straw. Small sink. Drip stand. Machines studded with wires all leading to—ah.
I lift my arm to study the drip running into the back of my hand. My chest is tight, skin drawn up beneath the sticky patches linking me to the heart monitor.
A twinge in my neck. Inspection reveals soft dressings, one to each side. More on my forehead, cheek, wrist, and fingers.
“So you are awake.”
I face the source of the voice. “Hey, Jack.”
He waves away the loitering nurse and pulls the chair up to my bed. “How’s my little warrior?”
I think about that. My memory is holey, but it’s clear I’ve been hurt badly.
“Water.” Ugh, is that my voice? I lick my lips and try again. “Water. Please.”
Jack obligingly fills the cup and turns the straw towards my lips.
I stare.
He frowns, sighs, and hands me the cup.
Sipping, I try to remember, struggle to bring the images darting across my memory into some sort of order.
Club Starshine. Werewolves. Hostages. Noel bleeding out. Rayne’s sneering stare. Vixen kissing her. Fighting. Smoke. Pain. Pippa—
Water splashes down my front.
“Steady, Danika, you’re still weak. Let me—”
“Where’s Pippa?”
He tries to take the cup. I resist. More water soaks the sheets.
“You’re tired and hurt. We should worry about—”
“You should worry about me knocking your bleached, shiny teeth out. Where’s my sister?”
Jack stops his attempts to take the cup and sits back, hands raised. “You’re still angry, but you’ve got it wrong. If you’d let me explain—”
“Where. Is. Pippa.”
He drags a hand through his hair.
For the first time I notice how tired he looks. How rumpled his shirt is. I’ve never seen this man look anything less than pristine, even for something as simple as a walk to his car. Even his tie is stained. Waistcoat unfastened. Dark smudges beneath his eyes.
“I know what you think, but I had no idea what Amelia—I mean, Vixen—was doing. I had no idea where that money was coming from or who she really was.”
I fold my arms. Tricky with the drip, but I do it anyway. And stare.
“And the blood stuff, I won’t be doing that any more. It’s too dangerous and I know you don’t like it so I…”
Still staring.
“This isn’t making any difference, is it?”
“Not a bit.” I lift the sheets. Good, seems like I’m dressed. Kinda. I pile the sheets in a damp wedge and toss the lot against the wall.
Jack scratches the side of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I—even if you’re gay, I still really like you. I respect you and—”
“Goodbye, Jack.” I point to the door.
“Okay. I’ll see you around, maybe?”
I smile. “No chance in hell.”
He leaves, still wearing that stunned expression.
A moment later, the nurse returns. He holds a small bundle, all flailing legs and flapping wings.
“Karson, Karson, Karson, Karson, Karson!”
“Norma?”
The chittarik wrestles from his grip and dives across the room. She hits my chest hard, then laps frantically at my cheeks, my fingers, my head, my ears. Anywhere she can reach.
I clutch her close, barely feeling the scrabbling scratch of her claws. “Hey, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Kar. Son son son-kar. Kar…”
“I know, but I’m okay.”
She doesn’t believe me, that’s clear, now sniffing over every bandage and scrap of medical tape.
The nurse stands at my bedside. “That thing has been fighting to get down here for hours. Couldn’t catch it, couldn’t coax it out. Eventually that Cobé guy said it belonged to you.”
“She does. Her name’s Norma.”
“Well, Norma is a pain in my fat black arse. Pretty much like you, Agent Karson.”
Ah. So this is a SPEAR hospital.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t lose two, possibly three pints of blood? Or dislocate three fingers? You didn’t crack your scaphoid”—pointing to my left wrist—“or bruise your ribs and skull? Strain and sprain your shoulder? Damage the ligaments in—”
“I get it, I’m a walking train wreck. So sorry I gave you guys some work to do.”
He chuckles. When he next turns, I catch a glimpse of his name tag. Robert.
“While I know sarcasm is your specialty, I’ll take that on the nose. Omega team doesn’t always have much to do, but when we do, we really do. But you’re going to be fine.”
“Good, then can I have my clothes? I need to find Pippa.”
“Agent—”
“Don’t. Accept that I’m getting out of this bed and finding my sister. You can help me do that without falling on my face, or you can get out of the way. You can find my watch too.”
Norma nuzzles my face again, then crawls up the side of my face to sit on my head. I pet her gently.
Robert sighs. “I’ll get you a chair.”
Chapter Thirty-five
This chair has no handrims. Not that I have the strength to wheel myself, but I hoped they’d humour me.
Robert pushes me without speaking, twisting back and forth to compensate for the front right wheel that seems determined to run me into a wall.
I keep my hands in my lap, fiddling with the worn and filthy straps of my father’s watch. Norma settles happily on my head, her tail occasionally snaking down to stroke my cheek.
I don’t have my own clothes, but Robert managed to find a gown that closes at the back, and a pair of nurse’s trousers. Getting into them was a painful laugh riot; can’t remember the last time I had so many little cuts and bruises. They don’t hurt—guess I’m full of the SPEAR morphine cocktail—but my joints are stiff and my muscles over-tense.
“How long was I out?”
Robert stops at the lift and presses the red arrow pointing down. “About eight hours.” He notices my little gasp. “I know. Those Clear Blood drugs must really buff you up. That or you’re part bull. These injuries would keep most people out for at least a day, but it’s barely sundown.”
“Then Pippa—”
“No, she’s not awake yet. Neither’s the other one.”
Ah, yes. The other one.
I bite my lip. It’s bruised and puffy, but the faint ache helps me think.
Rayne isn’t like the others, I know that now. But she is a vampire.
And so is Pippa.
I run my hands through my hair and find Norma in the way. She nips my fingers.
Pippa Karson, a vampire. What about her job? Her husband? The baby?
My vision blurs as the lift doors slide open.
“Karson?”
I grunt at the sight of the other occupant of the box. “Quinn.”
If Robert notices the tension between us, he doesn’t mention it. He stabs the button for basement level five and pulls my chair into the corner.
Silence.
Ping. Second floor.
Shuffling.
Ping. First floor.
A cough.
Ping. Ground floor.
Someone tapping their foot.
Ping. Basement level one.
“Mikkleso
n is out of intensive care.” Quinn rubs her nose. “They moved him early this morning.”
I keep my sights fixed on the little red numbers showing our progress.
“The officers you stupidly took to Club Starshine are safe too. Shaken, but fine.”
Ping. Basement level two.
“I had you brought here because you needed the care, but don’t think that changes anything. You’re still suspended, soon to be dismissed. And don’t think you’re keeping that chittarik either—”
“I’m tired, Quinn. Exhausted, actually, and probably high on morphine. I can’t deal with you right now. Do me a kindness and shut the hell up.”
“Ka! Ka, Karson.”
Ping. Basement level three.
Silence.
At level five, the doors swish open to reveal a long, narrow corridor. A security guard nods us through after Robert flashes his ID badge.
My chair wobbles, then starts off again, much faster now, with the accompanying clip-clop of confident, assured feet.
I look back. “What the hell are you doing, Quinn? Pass me back to the other guy.”
She smiles, grim and superior. “He’s Omega team and has no clearance past these doors. Were you planning to wheel yourself in?”
“So you thought you’d come down to lend a hand?”
A chuckle. “Not at all. I was called for an execution. Bringing you through to watch is a bonus. I’ll even overlook your lack of clearance.”
A bitter taste floods my mouth. “Who?”
She pulls a sheet of paper from her inside pocket. “Emily Friedman.”
My shoulders drop. I breathe out, slow and steady.
Not Rayne.
My watch beeps. Nearly sunset.
Our holding bay, though larger and more advanced, resembles the one in Shakka’s bookshop. Cells fronted with reinforced glass form twin lines to either side of the long space. Most are occupied. Brownies, gargoyles, sprites, and the occasional werewolf watch as Quinn wheels me down the walkway.
Other agents patrol the area, some in tactical gear, others not, all armed with at least a semi-automatic.
Some watch us advance; others ignore us completely.
One woman turns away from her station and trots over to us. She swings her gun round on the strap until it rests against her back. “Karson, you’re awake? What are you made of, anyway?”
“Sugar, spice, and all things nice.”
She grins. “You’re something else. All those unregistered vampires, Amelia Smythe walking around in the day—you’ve turned everything we know on its head. No one knows what to do.”
Can’t help but snort at that. “They’ll figure it out—their heads are flat enough.”
She falls in step beside us. “I hear you’ve been dishing out blood too. You do know there are proper places to do that, right? With needles, antiseptic, and trained medical professionals.”
“I like to cut out the middleman.”
“You’re crazy, but I’m glad you’re okay. And…” For the first time her smile falters. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
My fingers tighten in my lap. “Thanks.”
Quinn clears her throat. “Prisoner TA865C4, please. I have an execution order.”
She cuts a quick glance at me. “Um, sure. This way.” She leads us to the cells on the right, her steps slow and unsure. When she points, her eyes are downcast, expression grim.
What the hell is going on?
Quinn pushes my chair up to the glass and locks the wheels in place. “Prisoner TA865C4, otherwise known as Emily Friedman or—”
“Rayne?” I try to stand, but my legs can’t handle it.
She’s strapped to a low table, set at an angle to showcase her whole body. She’s exactly as I last saw her, mangled clothes, dried blood.
“What is this?”
Quinn crouches beside my chair. “This vampire attacked numerous individuals over the course of two days. She also broke into Clear Blood facilities, stole private files, and nearly killed Jackson Cobé. She broke into SPEAR facilities too and stole dangerous and valuable weapons. The list goes on.” She smiles. “You know what happens when vampires can’t be controlled.”
“This is bullshit.”
“This is law, Karson. Time you started paying attention to it.”
She leaves my chair outside the glass, a front row seat to the murder she’s about to commit.
Again, I try to stand. I make it halfway before my knees wobble and dump me in the chair. I can’t move. Again. Yet again, I can’t do anything.
“Quinn? Quinn, don’t do this. You don’t know the whole story—you don’t know. She was working with me. She hasn’t hurt anybody, I’m telling you. Don’t do this.”
Heads are turning my way. Low voices muttering. Curious glances. Even Norma catches my mood, flying off my head to loop my chair, calling in her deep, gravelly voice.
Don’t care.
After all we’ve been through, everything we’ve done, Rayne can’t die now.
The wheelchair squeals as I shove it back, then tips, dumping me on the floor.
Ahead, smirking, Quinn is already inside the cell. She stops beside Rayne’s bed and peers at her. “She’s pretty, if you forget the fangs and bloodlust. But I told you, vampires are for killing, not fucking. One less leech in the world will make your—sorry, our—jobs easier.”
I’m halfway across the floor, half in, half out of the cell. The wall helps me stand, but my knees refuse to cooperate. I can’t let go unless I want to fall.
Norma flies back, calling me forward, urging me on. “Karson? Karson, Karson, Danika, Dan—”
I grab her tiny body and tuck it under my arm. “Don’t be a dick because you hate me, Quinn. You know this is wrong.”
“I know my job, something you clearly need a lesson in. Think of the people hurt because of you. How many have died?”
I inch along the wall. “And the people we rescued? All those hostages—”
“No excuse.” She draws a slender length of silver chain from her pocket and wraps an end around each hand.
I move faster.
“We’re SPEARs. We protect humans, we serve humans.” She pulls the chain taut above Rayne’s throat. “If it’s any consolation, she won’t feel it. One quick pull and off pops her head, faster than you can say vamp whore.”
I’m not going to make it. I can tell. I’m too far off, I’m—
My watch beeps.
Rayne’s eyes flash open. She strains and sucks in huge breaths. Her back and hips bow off the table.
Other agents arrive. Two catch me under the arms, but I don’t want their help. “Quinn, please—”
“Restrain Agent Karson, please.” She taps the side of her head. “I mean Ms. Karson. She’s about to interrupt an execution as directed by the Crown Court of Supernatural Justice. Grab that pest too.”
Norma yells as rough hands snatch her from my grip, trapping both wings tight to her back.
“Bitch!” Raging, pulling, slipping, falling. “You know that directive is full of shit.”
More murmurs from the gathered SPEARs. The hands on my arms slacken.
“Danika?”
My head snaps up. “Rayne? Yes, I’m here.”
She’s smiling. “It’s okay. There’s no space for me here. It’s better if I go.”
“No.” My voice cracks. “You were right, before, in the ambulance.”
Deathly silence. Even Quinn appears intrigued.
“And?”
I lick my lips. “You’re not like them.” I shake away the hands holding my arms and wobble a step closer. “And Vixen lied, there is space for you if we fight for it.”
Her eyes brighten with the faintest flicker of silver. “We?”
Another wobbly step. “You and me, whatever that means.”
She smiles, a real, sunny smile, filled with all the words choked at the backs of our throats.
Quinn growls. “Touching, but the fact remains, I have a jo
b to do.” She stretches the chain above Rayne’s throat.
“No, please!”
Norma sinks her fangs into the hand on her middle. While the agent thrashes and screams, she pelts forward, beak clicking, wings pumping, straight at Quinn’s face.
Quinn stumbles, arms forward to protect her eyes. The chain falls across Rayne’s throat.
Smoke. Charred flesh. Screams.
I fall and crawl the rest of the way, reaching up the table to pull the engraved and consecrated chain off Rayne’s skin.
Thin wisps of smoke curl up from burnt, crispy flesh.
Still Norma jabs at Quinn, using her claws now and buffeting with her wings. I’d laugh, but Rayne is gasping, straining at the straps, and wincing.
“Rayne? Are you okay? Say something, please.” I’m fumbling with the straps, clumsy, awkward fingers shaking too much to handle a simple buckle. “Talk to me.”
Her lips are moving. No sound.
“You can heal that? An hour or so and you’ll be fine?”
She nods.
I finally unloop the first strap.
Her right arm flies free and pulls my head down for the sweetest kiss I’ve ever tasted.
She tries to speak again. Fails.
“I know, Rayne. Save your strength.”
Quinn scrambles off the floor, holding the back of her head. She points at the ceiling where Norma clings upside down, still yelling and lashing her tail. “Someone catch that thing and remove this crazed civilian from my cell. One of you? Any of you?”
Rayne sits up and tears the straps from their cases. In an instant, she’s off the table and gripping Quinn by the throat.
Dozens of guns snap up into position, red dots flickering across Rayne’s head and chest.
“No.” I leap across them, arms outspread.
Norma dives and flies in front of me, a daring back and forth arc through the gleam of red beams. “Dan-dan. Nika, Karson!”
“They will shoot through you, Karson. And that bloody chittarik.” Quinn’s voice struggles past the grip on her throat.
I turn to offer the agents my back.
“Rayne?”
She hasn’t moved, frozen with Quinn dangling from her grip.
“You have to look at me. Please?”
At last she turns, not to me but the front of the cell. I follow her gaze but there’s just the line of agents with rifles and automatic weapons aimed our way.
Both Ways Page 28
