Crossed (12 page)

Beatrice grabbed Tabitha’s arm in an attempt to hurry her toward the limo, but Tabitha pulled away from her. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“It’s the holy hairy wedding crashers. I think they want to see me off. Get in the car!”

“No.” She’d been seeming human, but still managed to pop her claws. As she got better at managing her powers, she’d discovered that anger helps her override the suppressive effect that seeming human has on her abilities, and the prospect of a honeymoon derailment provided more than enough of that particular emotion. “I’ll help you.”

“No, you won’t.” I locked eyes with her and pushed my way inside her head. “You’ll get in the car, ride to the airport, and get on the airplane. If I’m not there when it’s time to leave, then you can come rescue me. Now go!”

I’m totally going to have to answer for that when I get on the plane,
I thought. Fang rolled out of the parking deck as if he sensed trouble brewing. As the limo pulled out, I reached into the glove box and drew
El Alma Perdida.

“Ah cain’t believe it,” said a certain dead man with a southern twang I recognized. “You actually thought to use my gun. Yer learnin’, boy.”

Greta came running out the front doors of the Pollux, a bloodied mouse in one hand. She dropped it and wiped her fingers clean on the back of her jeans. “Are we fighting something?”

“No.” A thought occurred to me, the beginnings of an actual plan.
What? Even I come up with a plan from time to time.
“I’m fighting something. You’re getting in Fang and driving to the airport.”

“But, Dad!”

“No ‘buts,’ just do it.”

I didn’t have to make it an order. Greta’s a good girl, and she knew I was serious. Without a word, she jumped into Fang’s driver’s seat and tore off for the airport, leaving tire tracks and the smell of burnt rubber in her wake.

I stood in the middle of the street, gun at the ready, until a car, hopefully not one of my customers, whipped by me, clipping my hip. It swerved and slowed, but didn’t stop. And that’s why when Deacon and crew came hauling ass around
the corner, I was pulling myself up off the sidewalk. They were already wolfed out and ready to bite, which must have taken a lot of practice and explained why they rode such large frickin’ motorcycles.

I didn’t have a shot on Deacon, so I took the next werewolf in line, squeezing off a round that took him in the chest. In the movies, gunmen make all kinds of trick shots, but in basic training, just like in any other place where they’re teaching you to use guns against people, Sergeant Shouts-a-lot taught us to shoot for the largest visible target. Usually, that means center mass. There was no spurting gout of blood, and I didn’t stop to watch him die. I moved on to the next target because in war that’s what you do, and anytime I aim a gun at a living thing and pull the trigger that’s what it feels like . . . like I’m on enemy soil . . .

El Alma Perdida
barked like thunder and my ears started ringing, all other sounds buried by the all-encompassing whine. Silvery flames poured out of the wound, and the werewolf tumbled from his hog, clutching at his chest. I’ve been shot more than once with
El Alma Perdida
and it’s never been fun, but I didn’t envy him the flammable fur coat.

My next round hit the fourth or fifth wolf in the bunch. He laid his bike down, skidding to a halt, flame trailing from his neck where
El Alma Perdida
’s bullet had struck home. By then I’d forgotten I was standing in the road out in front of the Demon Heart . . . My mind was far away and long ago in the mud of some other place. Bombs were falling around me in that else-when, but I kept on shooting, because that’s what you do when you’re at war.

“They’re strong,” Courtney offered. “Normal wolves go out like candles, once
Perdy
gets aholt of ’em.” I looked at Courtney, didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t in my unit, but he didn’t look German or Japanese and he didn’t have a gun, so I told him to take cover and I took cover too, running for the Pollux entryway.

Both the injured wolves let loose with howls so shrill and terrible that it cut through the ringing in my ears.
Air raid.

“
Perdy
got ’em anyhow.”

JPC’s voice came through loud and clear despite the fact that I could barely hear my own gunshots, but I didn’t have time to ask why. Using the edge of the Pollux entry for cover, I got off one more shot before Deacon was on me. A third werewolf went down, flames licking up his chest and engulfing his head.

“That happens sometimes,” Courtney said, “when you hit a vital organ. Must a’ got that fella right in the ticker.”

Deacon leapt straight for me, not even slowing to stop his motorcycle. We went backward through the glass double doors. Slivers of glass poked through my skin, drawing blood and eliciting a hissing yelp. A combination of the pain, the blood, and seeing the chandelier overhead brought me back to the present and I shoved Deacon off. I changed as he flew through the air.

Turning into the uber vamp was too easy. It felt natural, pleasurable, like putting on your favorite pair of jeans. Deacon hit the concrete, bounced back up, and charged into me. The hit carried us farther into the Pollux. We tumbled together in front of the concession stand, claws scrabbling for purchase in each other’s flesh.

Sounds came out of his muzzle, but if they were words I couldn’t understand them so I talked over him. “Three down. Nine to go, Deacon. You sure you want to keep doing this?”

Sharp pointy wolf teeth sank into my shoulder . . . always with the shoulder. He tore into the meat and I shouted an obscenity. A series of snaps and pops echoed in both ears complimented by a side of piercing pain and I could hear again, but something else was wrong. Fighting wasn’t fun anymore. It was vicious and bloody and it hurt. I’d killed three werewolves and nobody laughed. Worse, I was tired of it all. I’d even had a
flashback, for crying out loud. I hadn’t had one of those since becoming a vampire, not one. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said I was coming down off some kind of . . . high. And that’s when I realized that I was.

According to Lord Phillip, I’d been under an enchantment that hid me from my sire and slowed the development of my powers since the very moment that I became a vampire. After the enchantment finally wore off at the end of the whole soul-stealing demon thing, I’d still had Rachel influencing me in subtle ways, making me happy. I didn’t have that anymore because I made her stop. It was the magic. I was coming down off a forty (fifty?) year high and this was real life. This was real life and I was tired of playing games.

I turned into my revenant form and walked toward the street. Cold rushed in and the world went watercolor; the unreality of it made things easier. Deacon rushed after me, angrily clawing at spectral flesh he couldn’t touch. A ghostly gun,
El Alma Perdida,
appeared in my ghostly hand (I guess because I’d been holding it before I changed) and I opened fire on the Apostles. They’d promptly formed a ring around Deacon and me, so they had very little chance to react. I’d say it was like shooting fish in a barrel, but it was worse than that.

“That’s cheatin’!” Courtney’s ghost appeared next to me, but I walked past him, reaching through the corpse of one of the dead werewolves to withdraw the bullet. It slid free of the flesh, a whole cartridge that looked as if it had never been fired at all. I popped open the cylinder, slid the cartridge home, and then snapped the cylinder back into place.

“I said, ‘That’s cheatin’ and you shouldn’t be shootin’ those wolves anyhow. They’re believers!’” Courtney scowled at me.

“This isn’t a game anymore.” I fired
El Alma Peridida
again and Deacon’s claws swept through me without effect. “It used to be, and then I sobered up.” The ice in my voice manifested itself on the asphalt as a spreading ring of frost. “This is war.”

Deacon changed tactics, seizing
El Alma Perdida
’s grip with both paws. The silver cross on the grip burned his palms, but he refused to let go.

“Now there’s irony for you,” I said.

“I. Will. End. You.” Deacon growled the words. I let him have the gun and grabbed him somewhere else, my glowing blue fingers sinking under the flesh and seizing energy that felt warm and alive.

“I don’t think you will, Deacon.” His eyes widened as he felt what it’s like to have a revenant start to tear your spirit out of your body. It can’t have been pleasant. “And I really wish you’d stop trying. I don’t need to hunt anymore. I have thralls, willing thralls, to feed me, and I’m not going to make any other vampires. I’m done with that. In fact, I’m on my way to Paris to try and kill the vampire that created me. I probably won’t stop at one.”

“You’re a monster.”

“And you’re dinner. Given a choice between the two, I’m more comfortable with my role in the scenario.”

“You killed seven of the Apostles.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they weren’t the real ones.” I let him go and he sank to his knees. I watched him shrink back down to human form, and he looked broken. Two of the remaining so-called Apostles grabbed him under the shoulders, pulling him away from me and to his feet.

They loaded up the bodies of their fallen comrades in a way that looked unsafe and illegal, and then they drove away. I didn’t realize that they’d taken the other five bullets with them until the last werewolf rode out of sight and John Paul started laughing.

“They’re getting away with your bullets, Hoss. ’Course, if you knew the other way to reload the gun, that wouldn’t be no problem, but I ain’t fixin’ to tell yeh how to go about that until you promise not to use
Perdy
on any more believers. And another thing . . .”

To say the least, it was a very long ride to the airport.

    12    

RACHEL:

SEE YOU IN PARIS

I should have been on that plane.” The words left my mouth ten minutes after Lord Phillip’s private jet took off.
Eric actually left me behind. Me.

Me!

“Bye, Dad! Bye, Mom!” Greta sat on the hood of Eric’s Mustang, still waving, still smiling, as if she had no intention of leaving, not until he came back to find her still smiling and waving. “Come back soon!”

“Bye!” Maybe she thought he would turn around if she waved long enough or called loud enough. Tears of blood rolled down her face. Talbot saw the tears and walked over. He went to put his hands around her shoulders and caught himself, putting both hands flat on Fang’s hood instead.

“Let’s go on back to the Pollux, Greta.” Such a calm relaxing tone . . . A girl could forget he’s really a cat. “We can get one of the girls to feed you.”

“No!” She hit him with the palm of her hand. I think it was supposed to be a simple shove, but it knocked Talbot off his feet and into the air. He threw his body into a spin, rotating in the air, and struck the roof of the parking deck with
his claws extended. Scratches trailed behind his claws, sparks popping from the needle-sharp talons as he used them to slow his progress. Inertia spent, he dropped to the floor on all fours with grace surpassing a cat’s. Green flashes of light winked on within his cat’s eyes, but he mastered his temper as he stood, and the light went out.

“I’m out,” I said, and headed for the nearest exit. A trip in an elevator that smelled of piss and French fries took me down to the arrivals section without having to pass through security. I got into the first taxi I saw and texted Andre.

“Drive.”

wht do i hv 2 do?

“Where to?”

I kept my eyes on the screen, ignoring the question, until I hit Send. “Give me a sec.”

“I’m starting the meter.”

“Whatever.”

Andre’s text came in fast:
You apologized?—Andre

duh,
I texted back at him.

“Head back into downtown,” I told the cabbie, and we began to move. “I’m either going to the Artiste Unknown or the Demon Heart.”

“The strip club?” The driver let out a whistle. “You a dancer? Aren’t you a little young?”

“Fuck you.” I tapped the screen of my phone and started a KenKen puzzle, impatient for Andre’s reply. “First of all, it’s a bowling alley now, and second of all, I don’t even work there. I’m dating the guy who owns it.”