by Naomi Clark
She was great, in other words, but I just wasn’t in the mood for people today. Still, it was already too late, and she skipped along behind me as I left the museum, raving about a band she’d seen at the weekend. She seemed quite happy to ramble on without any input from me, so I just grunted occasionally as we headed to Lillis Street.
Still, there was an upside, I reflected as she explained the difference between horror punk and death rock. It was very hard to think about vampires with Lacey’s cheerful chatter bouncing around my skull. I’d have to buy her a burrito as a thank you.
Chapter Nine
As well as boasting an allegedly great Mexican restaurant, Lillis Street was also home to Moon and Hare, a metaphysical store that sold everything from dream catchers to tarot decks. Better than that, they had a good selection of gemstones, and I was in the market for blue kyanite.
Before we met, Elijah had worked with a vampire hunted called Abel Varnham. Dear old Abel was a man of many parts, most of which should probably have been replaced, but one thing he’d been exceptionally good at was experimenting. Could you substitute rowan wood for ash in a stake? Could a vampire to starve to death? Could a dhampir survive full immersion in saltwater? You know, those kinds of things.
He wasn’t just interested in the undead, though. His investigations extended to psychics, shifters, and all kinds of supernatural oddities. When Elijah and I left him – or escaped him, more accurately – Elijah had taken a few of his research diaries. One of them was a comprehensive study of gemstones and their properties, and although I wasn’t really one for the magical side of things, I’d found some of those notes genuinely practical. We didn’t run into many telepaths, but it had only taken one encounter for me to decide I wanted every advantage possible in case it happened again. I’d ended up running a few experiments of my own.
Black tourmaline was good for general protection, but not great against intentional psychic attacks. Labradorite was better, but for me, blue kyanite was the best shield against head-fucking. And of course, my kyanite pendant was another thing I’d gotten rid of when I moved here and retired.
But I’d kept the weapons. Of course.
“...which is why I hate post-disco. Oh, I love this place! I bought an amazing oracle deck from here last month.”
Lacey switched gears without a hitch as I pushed open the door to Moon and Hare. A bell jingled in merry greeting, and the soothing scent of sandalwood washed over me as we entered. Gentle, New-Agey music played. Without seeing the album, I was willing to bet it was called something like Songs of Your Star-Self or Indigo Prophecy. It was enough to make one turn to post-disco.
Lacey drifted over to the bookshelves on the left and I veered toward the tubs of stones on the right. There was something so satisfying about all those tubs, full to the brim with tumbled amethyst, carnelian, and quartz. I wanted to plunge my hands into the cool stones, roll them around and ground myself with their earthy energy.
Instead, I almost reluctantly moved straight to the kyanite. These were raw pieces, chunky and rough, ranging from grayish-blue to vivid cyan in color. The color didn’t really matter in terms of effectiveness, but I was drawn toward the more stormy blues. They made me think of the ocean.
I selected a piece about the length of my thumb and held it for a few seconds, breathing deeply and trying to get a feel of the stone. It was inevitable it would have picked up mixed energies sitting in the store and being handled by so many other people, but it didn’t feel especially tainted or dirty.
While I communed with the kyanite, Lacey sidled up beside me and began picking absently through a tub of citrine.
“I didn’t have you figured for this kind of thing,” she said, waving her hand around the store.
“Oh, well,” I said. “My... ex was into it all.”
Even now, calling Elijah my ex made me feel guilty. When I’d been dating Bea, I’d never quite shaken the sense that I was cheating on him.
She nodded. “That’s cool. My boyfriend thinks it’s all a bit dumb. He says it’s anti-science and basically disinformation.”
“He sounds like a drag,” I said without thinking.
Lacey’s brow wrinkled. “Well...”
I quickly made for the counter, realizing my mistake. I was not remotely qualified to give a twenty-one-year-old relationship advice, and even if I had been, I really didn’t want to. Lacey trailed after me, though, her expression telling me she was dying to discuss her boyfriend.
“Anything else?” the woman behind the counter asked me as she wrapped the kyanite. “We’ve got a sale on essential oils at the moment.” She gestured at the little amber bottles on the counter with a flourish.
I can’t cope with talking to retail staff. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way – it’s completely a me-problem. I’m bad at small talk and I panic when asked innocent questions like anything else? because I can’t bring myself to just say no in case it offends them or they miss a sales target or something. As a result, I always end up buying a ton of stuff I don’t need in the hope of avoiding some imaginary social faux-pas.
Today was no different. I walked out of Moon and Hare with my kyanite, a bottle of peppermint essential oil, and a selection of incense cones. The only benefit was that by the time I’d awkwardly paid for my unnecessary purchases, Lacey had wandered off to look at tarot cards.
I joined her at the bookshelves, feeling a little guilty over shutting her down, and nudged her in the ribs. It wasn’t her fault I was an unsocialized shut-in. “Burrito?”
She gave me a bright smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I returned the smile, already feeling a little lighter for the kyanite now shoved into my bag. Whether it would actually help was another matter, but sometimes the mental game was half the fight. Literally as well as metaphorically when it came to telepaths.
I SLOGGED MY WAY THROUGH the rest of the day, half-heartedly looking at floor maps and schematics, and making a list of reference books I wanted to order once my budget for the new exhibit was approved. By the time five o’ clock finally came around, my head was buzzing with both tiredness and anticipation.
Normally I spent another couple of hours at the museum, unless I was meeting Bea, but today I was already peeling away by ten past five, the sea-scented wind whipping my braid into my face as I cycled. By the time I got home, I was drenched with sweat.
Elijah was waiting for me on the porch, sorting through a collection of seashells. He made an ugly noise as I walked past, which I could only assume was a comment on how bad I smelt.
“Don’t judge me,” I said. “I’d fly if I could.”
He followed me inside, chattering away non-stop, and reminding me powerfully of Lacey. I let him settle on my shoulder as I headed up to the bathroom. I had roughly three and half hours before I met the telepath, and I wasn’t going in feeling anything less than kick-ass. That started with a shower.
With Elijah nesting in the sink, I rinsed away the heat of the day, and tried to run through every possible scenario for tonight, which of course was impossible. Back in the day, I’d rarely walked blind into a situation like this. Elijah and I would spend days, maybe even weeks, scouting out a master vampire. Shaking down underlings, getting as much information as we could before we went in for the kill. Half our job was being private detectives sometimes.
Tonight I’d be entrusting myself to a telepath who’d already tried to trap and manipulate me, and I still didn’t even know why Mr. Cold wanted me. The vampire who’d approached me here the other night hadn’t dropped any hints either. He wanted to talk, that was all I knew. I was fairly sure that talk was a euphemism.
Once again, I found myself thinking of Beckett’s gruesome death. It could only be about that. If it was about me being a filthy dhampir half-breed, I’d probably be dead already. But then, if it was about Beckett...what? If Mr. Cold thought I’d killed him, there was no reason to ‘talk,’ was there?
I finished my shower, feeling phys
ically clean if not mentally refreshed. Next up, wardrobe.
Once upon a time, I’d owned a full vampire-hunting outfit. A couple of pairs of leather trousers, a leather jacket with a high collar, and a pair of biker boots big and heavy enough to crush skulls. But of course, when I retired, I got rid of most of it. All I had left was the jacket. It had been through hell, and it showed. Scuffed, faded, scorched, and with a rip over the left breast where someone had once stabbed me with a stake, it had as many battle scars as I did.
I fished it out of the back of my wardrobe, feeling almost nostalgic. Under the peach lamp light in my bedroom, it looked old and tired. Every notch and tear was a fight won, but now, with the benefit of seven years’ distance, it looked more like too many close calls.
“What am I doing?” I asked Elijah, sitting down heavily on the bed, clutching the jacket. “This is going to end really badly, isn’t it?”
He hopped onto the headboard and said nothing, just watched me with bright, curious eyes.
I stared at the jacket, running my fingers over the stake-hole. “I guess it’s too late to back out now, isn’t it? I wish I’d least kept the pants.”
Sighing, I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. I would be sweltering in the jacket, but I wasn’t walking to a vampire’s lair with any more skin exposed than I could help. Plus, the jacket had an inner pocket where I could stash a knife.
I re-did my hair, making the braid scalp-achingly tight. I’d always told Elijah I was just going to cut it all off one day, but he’d always talked me out of it. Even braided up, it was a liability in a fight. I stripped off all my jewelry. I didn’t wear much – just earrings and a necklace. The pendant was an ornate little silver key, and had belonged to my mother. I hated being without it, but it was just something else to grab onto in a fight, and I’d be heartbroken if I lost it.
Footwear was the next issue. I felt another pang of nostalgia for those badass biker boots. The best I could do now was a pair of military-style ankle boots. At least I should be able to move quickly in them.
Satisfied I’d dressed as best as I could, I went into the spare room to load up on weapons. The stiletto blade had a little strap and sheath, and that went on my forearm. I wouldn’t be able to get at it quickly while I wore the jacket, but its weight was reassuring. The telepath’s knife went into my inner pocket, and the Ghost I holstered by my stomach.
I vacillated over the stakes. I would have felt much better taking one along, but I had no way to conceal it. There used to be an inner pocket in the jacket I could carry them in, but the lining had been shredded in a fight I couldn’t even remember. Carrying one openly would be a clear sign of aggression. I was definitely ready to get aggressive tonight if need be, but it wouldn’t be smart of me to fire the first shot.
Reluctantly, I decided not to take one. If shit went south, I had three weapons on me. If I couldn’t fight my way out with those, one stake wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.
Back in my bedroom, I examined myself in the wardrobe mirror. I think my younger self would have several valid criticisms of the outfit, but my present self knew this was good as it was going to get. The finishing touch was to slip the blue kyanite into my jeans pocket.
“I think we’re ready,” I told Elijah.
He cawed and flapped over to perch on my shoulder. Like the stiletto, his weight was comforting.
I reached up to scritch his head as if he was a cat, trying to feel badass instead of melancholy. “Elijah,” I said, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Chapter Ten
The telepath was already at the coffee place when I arrived. He was sitting in a window seat, under a stark white light, looking as though he was on display. He wore the same oversized jacket as last night, and I wondered if he was hiding as many weapons as me.
The light glowed off the bright red dye that streaked his unkempt hair. I hadn’t noticed it in the dark alley last night, nor had I noticed how haggard his relatively young face was. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and the way he clutched his coffee mug with shaking hands made me wonder if it was something chemical keeping him awake.
I joined him at his table, deciding to forego the shitty coffee tonight. I was wired enough already. The whole way into Eerie Point, I’d been sure someone was trailing me. I’d felt eyes drilling into my spine with every step, and it had taken all my will power not to go pouncing at shadows.
Elijah had followed me here, and was perched on a street light outside. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse, but it did at least make me feel less alone.
“Nice to see you again,” the telepath greeted me as I sat down.
“We don’t have to lie to each other,” I said.
He smiled, and I could see a hint of how attractive he might be with a decent night’s sleep. “Maybe I am really pleased to see you, Georgia.”
“Right, because you’re going to make Mr. Cold happy.” I drummed my fingers on the coffee-stained table top, suddenly irritated that he knew my name when I didn’t know his. “What do I call you?”
He held his hand out. I ignored it. Skin-to-skin contact could enhance telepathic powers.
“Ezra Guo,” he said, dropping his hand again.
“Nice to meet you. I was a little worried you wouldn’t make it,” I added.
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought Mr. Cold was going to break your legs and pull out your fingernails for not bringing me in last night.”
He laughed breezily, but there was an edge to it. “He was in a forgiving mood once I convinced him you’d be along tonight. You want anything before we go?”
I grimaced. “No.”
“Good call.” He rose. “Let’s do it, then. No time like the present.”
“Where are we heading?” I asked, following him back onto the street. Elijah croaked a greeting and came to sit on my shoulder.
Ezra cocked an eyebrow at the sight, but didn’t comment on it. “You like Chinese food?”
I frowned. “Do I have to?”
He grinned. “It’s not a trick question. We’re going to my family’s restaurant, Chi Lin Garden. Best Chinese food in Eerie Point.”
“If the coffee houses are anything to go by, that’s a low bar.”
“You’re a bitch,” he said mildly, taking a right turn that took us off the main street.
I shrugged. I wasn’t here to make friends with him.
We walked in silence after that. The sun had set about an hour ago, and now the streets of Eerie Point were lit by neon signs advertising everything from live girls to cheap drinks. Music drifted from the bars we walked past, creating a discordant mash of sound that had me grinding my teeth. Elijah chattered sourly in my ear as we headed deeper into a maze of side streets, and I once again had the sense of being watched. My skin crawled, and I resisted the urge to look back. The streets were busy – there probably was someone watching. It didn’t have to be anything sinister.
After about twenty minutes, we found ourselves outside a red-and-gold fronted Chinese restaurant nestled between a karaoke bar and a bubble tea shop. It didn’t exactly scream vampire den to me, but I’d learned not to be surprised by anything.
“You said this is your family’s restaurant?” I asked Ezra as he pushed the door open. A flood of spicy aromas and laughter hit me. The place was packed.
“My sister and I run it,” he confirmed, weaving through the busy tables and beckoning for me to be faster.
I looked around as I followed him, keeping one hand on Elijah’s back to stop him swooping in on someone’s chow mein. It looked like every Chinese restaurant I’d ever been in, with golden lucky cats painted on the red walls, and green and gold accents everywhere. Cheery panpipe music played just loud enough to be heard, rather than to dominate. Judging from the full tables and mouth-watering smells, it might well be the best Chinese restaurant in Eerie Point after all.
Elijah and I got a few sideway
s glances as we followed Ezra toward the double doors at the back of the restaurant. I ignored them, happy that I at least knew where the sense of being watched was coming from now. I expected the double doors to lead straight into a kitchen, but instead we entered a short corridor. At the far end, based on the clinking of pots and pans floating down the hall, was the kitchen. To my right was a purple velvet curtain tied back to reveal a staircase heading down.
Ezra gestured for me to go downstairs.
“You first,” I said, folding my arms.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked, grinning.
I rolled my eyes and waited. After a brief stand-off, he shrugged and went down.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he called back to me as he disappeared into the dark. “Fine by me,” I muttered to Elijah.
The flight of stairs was short, and ended at another purple curtain. My senses tingled as we descended. The wet soil and snake musk scent of vampires hit me as Ezra reached the curtain, and without thinking, I put my hand on the Ghost.
“No guns,” Ezra said quietly. He was close enough to me on the steps that his breath tickled my cheek, and I stepped back automatically.
“Stay out of my head,” I hissed, reaching for the kyanite in my pocket instead.
“That wasn’t mind-reading. Just some friendly advice. But since you’ve confirmed you’re carrying...” He held his hand out expectantly.
I scowled. “Go to hell.”
He opened his mouth, but another voice spoke, from beyond the curtain.
“You’re done, Ezra. Take the rest of the night off.”
I noticed Ezra sag in relief, but didn’t really focus on it. Mr. Cold’s voice was...distracting. It was a harsh, hoarse whisper that hit my ears like nails on a chalkboard. It was a voice that scrambled your insides, low and painful to listen to. I found myself grinding my teeth. Behind me, Ezra ran up the stairs like it was his last shot at freedom. On my shoulder, Elijah squawked angrily.