Nightlife (17 page)

"The attack of the vicious barmaid. Your fear is quite understandable." Niko gave a disdainful snort and heaved Robin to his feet. "Goodfellow, you can sleep on our couch tonight. In your condition, even a human mugger could give you a run for your money." That was the ultimate put-down in Nik's book, a mere human giving one trouble. Niko may have been all human, but he was anything but mere.

"The couch?" Robin swayed and yawned, sleepy green eyes nearly closed. "How 'bout—"

"Don't say it," Nik cut him off immediately. "For that matter do not even
think
it."

"Spoilsport," Goodfellow grumbled as he was efficiently ushered toward the door.

I took one long look behind me as I followed them. Chances were, tomorrow would be the last time I was at the bar. It would be the last time that I'd smell that unique scent of sawdust and vomit. The last time I stepped over a regular to get to the bathroom. And it would be the last time I watched the rise and fall of the best-built edifice around, Meredith's breasts. It was a lot to say good-bye to, both good and bad. But one way or another life went on.

Unfortunately, I was only half right.

The things you think in certain situations… the thoughts that run through your mind, they're never what you think they would be. Maybe never even what they
should
be. My thoughts should have been solely on what was before me, but instead they twisted into one barely coherent whole that was practically screaming into my brain, "Run!" Survival instinct is, after all, an ultimately selfish mechanism. It's also damn hard to ignore, but I gave it my best shot for a few moments and knelt on the scarlet floor.

Blood was a sight, even a smell, I was used to. Thickly cloying, the copper of it coated the back of my throat until I could all but taste it in the air. You could say I'd come across a lot of blood in my time, mostly monster, but some human too. But I'd never seen it quite like this before.

"Merry?"

It was my voice, cracked and empty as a broken eggshell. My voice and then my hand reaching up to touch a velvety cheek, still soft, still warm. It was my voice and my hand, though I couldn't recall speaking or even moving. I cupped her face. It was like cradling a peach warmed by the hot summer sun. Magical, until the sensation of blood staining my hand registered. And suddenly what had been a person, a beautiful and carefree woman, was gone. Shallow, yeah, she'd been shallow. So what? She'd also laughed, flirted, worked, and goofed off by turns, and had more boyfriends than I could keep count of. She'd carried a picture around of a mangy alley cat she'd rescued, and applied five pounds of makeup per square inch. She'd tried to sing, but was tone-deaf beyond redemption. She'd danced like a goddess, albeit a goddess with two left feet. She'd been annoying, spoiled, and even manipulative, but she hadn't deserved this. No one did. What had been a gorgeous, living creature was now nothing but a pile of meat.

Meredith lay sprawled in the back room of the bar. She was draped over Tallywhacker's desk, a sacrifice on an altar, her hair cascading over the side like a carmine waterfall, made even redder by the blood from her throat. It lay in a pool under her head and mixed with her hair like a kiss. The white skin of her neck was slashed in parallel rows, each deep enough to show muscle and cartilage, deep enough to open her trachea and let her drown in her own blood. Her clothes had been shredded, and then the skin underneath. Slender arms, long legs, breasts, and stomach, nothing had been spared. Her brown eyes, now as dull as muddy stones, stared blankly up at the ceiling. It looked as if she were seeing something beyond this place, but I knew that she wasn't seeing anything at all, and that she never would again.

I stood clumsily, the knees of my jeans wet with Meredith's blood. I was completely numb, my legs, my arms, even my face. My heart was pounding hard enough that I could hear the echo of it in my ears. "I'm sorry, Merry." Unfeeling lips could barely push out the words, but I had to. I had to say it, because I was sorry. Sorrier than hell. It was easy to be when I'd known instantly what had ended Merry's life by ripping out her throat. I recognized the method of it, the brutality of it.

Grendels.

Grendels had done this. And with her skin still warm, her blood still wet, it hadn't been very long ago. I'd left my gun at home. I usually did unless I knew I was coming up against something big and bad. The police tended to take a dim view if you were caught in a conceal and carry. A knife was easier to hide and easier to toss. But as my fingers closed around the hilt, I couldn't help wishing it were something a shade heavier and a damn sight more lethal. Although, if I was going to wish for lethal, I might as well go for the big guns and wish for Niko at my back.

But Niko was back at the apartment with Robin. We'd spent all day packing, wrapping up loose ends, and waiting for Goodfellow to come through with a car we could afford. By the time I'd made it to the bar to pick up my last paycheck and pay off the tab, it was already dusk with an early moon coin bright in the sky. The door had been locked, which was odd. The place should've been open. Our regulars were probably halfway to D.T.'s by then. Shoving at the door, I'd discovered it wasn't locked after all, but rather blocked.

Talley's body, his hairless white gut hanging out from beneath a T-shirt, had been crumpled against the bottom of the door. His throat was slashed, the confetti of a shredded porn magazine pasted to the floor around him by blood. At least he'd gone out with his one true love by his side. I should've run then, the moment I saw him. But I couldn't. I knew Meredith was supposed to be at work. I was hoping that she'd be late as usual. I was hoping her bad work habits would save her life.

I had hoped in vain.

I tore my eyes from Meredith's limp form and took a step backward as I searched the room with a desperately feral gaze. The only light was from a single dim bulb overhead and it left the corners of the office impenetrable and thick with shadows. The Grendel scent was heavy in the air. Not a reek like that of a troll, it wasn't even that unpleasant. It was the smell of wet leaves, damp earth, and the acrid sizzle of lightning-touched ozone. Maybe it was the smell of an autumn rain or maybe it was that of a long-overgrown graveyard. And maybe if I stopped sniffing the air, I could avoid my own grave for a little while longer.

Turning swiftly, I ran. Knife in my hand, heart in my throat, I ran without a backward look. My good-bye to Merry was already said. My apologies would take longer. I'd led the wolves to the sheep and the sheep to slaughter. I wasn't sure there were enough "sorry's" in the world for that, or enough time to make them. I found that out for sure at the front door.

It wasn't dear old Dad. I'd come back through the gate an incoherent mess with no idea where I'd been, barely an idea of who I even was, but deep down, there had been one thing I had known. The Grendel that had dragged me off would never take me anywhere again. And I knew something else as well. Somehow, I was responsible.

So, no, it wasn't Daddy dearest, but in the end there was no difference. It was still a Grendel, still an Auphe—still a nightmare of claws, needle teeth, and an endless appetite for death and destruction. And more importantly, it was still between me and the door. It crouched atop Talley's body, its claws doodling idly in the blood on the floor. The pointed face looked up at me with fiery eyes and teeth glittering in a rapacious grin. "Cal-i-ban." A black tongue flickered in the air. "No more running, wretched boy."

From behind me I heard a second hiss, "No more running." I turned my head just enough to see five more Grendels behind me, pale skin and paler hair a luminescent smear in the gloom. Every eye was fixed on me with a maniacal and almost coveting glee.

It was judgment day.

Niko had been right all along. He always was, even when I wished with every fiber of my being that for once, just once, he wouldn't be. I only wished he were there to rub it in my face. It would've improved the odds a whole helluva lot. Instead, I stood alone with six Grendels. Alone—it was no way to live and it was no way to die.

"No more running."

"No more running."

"No more running." Different voices, but all chanting with the same serpentine gloat.

They could chant all they wanted because I was moving like a bat out of hell. Running? Hell, I was flying. I slammed into the Grendel by the door and opened his belly up with the backward slash of my knife. Ropy, almost delicate strings of intestines spilled out as it screamed with the agony of a burning man. Which, fortunately for me, was not my problem. Throwing him aside, I hit the door and then I was out. Not free, not safe. There wasn't much chance of that, not really. But I was out and I was running. If they wanted my ass, they'd have to catch it first. You'd be amazed how fast you can run when you're scared shitless. It also helps when you're running covered with blood, as people tend to clear out of your way. And when it's not your blood, they move even faster.

I raced down the sidewalk, every breath burning in my lungs, every heartbeat threatening to rip open my chest. The knife and the blood were both visible in the harsh glow of the streetlights. It wouldn't be too long before someone called the police, but it didn't matter. By the time they got there, I'd have vanished one way or the other. Whether it was from the street or from this world, I couldn't say, but I'd be gone.

Staring faces, gaping mouths—I saw all of that in the corner of my eye as I ran. I saw people scattering before me until I ducked into an alley out of sight. It was dark, secluded, and a shortcut I rarely took. You never knew what creature feature might be lurking there in ambush, but whatever might be in the alley couldn't be any worse than what was on my tail. I hadn't seen them behind me as I'd fled down the street, but I knew they were back there. Slinking in the evening shadows or leaping from rooftop to rooftop, they were coming. It was inevitable. Neither death nor taxes had anything on the Grendels.

The alley turned out to be empty and silent except for the sound of my pounding feet and the drip of water down grubby worn bricks. Splashing through puddles left by an afternoon rain, I exited the narrow passage and dashed across the street. There was the blare of horns, the squeal of tires, and the curses of pissed-off drivers. I ignored it all, even the bumper that scraped my leg hard enough to stagger me. Managing to stay on my feet, I kept moving. Home and help were only a few more blocks. I could make it. I kept that a single-minded point of focus in my thoughts. I could make it. And despite the doubts snickering in the back of my head, I did.

I didn't slow at the security door. The lock was still broken and the door flew open when I hit it like a runaway train. With the screech of rusty hinges, the door slammed into the wall hard enough to embed the handle into plaster. Job security for the super, just in case cleaning up our dead bodies later didn't keep him busy enough. I hit the stairs, every second an agony of suspense as I waited for the scrape of claws behind me, for the whisper of
No more running, bad boy, no more running
. When I finally reached the top, the muscles in my legs were in knots and the stitch in my side felt like an ice pick sliding between my ribs. I didn't bother fumbling for my key. Instead, I leaned on the apartment door and hammered the wood with my fist. "Nik!" My voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable, as I dragged air into starved lungs.

The door was jerked open and I lurched into my brother. Niko caught me by my arm with one hand. His other was wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword. "Grendels?"

I hadn't had to say a word. Only one thing could be responsible for the desperation in my voice, and Niko was well aware of exactly what that was. "Right behind me," I confirmed, my chest still heaving for breath. "They were at the bar. Merry…" Stopping, I pressed my lips tight and then tried again. "Meredith is dead. They ripped her to shreds."

His hand tightened on my arm. "Bastards." The word was bleak with a frozen fury.

I heard Robin's voice, hushed, almost resigned. "The Auphe? They've come?"

Niko slammed the door behind me and locked it. "I have an extra sword in the long bag on my bed, Goodfellow. I would advise you to get it." He would've let Goodfellow run for it if there'd been enough time. I don't know if Robin would've taken the opportunity or not, but there simply wasn't a chance to find out.

"No, thanks. I've been carrying my own since I met you two," he said with grim humor. "Luckily, it's close to trench coat weather, or the fashion police would be on my ass as surely as the Auphe are on yours." Reaching beneath his coat, he armed himself with a wickedly sharp blade.

"I'll take the sword, then." A gun wasn't much use against Grendels, especially in the close quarters of an apartment. There were too many and they were too goddamn fast. It didn't stop me from retrieving one from my bedroom. I might not be able to use it on the Grendels, but if I survived, I might need it later. As I took off down the hall, I could hear Niko and Robin moving furniture. Blocking the door, no doubt. Our locks were the best, but if the entire door is destroyed, locks aren't much use. And then as I hurriedly unzipped Niko's bag and started to pull weapons free, I heard it. Yeah, I heard it all right and I was so not in the mood for this shit. Not now.

The humming was louder than it had been the other night. Louder, faster, and maybe even a bit more cheerful. That was fine by me. As far as I was concerned, it could hum until the sun went out, the moon turned to blood, the seas boiled, and the frigging cows came home. It was the least of my problems and I just didn't have the time. Helping myself to one of Niko's spare hundred or so swords, I returned to the hall. I had every intention of walking past the bathroom without a glance. I nearly made it too—until I heard a new sound. The humming had been replaced by a scraping noise. It was as irritating as the squeal of nails on a chalkboard or the scratch of a diamond against glass. Reluctantly, I stopped in front of the bathroom. While nothing could be more urgent than the current wolf at our door, it was also true that I didn't want an unknown flanking us at one damn inopportune time.

Turning, I went in with the sword held before me. Armed to face the John—this was my life. By turns terrifying and humiliating, it wasn't exactly the stuff of legends. Flicking on the light with my spare hand, I moved in front of the mirror. I'd been through this a few times now and I knew what I'd see: myself… staring back. I'd be pale, I imagined, with eyes dilated with anger and fear. The Grendels had come and I didn't think I'd look too happy about it. I was right. I didn't look happy. In fact, I didn't look anything at all. It wasn't me. For the first time I looked into the glass and saw my stalker. Shit, if the book hadn't gotten it wrong.

Alice was hideous.

Round eyes as silver as the moon blinked lazily at me. Black claws flexed on the other side of the mirror. Everything about the creature was black except the eyes. The skin was polished ebony, smooth with the moist skin of a salamander burrowing in the darkness. The head was a mixture of reptilian and humanoid, as tapered and predatory as that of a rattlesnake. About the size of a Grendel or slightly smaller, the creature exuded the same evil, the same poisonous nature. The tip of a forked tongue touched the invisible barrier between us with a silent caress. Delicately vicious fangs the same color as its skin curved back like hooks. It was grotesque and yet… somehow… it was also beautiful. It was a bizarre and unsettling combination, the ravenous scuttle of a spider crossed with the sinuous grace of a feline, alien and stomach churning all at once. Except for its voice. That was simple and pure, like low-throated wind chimes, the shifting beauty of a wolf's howl, or the sound of air sifting through an angel's wings. It was the voice of a messenger of God… wrapped in a less-than-holy package. Its words, though, were mundane, if nonsensical.