Spider's Bite

22

Metal. The vampire must have had a small, elemental talent for manipulating metal. That was the only way to explain the sudden surge of magic — and why his silverstone handcuffs popped off like they were plastic toys. I’d checked them myself. The chains had been as solid as my knives.

Carlyle leaped to his feet. Donovan Caine saw the motion too late. He’d just started to whip around and go for his gun when Carlyle put both hands onto the detective’s back and shoved him. Vamps weren’t as strong as giants and dwarves, but Carlyle had more than enough strength to lift Donovan off his feet and send him flying across the room. The detective’s flailing arms caught Finn in the chest. Finn went down like a sack of potatoes and started coughing from the force of the blow. Donovan Caine didn’t stop until he crashed into the stone fireplace.

Charles Carlyle bared his fangs at me and darted out of the room.

“Stay here!” I yelled, although I doubted Finn or Caine were paying any attention. “I’ll get him!”

No time to check on either man. I leaped over Finn, who was still coughing, and sprinted through the house. Ahead of me, Carlyle’s footsteps smacked on the floor, followed by the sound of the front door banging against the wall. The bastard was outside already. Fuck. I couldn’t let him get away. The first thing Carlyle would do would be to call the Air elemental and tell her that Finn and I were still in town — and working with Donovan Caine. I didn’t want that to happen. Not until I knew exactly what was on that flash drive — and which James sister moonlighted as a sadistic, magic-using bitch.

I ran out the front door, jumped over the steps, landed on the lawn, and hustled down to the street. My head snapped back and forth, and my eyes scanned everything in sight. Streetlights, parked cars, trees, shadows, other houses on the block. No sign of Carlyle anywhere. Which way had he gone?

Only one way to tell for sure. I dropped to one knee and put my free hand against the concrete sidewalk. The stone felt cool and porous under my fingers. Its murmurs whispered of the steady drone of traffic, the hum of lawn mowers, the laughter of the neighborhood kids. Typical suburban sounds. I concentrated, listening harder, going deeper, using my magic to sift through the vibrations. There. A fresh note of panic, starting here and scurrying to the right.

I tightened my grip on my knife and headed that way. I kept on the grass to the right of the sidewalk, not wanting the echo of my boots on the concrete to drift to Carlyle’s ears and alert the vampire that I was still behind him. Let the bastard think he’d lost me. Let him slow down.

Because that’s when I’d kill him.

The street split two ways, with one road continuing in a straight line in front of me and the other curving to the left before bending back to the right. Nobody ahead of me. My head whipped around, and I saw a glimmer of white before the darkness swallowed it up. I smiled. Those pinstripes in Carlyle’s suit were better than road flares.

But I didn’t run down the street after him. Instead, I sprinted forward, darted past some prickly holly bushes, and cut through someone’s yard. I picked my way quickly, but carefully, through the lush grass, not wanting to trip and break my ankle on some stray toy that had been left on the lawn. Houses loomed two stories high on either side of me, their dark windows resembling giant, black eyes tracking my progress. I ducked under a clothesline and vaulted over a low picket fence into the next neighbor’s yard. Getting in front of the vampire.

I repeated the process twice more, before the silver street glimmered in front of me. But instead of hurtling into the road, I slid behind a large rhododendron and peered at the area. My blood roared in my ears, and I drew in deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. The rush receded, and the sounds of the night washed over me. A whip-poor-will crying in a tree. Wind ruffling the grass and making a porch swing creak. A few bugs droning, despite the chill that had settled over the benign landscape—

Smack-smack. Smack-smack.

Footsteps off to the left coming my way, moving slower than before.

I palmed my other knife and moved forward. Several steps led from the house down into the yard, and I crouched on the far side of them, letting the concrete shield me from sight. Then I raised my head until I could just see over the lip of the steps. Ten … twenty … forty-five … The seconds slid by; a minute later, Charles Carlyle shuffled into view. The vampire might be strong, but his stocky body was built for short bursts of energy, not an extended run. He was already winded. Thanks to the streetlights, I could see the flush in his face, muddying his cheeks. Good. Tired men were easier to kill.

Every few steps, the vampire glanced back over his shoulder, but he never looked left or right or scanned the shadows around or in front of him. He wasn’t expecting me to come from any other direction. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy.

The next time the vamp turned his head, I darted forward. A four-foot-high fence butted up against the street, and I ducked down behind it. The gate lay to my right. Someone had forgotten to latch it, and the night breeze had pushed it open even more. Perfect.

The sound of the vampire’s footsteps grew louder, and I realized Carlyle was talking to himself in a soft voice.

“Stupid, arrogant bitch,” he muttered, passing the gate. “Thought she’d torture me. Hah. Old Chuckie C. showed her who was boss. Stupid bitch—”

My first knife slashed into his leg, severing his hamstring so the bastard couldn’t run again. Carlyle had just started to scream when I popped up from behind the fence and used my other knife to cut his throat. A fountain of blood spewed out of the deep, lethal wound, spattering me and the fence.

Carlyle stumbled back, his wounded leg gave out, and he stumbled into a car before bouncing off and crumpling to the sidewalk. One hand clutched at his leg. The other tried to slow the blood gushing out of his neck.

I came around the fence and stood over him, a bloody knife in either hand. The vampire’s eyes widened, and he tried to drag himself away. But he’d already lost too much blood. Carlyle managed to pull himself forward about two feet before his wet hand slipped off the wound in his neck. Arterial blood coated the sidewalk like black varnish.

I used the toe of my boot to turn the vampire over onto his back, then crouched down beside him. “Don’t say I didn’t keep my promise, Chuck. I’d told you that you’d die quick.”

The vampire tried to gurgle something at me, but the effort was just too much for him. The sound snuffed out like a candle and died. A few seconds later, Carlyle did the same.

I waited until I was sure he was dead, then got to my feet. My eyes scanned the surrounding houses, but no lights snapped on. No curtains twitched. Nobody opened their front door. No one had heard the vamp die, but I still had to do something with his body. My gaze flicked to the fence. I didn’t think the owner would appreciate finding blood spatters all over that in the morning.

So I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and hit one of the numbers stored in the speed dial. It rang three times before she picked it up.

“Hmph?” Sophia Deveraux answered with her usual greeting.

“It’s Gin,” I said. “Good news. I’ve changed my mind about not needing your services. How fast can you get over to Northtown?”

For once, luck smiled on me. Sophia Deveraux was in the area and arrived about ten minutes later, pulling up to the curb in her vintage black convertible. I eyed the car. With its long body, fins, enormous trunk, and creamy white interior, it looked more like a hearse than a classic car, especially this late at night. I showed the Goth dwarf the blood on the fence and the bush I’d dragged Charles Carlyle’s body behind.

“Do you think you can clean this up before one of the neighbors wakes up and sees you?” I asked in a low voice. “Or do I need to stay and help you with the body?”

Sophia grunted and gave me a sharp look.

“Sorry. Just thought I’d ask.”

While the dwarf got to work, I jogged back to Carlyle’s house. The front door was still open. I stepped into the house, quietly shut it behind me, and headed toward the game room.

“Why isn’t she back yet?” Donovan Caine’s rough voice drifted down the hall to me.

“Because killing people takes time, detective,” Finn replied. “She probably had to chase the bastard a few blocks before she caught up with him.”

“And what if he caught up with her instead?” Donovan countered. “What if he got the drop on her? What if he killed her?”

Finn laughed. “Unlikely. Gin’s been dissecting toads like Carlyle for years. Why the concern, detective?”

A pause. “Fuck if I know.”

“Might it have something to do with the way the two of you were sucking face at Northern Aggression?”

Another pause. “You saw that?”

“Don’t be embarrassed, detective. Those eyes, those lips, that firm body. She’s a looker. And Gin seemed to be having a marvelous time on your lap.”

Even though I wasn’t in the room, I could imagine the smirk on Finn’s face. I paused, wanting to hear the detective’s answer.

“She’s … something,” Donovan admitted. “But I’m glad it stopped when it did.”

A third pause, this time from Finn. “I never considered you a stupid man, detective, but when you say things like that, you make me wonder. You’re glad you didn’t fuck her?”

“She’s an assassin, and she killed my partner,” Caine snapped. “You don’t fuck your partner’s murderer.”

“Oh, get off your high horse, detective,” Finn replied in a sharp voice. “Cliff Ingles wasn’t the saint you make him out to be. Quite the opposite. As for Gin being an assassin, well, we don’t exactly live in Mayberry. She’s done what she’s had to in order to survive over the years. We all have, even you, I imagine.”

“I’ve never killed people for money,” Caine said in an acidic tone.

“Sure you have, detective. It’s called your city paycheck.”

Okay, time to stop this before the two men came to blows. I tiptoed back down the hall, opened the door, and shut it again, hard enough so they could hear it. I made my footsteps loud and heavy.

“Finn? Donovan?” I called out.

“Still in the office,” Finn replied.

I stepped into the room. Finn leaned on the edge of the pool table, rubbing his chest. Donovan Caine perched on the lip of the fireplace. A couple of shallow cuts decorated his hands, along with a bruise on the side of his face, but the detective didn’t look like he’d been too damaged by getting tossed into the stone wall. Probably hurt his ego more than anything else.

“Where’s Carlyle?” Donovan Caine asked.

“Feeding the worms,” I replied.

The detective nodded. He didn’t seem as broken up by Carlyle’s death as I’d thought he would. Or maybe getting thrown across the room by the vampire had changed his perspective a bit.

“And the body?” Finn asked.

“Being taken care of by our mutual Goth friend.”

Donovan stared at me, then Finn. “So now what?” he asked.

I pulled the flash drive out of my pocket and held it up. “Now we get out of here and go see what’s on this — and why the Air elemental wants it back so badly.”