by Seana Kelly
“Yes, they would have done a rape kit. We’d have had evidence of who had attacked you.” Clive’s jaw flexed in anger before he could shake it off. “You were dealing with enough. When Helena told me you were talking about wanting to stand on your own, to move out of her apartment and start your own business, I wanted to help. You seemed to trust Marcus. He was family, at any rate. If I told you it came from him, I was fairly certain you’d accept.”
I nodded. I think I surprised both of us when I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He tilted his face, wary interest in his eyes. I don’t know what possessed me. Perhaps the understanding that life was short, that Marcus was dead, and that Clive—as much as he tried to hide it—was a hero, not a villain. Maybe—mostly—it was because I was sick of being isolated. Whatever the reason, I changed my mind at the last minute and kissed him full on the mouth.
I had a fleeting thought to pull back, but I couldn’t. After years of daydreaming about Clive and this perfect kiss, I couldn’t break it. After a moment’s hesitation, he crushed me in his arms. I clutched his shoulders, becoming lightheaded.
A gruff “sorry” from the doorway shattered the moment.
I stepped back, glancing at the swinging kitchen door, unable to believe I’d finally kissed him. No life-saving blood exchange involved. “Thank you, Clive.”
Shaking his head, a grin pulling at his lips, he said, “Perhaps I should say the same.” He studied me for a moment, as though he couldn’t quite figure me out.
He reached out and brushed his fingers over my cheek, pushing a stray curl behind my ear. “Regardless of what you think or what Marcus may have said to you, you are not a monster. You are a survivor.” He gave me another soft, quick kiss. “I really must be going. Please don’t leave The Slaughtered Lamb tonight. Stay safe in your hobbit hole.” He grinned, and I felt a weight lift.
After he left, I escaped to the solitude of my rooms, needing a moment. Once my blood cooled, I returned to the bar to refill drinks and take up residence on my favorite stool. Clive was gone. Just as well. I was embarrassed about the kiss. I took a sip of spicy orange tea, and watched the dark ocean, trying not to brood.
Dave came out of the kitchen, bringing me cookies. “Sorry I was a dick before.”
Clearly uncomfortable with the apology, I put him out of his misery. “Demon,” I reminded him.
Grimace covering his grin, he said, “Yeah. There’s that.”
When I heard stomping down the stairs, I flinched. Dave gave a low curse before an absolutely stunning woman stepped off the stairs and into the bar. She was dressed in a filmy black dress with Doc Martens. She had long black hair and porcelain-like skin with ice blue eyes, surrounded by a fringe of thick, dark lashes. Her cheeks were reddened, but that seemed to have more to do with anger than anything else.
My first banshee. This was pretty exciting. Banshees were Irish fae, female harbingers of death. It was said that if you heard the banshee wail, either you or a family member was already dead. I’d also heard that like some other fae, they could look into a man’s heart and read his soul. Creepy, but so cool.
“Damn it, Maggie. What are you doing here?” Dave’s shoulders were slumped. He knew what was coming and that he couldn’t stop it.
“Ach, there you are, you cheating bastard!” Her eyes sparked with fury.
I looked around the room. Everyone was glued to the unfolding drama. I should have charged admission.
Dave started around the bar, putting his hands up, trying to stave off the inevitable. “Maggie, you know that’s not true. I never cheated on you.” He was using the voice one does with rabid dogs, all soft tones.
“Bollocks!” she spat out. “You didn’t come home last night. Where were you, then? I’ll tell you where you were; you spent the night here with that one.” She pointed in my direction.
I glanced around to see who was behind me. No one. I moved to the far end of the bar, assessing escape routes.
The rest of the people in the bar gave a loud, “Oooooooo.”
“You’re not helping,” I reprimanded our audience.
“Oh, we’re not trying to,” a tiny wicche informed me. Their avid faces were ping-ponging back and forth, eating up the drama. Customers who had been browsing in the bookstore wandered over and were watching from the doorway.
“What do you have to say for yourself, you harlot?” Maggie screeched at me.
Shit. Didn’t banshees have bone-chilling wails that could break windows? I looked over all those eager faces at the glass behind them. “Um, I don’t think those windows were guaranteed against banshees.”
Glancing nervously over their shoulders at the tons of seawater that would crush and drown them if Maggie lost control, the bar patrons were decidedly less enthusiastic about the drama.
“Oh, now you care. Real nice.” I pointed two fingers at my eyes before turning my hand back to each of them. “You’re on my list, all of you. No snacks for any of the bar-brawl-encouraging lot of you!”
Maggie started to run toward me, her hands resembling outstretched claws. Apparently, I wasn’t showing her the proper amount of attention. Dave darted forward, snatching her out of the air as she launched herself at me.
One of Dave’s arms had her body pinned to his; the other held her arms down tight against her own body. She struggled to get free while Dave whispered soothing words in her ear.
The loathing in her glare caused me to take an involuntary step back.
“Maggie, nothing happened. I slept on the couch in the bookstore. Sam didn’t even know I was here until she saw me this morning. I scared the hell out of her...Maggie, come on. Look at her.”
Hey, was that necessary? I may not be pretty anymore, but he didn’t have to be an asshole about it.
“Maggie, stop. I didn’t have sex with her. Look at her.”
Hepsiba jumped to my defense. “Now, that’s uncalled for.”
I was kind of unnerved by the whole scene, but I appreciated Hepsiba’s support, assuming it wasn’t a ploy to get off the no-snack list.
Maggie got a strange far-away look in her eye and stared right through me. I’d noticed some of the wicches and fae do this when introduced to someone new. I had no idea what she could see, what she was discovering about me, but I doubted it was good.
She went limp in Dave’s arms, and he released his hold. Fury gone, her voice was soft, but in the silent bar, it carried. “She’s an innocent.” She turned to Dave. “Why did you not tell me?” Then she turned back around to stare at me again. “All these years...only pain.” She smacked Dave in the arm. “Why did you let me attack the poor thing?”
I was horrified at what she must have seen, what she seemed to know about my past. I looked around the bar and saw many confused faces, but more than a few pitying ones, as well. I backed further away before they all realized what Maggie meant and I was suffocated by their pity.
I left, walking through the kitchen on my way to my apartment. It was times like these that I wished I didn’t have wolf-sensitive hearing.
Maggie was crying, “I made it worse. Tell me how to fix it.”
“Some things can’t be fixed,” Dave said.
Twelve
Wherein Sam is Shot. On the Bright Side, Mermaids Are Real. So, There’s That
When I locked up at two, I wandered through the bookstore and bar three times, checking behind every bookshelf and counter, in the bathrooms and storerooms... I couldn’t turn it off, couldn’t relax and go to bed. I wasn’t being dramatic when I told Dave that nowhere was safe for me. How could I possibly rest knowing someone could use my own blood to walk through my wards to find me asleep and alone?
By the time I finally stopped moving, I was sitting on the counter behind the bar, my back against the etched glass. The bay glowed in the foggy moonlight. White foam caps sloshed into the window, the dark water swirling out and down. It was hypnotic and helped to settle my nerves.
Something dropped, splashing into the ocean outsid
e the window. I sat forward, staring at the place where the water had been displaced. What was that? There was a flash of something shiny, and then it was gone.
I approached the window and crouched, trying to find discernable shapes in the dark water. Another big wave crashed into the window and a few seconds later, the body it was carrying slammed into it, as well. I fell on my butt, my breath catching. Long hair swirled in the tide before she was dragged under.
Acid rose in my throat as I watched another woman being treated like so much trash. I couldn’t leave her out there, but I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to go get her, either. My near drowning a couple of nights ago had proven that. Her body hit the window again, and I could see the signs of her torture.
When her body hit the window a third time, I saw myself as I had looked afterward, my face swollen with purpling bruises, lips split, burst capillaries making my eyes bright red. I remembered lifting my shirt, seeing the extensive gashes and bites. And then dropping to my knees and vomiting.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave another woman, who had been through what I had, out there alone in the dark.
I located an old wetsuit I’d found in a secondhand store years ago. It was too thin for the cold bay waters, but it was better than nothing. Sitting on the edge of the ocean entrance, my legs dangling down in the water, I took deep breaths before sliding into the ocean. The instant cold shocked my system. I forced my muscles to flex and move before I sunk like a frozen stone.
Swimming in black water was disorienting. Without light cues, I didn’t know which way was up and floundered a moment before I was able to right myself. I swam out from under the bar, looking for the body. Diving, I followed the rock line as far as I could before I felt like my lungs would burst. I broke the surface, desperate for breath, before diving again. She had been here a few minutes ago, the waves forcing her into the window over and over. Where had she gone?
As I came up again, a wave hit, driving me into the bar window. My head cracked against the glass. I was seeing stars and swallowing salt water. Sputtering, I tried not to drown on my rescue mission. I needed to get away from the window before the next wave came. I kicked off the glass and swam straight out, scanning underwater for the body. I saw shapes moving below me and at the edge of my vision.
The tide tossed me around and pulled me under. My muscles burned, trying to fight against a force of nature. I fought for the surface, gasping for air when something brushed the side of my body. I pivoted, terrified, and then the tide dragged me back under. I kicked as hard as I could, pushing toward the surface.
Gasping air, I tried not to choke as waves capsized over me. I felt a bite in my arm and heard an echoing crack. What—was I was shot? Diving down, I tried to stay out of sight, struggling not to drown. Blood billowed from the wound. Perfect. Sharks were not unheard of in this part of California.
I needed air. If I surfaced, I’d be shot. If I stayed down here, I’d drown or be eaten. Excellent. Great options. I was so glad I’d decided to leave my nice, warm, safe home so I could die rescuing a dead body. Way to think it through.
My chest burned. I needed air, but my body was being tossed like a rag doll. I heard a crack, and the water a few inches from my head splashed up. I dove down as fast as I could, trying to avoid the bullet’s path.
A large shape came straight at me. It wasn’t the woman’s body. It moved with intention, swimming, not floating. I panicked and started to surface. Another bullet tore at my leg, as strong arms went around my waist, propelling me toward the cliff. I choked, inhaling seawater as I was dragged deeper.
And then I was pushed up into the air. I rolled over on to my stomach, coughing up water, desperate for breath. After a minute of blinding panic, I lifted my head and looked around. I was in the bar. Dragging myself away from the water entrance, I pulled my legs out of the water. When I looked back, I saw a woman nod before she flipped, and a tail shot out of sight. I may have been shot twice, but it wasn’t every day you got rescued by a mermaid. It almost made it worth it. No, never mind. It didn’t.
Sitting up and sliding against the wall, I tried to assess the severity of the wounds. Even with my accelerated healing, I had a three-inch gouge in my thigh. The first shot, though, was worse. My arm felt like fire and knives. I twisted it, trying to see if I had a matching hole on the opposite side. That small movement caused unbelievable pain, black dots obscuring my vision. No. I was not passing out.
My fingers twitched. Hopefully, that meant nothing was broken. I was losing a lot of blood, the puddle of seawater around me steadily turning crimson. The wounds needed to be treated, but I didn’t know how without losing consciousness. I couldn’t make it to the emergency room on my own. Where was Clive when I needed him? Stupid, non-telepathic vampire.
I jumped when something smacked up again the ocean entrance. The dead woman floated near the surface with a familiar seal holding her up. “Come in,” I breathed.
Liam, a selkie and one of my regulars, pushed the body through. He stripped out of his sealskin and grabbed a robe to check on me. “Are you all right? Kimberly said you’d been hurt, that she’d had to drag you back here.” He looked at my arm and leg, confused. “What kind of bite is that?”
Sniffing at the wound, he exploded, “You were shot? What the hell? Why would anyone shoot you? And why were you in the water in the first place?” I knew he was worried, so I ignored the fact that he was shouting at the victim.
“It was after closing. Everyone was gone and…” What was I saying? Shit, the puddle I was sitting in was more blood than water now. “I didn’t know I’d have to deal with guns, too.” White noise roared in my ears.
“We need to get you to a hospital. You’re—”
I brushed a finger near the thigh wound. It hurt like a mofo, but the pain jarred me awake. “The shooter could still be up there.”
Gritting my teeth, I pulled at the hole in my wetsuit, so I could see the extent of the damage. If I did end up passing out from blood loss, at least someone would be here to call for help. “Could you get me a bar towel? I need to stop the bleeding. Wrap it. I don’t know, something.”
He jumped up to get me what I needed.
While he scavenged behind the bar, I looked over at our latest victim. Wolf—I could smell that. Like Claire, she had been torn to hell before she’d been killed.
“Sam, this is no good. Don’t you have a first aid kit with real bandages and antiseptic?”
“Check the kitchen, under the sink.” At least, I think that’s where I put it.
“We need to call someone. Maybe Doc Underfoot would make a house call?” Liam asked, as he raced back from the kitchen, sliding to my side.
“Don’t know his number.” Doc Underfoot was kind enough to come when I was trapped in the Kraken vision, but Clive was the one who had contacted him.
I heard another knock. I’d had so many frights tonight, I didn’t even flinch. I looked back over to the water entrance but didn’t see anything. Liam pointed up. I followed his motion and saw Clive looking down from the roof entrance. What was he doing up there?
“Come in,” I said again.
He dropped and was walking toward me as soon as he hit the floor. “Every time I turn around, you’re in trouble again.” Shaking his head, he took in the scene, me, another dead body, Liam. He shrugged out of his topcoat, laid it on the bar, and returned to me, kneeling in bloody water, studying my wounds.
“You’re going to ruin your pants.”
He spared me one annoyed look and then asked, “Are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?”
“My heart was broken by Charlie Connor in the seventh grade. He had a huge crush on my friend Sheila and never even knew I was alive.”
“Lucky man.” He turned to the side, considered the dead woman, and then focused on me again. And just like that, the pain faded.
“Better?” Clive asked.
Nodding, I said, “Yeah, thanks. It’s kind of a low-grade, background numbness
now.” With the sharp pain dulled, I couldn’t help but notice that an alarming amount of blood continued to run down my arm and leg. That couldn’t be good. “Totally not happy about almost drowning twice in one week.” I lost my train of thought for a moment, saw Liam, and then remembered. “Can you thank Kimberly for me?”
He nodded.
“I can’t close wounds this size, but I can slow the bleeding, if you’ll allow me.”
I scrunched my eyes closed and turned my face away.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” His tongue swirled around the bullet hole in my arm. I could feel my face flushing. It wasn’t like the manufactured lust Sitri had caged me with. This was honestly earned and completely embarrassing. When he moved away from my arm, I steeled myself. At least I thought I had, but as soon as his mouth touched my leg, my lady bits throbbed.
When I dared a look, I found Clive crouched in front of me, his eyes vampy black.
I glared. He smoldered.
“Twice?” he questioned.
“Twice what?”
“You almost drowned twice,” he said, as he straightened.
“Oh. Right.” Breathing deeply, I tried to shake off the Clive effect. “I went running the night we found the first woman. A wolf chased me down. I couldn’t outrun him. He was about to take me down, so I did the only thing I could think of. I jumped off the cliff.”
“You could have died from a fall like that,” Liam said from across the room. Smart man, getting the hell away from the blood-licking vampire.
“Better that way than at the hands of a wolf,” I mumbled.
Rage threatened Clive’s composure. I followed his line of sight and then we were both staring at the infinity symbol cut into her wrist. My stomach roiled. Clive pulled out his cell phone and walked toward the other end of the bar.
A moment later he returned. “Dr. Underfoot will be here soon. He’ll call when he’s near. Can I let him in, or will your wards keep him out?” He paused. “I also have two of my people checking for your gunman. If he’s still out there, we’ll have him.”