Indigo pressed her long fingers to the crooked door and pushed inward. Hinges squeaked as the wood-paneling moved freely, creating a dark void in the front of the structure.
“This is not a great idea.” I’d removed Christine from her sheath and held her tightly in my right hand.
“Leaving Miranda inside to fend for herself is a worse one.”
I wasn’t convinced of that but didn’t feel mentally equipped to argue that point with Indigo, even as she stepped into the darkness. The building’s interior was a shade just above the void, the broken contours of the ramshackle hallway barely visible. I only knew Indigo’s location based on the shifting creak of worn floorboards as she moved deeper into the abandoned tenement building. As the junkie outside had promised, the building had been mostly hollowed out. Gaping holes carved away swaths of the plaster walls, as if they were in the middle of demolition, jagged chunks of sheet rock revealed through the uneven breakage. Grit and chunks of wall and ceiling crunched beneath our feet as we crossed from the hallway to a wide open cavern of busted walls and scant, splintered support columns. Couches and chairs were pushed about in a haphazard fashion, a furniture showroom set up by drunkards. Several shadowed figures invaded the cavernous interior of the hollowed out building, scattered about thick loveseats and sofas, with others huddled near the sparse remains of columns.
To our left a pair of silhouettes grouped together against one narrow, wooden support pillar, tangled in a tight embrace, one head swiveling to probe us as we entered. Along a wide, floral print couch, its fabric torn and stained, three more people were huddled, two with legs drawn, a third draped across two cushions, motionless. Murmured voices hissed from a darkened corner near the far end of the opened area and I followed the sound. Two figures crouched in a darkened alcove, the narrow gleam of their nocturnal eyes staring back at me.
“We’ve got vamps.” I held out a protective hand, but Indigo was already stepping forward. “Indigo!” I hissed a jagged whisper, which she summarily ignored. Lowering herself into a crouch, she drew in breath through her nose, a swift inhalation. “What are you—”
Then I understood, even as she lowered herself further, braced on one flattened palm, lowering her head closer to the floor. She was sniffing the air. Trying to find her friend Miranda— by her scent. Indigo prowled forward, slinking along the creaking floorboards, head angling left to right. I followed along, keeping my grip firm around the handle of my blade, though so far, nobody seemed all that interested in my presence.
Indigo, on the other hand, was drawing some attention. The glowing embers of almond-shaped eyes followed nearly her every move, even as she drew upright, glancing at the rectangular blackness of a doorway. Without speaking, or even acknowledging my presence, she melted into the black, moving from one room to the next. I couldn’t help but hold some measure of surprise that the vampires hadn’t even attempted to attack. They’d simply huddled nearby, watching us, measuring us, evaluating who we were and what we were there for. It was a question I wasn’t even sure of the answer to.
I followed Indigo into the deepening shadows and ventured into an open area beyond the doorway, cast in the pale glow of a naked bulb dangling from the ceiling, swaying gently, back and forth.
A young woman was sprawled on the couch, a collection of narrow figures gathered around her, watching as Indigo approached with caution. As with the other vampires in the house, they remained at arm’s length, purposefully not approaching.
“What have they done to her?” Indigo’s voice was a low, hoarse whisper and I crept forward. Drawing nearer, I could see just how pale the skin on the young girl’s arms was, almost the color of ivory, her fingers splayed, her head lolled back, barely held aloft by her narrow neck. Indigo was studying the inside of the other woman’s arm, the woman I assumed was Miranda.
“Is that—”
“Yes, it’s her.” Indigo ran her fingers along the inside of the arm, examining a series of puncture marks along the edge of the limb. Miranda lifted her head and blinked slowly, as if trying to understand a complex riddle.
“I— Indie?”
“Shh,” Indigo whispered, eyes drawing across the gathered silhouettes nearby. “We’re going to help you.”
“N— no.” Miranda shook her head. “Don’t need it. Fine here. All good.”
Indigo’s eyes narrowed as she gingerly touched the puckered wounds on Miranda’s flesh.
“They— give me gifts,” Miranda whispered, craning her neck back to look at the vampires who stood several feet away. “We make— trades.”
“Trades?” Indigo didn’t seem to understand, but I was getting the picture. I’d seen it before, especially with particularly badly afflicted addicts in desperate need of their next hit.
“Come on,” I whispered, “let’s go.”
“Not without her.” Indigo remained firm.
“I don’t think she wants to come.”
“They’re eating her, Gus.” Indigo scowled at me over her shoulder.
“She lets them,” I replied.
“Friends.” Miranda lifted one narrow arm from the couch and reached over the back, extending her fingers toward the vampires. “They’re my— my friends.” Her head lolled slightly. “We speak. In our heads. We are—connected.”
“They are not your friends.” Indigo closed her own fingers around Miranda’s other wrist. “Come on, sweetie.”
“I won’t leave them.”
Indigo, again, looked confused.
“I’ve seen this behavior before.” I crouched next to Indigo and pressed my hand to her shoulder. “She wants drugs. They want blood. It’s an exchange, of sorts.”
“What?” She twisted toward me, a disgusted look on her face. “She lets them feed off of her? In exchange for drugs?”
“Look at her— she’s stoned out of her mind, Indigo. This isn’t the behavior of a vampire victim, it’s the behavior of a drug addict.”
Indigo massaged her scalp with her other hand, shaking it back and forth. “No no no.”
“Trust me, okay? This isn’t the first time it’s happened. It won’t be the last.”
“It will be the last. At least for Miranda.” Indigo moved closer, pulling Miranda’s other arm over her shoulders, levering her upright. The vampires watched with strange curiosity, but still made no move to stop us.
“No,” Miranda’s voice was a croak as she reached behind herself, clawing toward the vampires. “My friends! Family! Don’t take me—”
“Let’s go,” Indigo said, “you’ll be better off without them.” She half carried, half dragged her friend away from the couch. Miranda, in her current weakened state, was ill-equipped to fight her off. She squirmed and writhed, but Indigo held fast. I rushed to follow, noticing that the vampires weren’t just hanging back— they were almost recoiling. Moving bodily out of Indigo’s way.
As she moved into the dim light of the main room, I caught a glimpse of her features, a mixed mask of vampire and human, some bizarre amalgamation I hadn’t seen before, even with all of my exposure to the nocturnal creatures. Her brow was knotted, her eyes narrow and without pupils. She had a hard edge to her jawline, the chin jutted, though her teeth were only slightly sharp.
“Let’s go.”
“Are you sure about this?”
Indigo nodded sharply and moved past me. I took an uncertain step back, my eyes fixed on the various silhouettes in a wide circle around me, waiting, anticipating their eventual attack. But it didn’t come.
We moved across the opened floor, past a broken support column where a narrow-framed vampire sat, back pressed against the splintered wood.
“Careful, chief— one of those splinters might kill you.”
The vamp failed to see the humor. As we walked toward the front hallway, I recalled my conversation with Fenric from earlier— the prevalence of synthetic blood on the streets, a new flavor of designer drug. Was that what I was seeing? Was this nest of vampires not a nest at all, but some sort of new kind of addict?
Ahead, the partially opened doorway led out into pale light, the alley coming into view beyond the rectangular gap in the wall. Before we even drew close, I heard it approaching, the sudden, growling roar of thunder. Only it wasn’t thunder at all— it was engines.
“Indigo—”
Headlights sliced through darkness as a pair of black vans hurtled at us from the left, a roaring surge of Detroit steel and screeching rubber. Another hugged the corner at the other end of the alley, the broad van barely squeezing between the walls, tires crushing a bag of trash, spewing rubbish across the asphalt, only to be further ground beneath its approach. I swiveled right, eyeing a wooden fence, nearly ten feet tall, which terminated the right hand passage from where we stood. Doors slid on rails, metal banged, and a sudden burst of tactical gear flung itself from the vehicles’ interior.
Already I was chanting, my lips moving as I recited a swift gasp of foreign tongue, speaking the incantation I knew by heart. I hacked a diagonal gash in mid-air, the vibrant, azure spark exploding where the blade cut the night. I felt the rush of power, and I curled my fingers, jerking toward the three charging agents, weapons drawn. My enchanted knife, Christine, did her work and a violent rush of invisible force exploded from my thrust palm, the searing wind ramming through the tight space and colliding with the military goons as they ran toward us.
The concussive blast struck like a successful seven-ten split, tossing the black clad operatives in the air, striking the rear quarter panel of the SUV hard enough to buckle plastic and shove it askew. One agent bounced off the roof with a grunt, then vanished over the other side as the two others went sprawling, limbs flailed. Ahead of us, tires squealed as the van shuddered to a halt, turning slightly, completely blocking our exit, the door already wheeling backwards to expose its interior.
“Don’t move!” Boots struck pavement and the government agent lurched forward, a rifle clutched tightly in a well-practiced two-hand grip.
“Hold her.” Indigo turned toward me, casting Miranda off and before I could respond, she’d coiled her legs and leaped into the air. Propelling herself nearly twelve feet, she covered the distance between us and the first agent in seconds. I was tempted to close my eyes, not wanting to see young Indigo rip out the agent’s throat or drain him of his blood— but to my pleasant surprise, she showed a modicum of control. Her left hand shot out, hammering the rifle and knocking it aside as she reached with her right, bunched up his vest in a tight grip and rammed him backwards against the opened van door. Metal clattered with the impact and air blasted from his lungs before she tossed him to the pavement.
Already I could see the vague shape of two more figures inside the van, moving to the opening, preparing to disembark. Cradling Miranda carefully in my right hand, I thrust out with my left, drawing another surge of power through my knife and into my body. Less powerful than the first spell I’d cast, the battering ram of invisible energy crashed into the opening in the van’s side and shoved the two agents back. The tightly contained interior of the van funneled my power, increasing its force and the two tactical operatives were pressed up against the other wall, then tossed to the van’s floor.
A passenger door opened and an armed man withdrew, but Indigo charged, lashing out with a fierce kick. She hammered the door back closed, pinning the agent between the door and the van. There was an echoing collision, the crunch of bone caught between metal and as the door bounced back open, he slumped forward and fell, unconscious, to the alley. Gunfire peppered from behind us, more of Fenric’s goons, or who I assumed were Fenric’s goons, approaching from the first two vans. Sparks danced from the side of the black vehicle next to Indigo, though she showed no sign of attempted avoidance.
I shoved Miranda toward her as I wheeled left, swinging my blade in a violent, horizontal arc, drawing on every last ounce of veil energy I could. Blue energy twisted out from the blade’s trajectory, and a sudden crashing wave of pale light whipped at the approaching gunmen. It lashed them across the chest and shoved them back, sending one crashing against the brick wall of the tenement building as another toppled boneless across the hood of the van, while the third rebounded from its metal hide.
Ducking another quick burst of fire, I ran toward the opened passenger door to the van, stepping over the unconscious operative. The driver was trying to squirm out from behind the steering wheel, his pistol unholstered. I mustered up one last desperate shove with the remaining traces of built-up veil and shot the concussive wave through the front of the van and into the man’s chest.
It struck with an impact violent enough to shove him backwards where he crashed hard into the driver’s side door, knocking it open. He spilled out onto the pavement on the other side, leaving a gap where he’d been seated a moment before.
“Through the front!” I stepped back and gestured for Indigo and Miranda to move through the front seat of the van. Indigo half-dragged and half-carried her friend, maneuvering her through the empty space, dropping through the driver’s side door and running toward the opposite side of the alley. A moment later, I followed behind, even as I heard another trio of pistol shots chase us from behind. By the time I caught up to Indigo, she was full-on carrying Miranda, cradled in her arms like a child. We hit the mouth of the alley and twisted left, putting as much space as possible between us and the new agents of the Paranormal Sciences Research Division.
I simply couldn’t wait to have my inevitable conversation with Agent Fenric about this one.
#
I had all but lost track of time as I stumbled my way through the front door to my apartment and dropped my jacket on the coat rack, barely making it to the kitchen. I slumped against the island, cradled myself upright with my bent elbow, and felt the sudden surge of adrenaline finally ebbing into nothing.
I looked down at my shirt, the familiar logo of REO Speedwagon carved along the off-white fabric, a small, Rorschach test of drool dried near my left collarbone. Miranda had been in rough shape, though from what we’d been able to tell, it was the aftereffects of a mixture of an oxi binge and vampire feeding. I opened the cabinet and withdrew the bottle of whiskey and considered for a moment that I might actually light a cigarette inside my apartment to try and take this edge off. But I shook off that notion, opting instead to remove a tall glass from the cupboard and fill it to the top with cheap whiskey. No ice. After the night I’d had, I couldn’t afford to dilute this alcohol any more.
The pieces still seemed to be rushing through my head like a freight train barreling through a crossing, each car blurring into the next. The visit to Boston Beef, then to the woman’s shelter, being accosted by the junkie, the nest of drug addled vamps. Then finally, the run in with the PSRD, which I knew, with absolute certainty, was going to come back and bite me in the ass. I was surprised I hadn’t already gotten a frantic phone call or text message from Agent Fenric. After all, her operatives, more or less, knew who I was and could recognize me on sight. It was interesting that none of them had actually called out to me during the fight, but I chalked that up to the heat of battle, nothing more.
I took just a second to stare at the whiskey glass, then tipped it up, eagerly draining half of it in a pair of desperate gulps. Heat filled my throat and burned in my guts and I removed Christine and dropped her to the counter with a clatter, feeling a sudden urge to separate myself from my knife. Shit like what happened tonight was exactly why I’d been in conflict with the Caretakers to begin with. Leveraging supernatural powers against other supernatural beings was one thing— but watching the rag doll flail of human beings as pure, unfiltered veil energy smashed into them like a battering ram. That was something else entirely, and something I wasn’t especially comfortable with.
Humans weren’t equipped for that sort of thing, even the heavily padded ones with automatic weapons. That was just one of the many reasons why Agent Fenric and I stood in such stark disagreement about the PRSD and the United States government’s efforts to try and understand things they were not meant to understand. I took another drink, turned, and leaned back against the counter, feeling the warmth spread throughout my chest. I desperately tried to will the stress to release from the taught coiling of my body. To disentangle its firm grip. Stress, as usual, didn’t seem to give a shit what I wanted.
I’d helped Indigo get back to her tiny one-room apartment and get Miranda settled on the couch, washed up and within puking distance of the bathroom. Neither of us was precisely sure just how hopped up on drugs she was, or had been, but no matter what, the recovery process would be painful at best. Indigo seemed adamant that she’d help her friend through it, though I suspected she’d need far more help than she was willing to admit.
I refilled my glass, took a long drink, and tried not to dwell on the events of the night. The only problem was, trying not to dwell on those events, only sent me spiraling toward other events. I closed my eyes and saw the Darkheart Coven in my mind— the palatial manor house in Salem where Loren’s mother was slowly wasting away. Loren’s brother and sister hovering like vultures, just waiting for the right time to swoop in and pick the bones. I wanted to help Loren, to ease the painful process, but at the same time I knew there was scant little I could do. Not for the first time, I wondered exactly what I was good for.
Emotional support? Someone to lean on in times of tragedy? Not so much. Need someone to kick people’s butts? Yep, I’m your guy. What kind of life was that, anyway?
Taking another drink, I walked over to the stereo in the living room, an old school boom box style square with detachable speakers, a relic of a bygone era. It took only a moment to locate the disc and I slotted it in and pressed play, closing my eyes as the first strands of Great White emerged from the speakers. My next stop was the comfort of the Diamond Pro-Am pool table, the gorgeous, high end, professional pool table that had been more expensive than any three other pieces of furniture in my apartment. I never had cleared the table, so I retrieved the balls and pushed them into the rack, rolling them back and forth. Returning the rack to its place on the wall, I chalked the cue, then bent over the table, sighting on the pale, white ball. I threaded the stick through the hook of my finger, then fired off the initial shot. Balls split and rolled, one stripe and one solid each finding a separate pocket, the others ambling aimlessly along the green velvet.
Then, I caught the familiar whiff. The sulfur tang— and my eyes darted open. I’d smelled almost this exact smell earlier, right before Loren’s arrival and as I stood, alone in my apartment, I smelled it again. I set the stick town and stood, walking to the table where the boom box still played. My fingers tightened around the mostly empty whiskey glass that rested there and I took a detour to the kitchen, depositing the glass on the counter, and stood for a moment as I stared at the door. The smell was stronger and thicker, an acrid sting.
“Loren?” I strode across the floor, feeling the sudden quickening of my heart in my chest, though I wasn’t sure if it was apprehension or anticipation. I couldn’t think of a single reason why she’d come by my place at this hour. Well— I could think of a couple, but I didn’t dare hope. “Loren, is that you?” I approached the closed front door, the smell even stronger just as I heard the telltale shuffle on the other side— then a sudden bang as something heavy collided with the other side of the door. I charged forward, reaching for the knob, then jerked it into a swift twist. Wrenching the door open, I sucked in a breath, which lodged, thick and hot in my chest, mixing with the liquor.
Loren was slumped against the frame, one arm elevated, propping her up, barely remaining upright. She looked at me through narrowed, probing eyes, her dark lips tilted into a strange smile. I moved closer and realized that her dark lips weren’t colored with a unique shade of gloss— they were soaked in blood.
A thin, twisting stream of it slipped from her parted mouth and as she tried to form words, more seeped between her crimson specked teeth.
“Loren!” My voice was a hoarse hiss and she slumped inward, into my waiting arms, her body frighteningly lifeless.