Pyros: DarkWorld: Skinwalker 0.5 (Novella) (DarkWorld: Origins Book 1) (8 page)

Tara picked out a single tiny bottle, popped the chamber open on the bow and slid it into the slot. Then she readied the weapon. "This vial is packed tight with microscopic needles. Each needle is filled with a lethal poison. You have to take careful aim because the glass splits on impact and the needles enter the body in a fine spray. It's so fine it's undetectable. And untraceable." Tara smirked, very proud of her efforts.

"Thanks, this is just amazing. How do you always know what’s perfect for me?" I shook my head as I asked the question, and as expected, she shrugged.

Minutes later, bow tucked discreetly in my backpack, I headed home.

***

I entered my apartment the usual way, taking the steel stairs of the rattling old fire escape, two risers at a time. The fire escape’s rusted bolting threatened to dislodge in too many places. At times it swayed, rebelling against my weight. Light on my feet, I was in no danger of plunging seven stories to the broken sidewalk. I wouldn't be so bold as to assume the nine-lives theory applied to Walkers. And I wasn't itching to put it to the test, either.

I filed away another mental note to get the rusted bolts replaced. My guests used the other entrance to my home—an ancient cage-like contraption, which only worked because my Walker friend Anjelo worked wonders with mechanical whatnots. His smarts were busy impressing the teachers at Crawdon. The last I'd heard he was up for a scholarship or something. I snorted. Guess he'd better be super careful not to let it slip that he wasn't even Human. It would blast his scholarship to smithereens.

Only once had I used that abomination of an elevator. Despite my confidence in Anjelo's nimble fingers and equally agile brain, I became a total wuss when confronted by The Cage itself. Images of the rickety box plummeting to the basement had me fleeing for my trusted fire escape. Somehow, the fire-escape’s tenuous hold on the outside wall didn't bother me, nor did any other equally obvious dangers my preferred entrance posed.

Grandma Ivy's apartment building sat a few blocks away from the Rehab Center in a part of the city that avoided being seen or heard. It straddled the last street of the residential blocks and the first streets of the mostly abandoned industrial quarter. The location was ideal—skirting the city and yet close enough for easy access to uptown, downtown and the abandoned sector.

Wind buffeted my body and tugged at my clothes with grim ferocity as I reached the topmost landing of the fire escape. A quick jimmy opened the window, which yawned into the living room. The top floor of the old building, loft-like in size and stature, provided the space and freedom I adored.

It was kind on Grandma's bank balance too, though I didn't ask too many questions about that. Before I left home, accounts and money were the last things on my mind. My father and brother dealt with mundane things like bills. My father's voice simmered in my ear now. Reminders of choices and decisions and living with the bed I made.

Independence had many prices. Not that I complained. I preferred my current bed, thanks. Although I had a part-time job, my work at the center paid well enough for my needs. What I earned, I happily spread evenly over: clothing, my bow and the ammunition for my jobs. I was a Wraith-hunter, not a mercenary, and when one of my marks ate it, no money ever changed hands. The release of their victims was sufficient payment for me. Grandma, in her intermittent visits, took care of groceries and rent payments.

One day soon she'd have to tell me where in Ailuros' name it was she disappeared to so often. She never stayed gone for very long, maybe a couple weeks at a time, and she always came back satisfied and happy if a little drained. She never poked her nose into my business, but made sure I attended college and kept my grades up. She knew my studies were important to me because she knew I loved my job at the centre.

But despite her support, I never worked up the nerve to tell her about my Wraith-hunting. I was terrified she'd demand I stop because of the danger I put myself in. I'd been hunting for so long that danger no longer bothered me, but I knew my family would kick up a fuss about it. Good thing they never knew Wraith-hunting had been all about on-the-job-training and good few near-death experiences before I got the hang of it.

Still, sometimes I envied the Human kids at the local college. Such simple, painless lives. I made headway with many of my patients, but I could never take away the reasons they sought refuge in drugs. I saw so much agony and suffering that sometimes, just sometimes, I longed for release. And the power of the Hunt was such a release. A way to make a solid, tangible difference instead of talk, talk, talk.

But lately, something was really wrong. The frequency of Wraith possessions had increased. In the last month, I'd eliminated twice as many as the previous three months combined. Something made them bolder. Stronger. More violent. And the Veil between the Earth-World and the Wraith-world had seemed strange too. Flimsy, tattered in places. And there was no-one I could go to about it
.

With one leg inside the loft, I paused astride the sill, cocked my Panther ears, and flared my nostrils. I listened. Scented the room for intruders. Somewhere, a trucker gunned his engine. It spluttered and spat before roaring into life.

All was safe and I swung the other leg into the room and forced the protesting window shut. Having lost its protection against the elements decades ago, the wooden frame stuck, now swollen from the rain. Still, I preferred it that way—harder for intruders to get in and out fast.

I tugged the band from my loosened braid and ran my fingers through the thick mess, rubbing the sore spots on my scalp. When I was younger, I found it hard to understand why my hair differed from the rest of my singularly blond family. Greer's hair was white-blond to pure white, and Iain's was a warmer shade of my sisters pale. Guess my mother bequeathed only one child with her lustrous locks. For a long time, it had been just one more thing setting me apart from my family. Too late to avoid the chip from settling securely on my shoulder.

Cat, our cat, entwined herself between my feet, almost tripping me up. She purred her welcome, then stalked off to find a dust bunny to play with. Well, at least she'd cared enough to say hi. Grandma Ivy's precious pet was a bit of a diva, but she was the only company I had. A glance at Grandma's bedroom door confirmed it was ajar. A sure sign Grams was not home. I hadn't expected her this week, anyway. But it was okay with me. For now, with my head still pounding, I desperately needed a bed.

***

Later that afternoon, after a couple of hours of fitful dozing that miraculously relieved my headache, I sat staring off into space. My fingers filled more of the tiny cartridges with serum, while my mind remained on Todd and the Wraith I had to eliminate to save the boy. It never hurt to have extra ammo. And it never hurt to be prepared for the kill.

I kept myself busy.

Busy cursing myself.

Stupid.

At last, I had half a dozen extra vials filled, ready to be loaded into my bow’s special housing. I packed and prepared to leave. Recon topped my to-do list. Since I'd had no knowledge of it until today, I had a bit of work to do. Work that needed to be done in spite of the danger it always posed to my identity. I had to risk it though.

As the only Wraith-Hunter around I owed it to Todd and to his un-dead father to do my job.

# End of SKIN DEEP Excerpt #

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Skin Deep – Book 1 in the DarkWorld Series

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Lost Soul – Book 2 in the DarkWorld Series

Read an Excerpt of LOST SOUL

My body burned, my own brand of fire searing its way through my limbs.

I flung the covers off, trying to convince myself they were the reason I was too hot. But even as I lay there in a thin cotton singlet and briefs, I couldn't seem to cool down. I wiped damp tendrils off my sweaty forehead, fingers tangling with my unkempt mane.

My forearm burned, throbbing accusingly at me.

My gaze avoided the area of my forearm where the burning heat and the constant throbbing emanated. I didn't want to see the blue-green color of my skin. Nor did I want to see how far the poison had spread, threading its deadly toxins through my veins, through my flesh. I didn't want to be reminded of the reason I was relegated to my bed, too weak to move, too weak to work. Too weak to save anyone, least of all myself.

I hated weakness in any form. It pissed me off.

And time wasn't standing still waiting for me to get my act together.

I sighed and swallowed, my throat convulsing, my mouth a furnace of its own. My eyelids were so hot and heavy I could barely keep them open. They drifted shut of their own accord.

I hated being so helpless. Greer was still in the In-Between and Anjelo and Mom were still in Wrythiin. The longer I languished in my bed, the longer they would suffer at the hands of Widd'en's men. They would remain at the mercy of the Wraith Army while I was chained
to my mattress by pain and poison. I gritted my teeth, my fingers twisting the edge of the sodden sheet.

Despite my frustrations, I was still sprawled in bed, waiting for Logan to figure out how best to rid me of this debilitating poison. Hopefully I wouldn't die before he finally honed his Fire enough to help me. Not that I was ungrateful or impatient with him. He needed to learn how to control his power better so he could properly treat the poison.

I balanced my weight on my good hand and raised myself off the bed, shifting until I rested on my elbows. A wave of nausea gripped me so badly I slumped flat on my back and shuddered. So much for trying to sit up like a normal person. Nausea tightened my throat and I began to breathe in and out very, very fast, trying to exhale away the urge to hurl. I hated throwing up. I'd been doing too much of that lately. Slowly the desire began to recede and my throat relaxed.

But now I needed the toilet. Badly.

Sighing, I gritted my teeth against pain and nausea and pushed myself into a sitting position. No matter what additional privileges the bedridden were allowed, the last thing I needed was for someone to find I'd wet the bed. I teetered at the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress as the world tilted. I swallowed hard, blinking at the wave of dizziness that washed over me. I extracted myself from the dampened sheets still clinging to my body. Muscles clenched, I launched myself onto my feet and remained hunched over for a moment, holding onto the mat-tress for support until I felt a little more steady on my weakened knees.

After a few shaky moments, I managed to hobble to the bathroom on wobbly legs, making it there and back to the bed without dying. That was a good sign. Seated on the bed again, I was so tempted to lie down and rest. With every move I'd made, my body screamed that I'd be better off lying down. My body was probably smarter than I was.

But I was partially up. And I was damned thirsty.

I glanced at my nightstand, giving the pile of empty water bottles a disgusted glare. No way could I fill any of those long, thin things in my mini bathroom sink. The way I saw it, I had one of two choices. Head back into the bathroom, huddle over the sink, and drink from cupped palms, or make a trip to the kitchen for an actual glass of the stuff.

But the kitchen was very, very far away. I sighed—sometimes being an invalid was all so overwhelmingly hard.

Sometimes it would be so easy to just give up. But I didn't have the luxury of giving up.

I moved and the dark blue shadow of my arm swam into my vision. Green and blue veins stood raised and fat as if the poison had thickened and now formed a slow-moving sludge in my bloodstream. The Wraith poison had worked its way through my body, covering my skin with tiny threads of navy and purple, casting a gray-green tinge to my complexion. I looked like I was morphing into some kind of water sprite or kelpie. I shuddered.

Moving slowly, I got back on my feet. Knees trembling, I held my heart in my hands as I navigated the endless expanse of floor between my bed and my door. I had nothing to hold so I could so easily face-plant at any time.

Nope, chin up, think positive, one foot in front of the other.

I stiffened my legs and moved forward, looking straight ahead and hoping that would help my balance. Step by step I breathed slowly until only two feet remained and I realized I'd made it.