by Naomi Clark
When twilight swept through the house, I rose and went to retrieve my stakes. It felt like aeons ago that I’d trekked out and bargained with Dwill for the ash. I was oddly pleased to think I might finally get to use one of the fucking things tonight.
Kinley emerged a little later, finding me in the front room with a barbecue chicken pizza and three stakes laid out on the coffee table. He eyed me nervously.
“Apparently I might have company tonight,” I said.
“Mr. Cold?”
“Maybe. He doesn’t seem the type to deliver messages himself though.”
“What message could he have? Kaminski’s dead, Obsidian went up in flames.” Kinley hugged himself. “It’s done, isn’t it? I mean, you told him about Kaminski, right?”
“I told Ezra.”
“Well, that’s almost the same. So it’s done. Right?”
I shrugged, remembering Mr. Cold’s last words to me before I dragged Kinley out of the Garden. We’re not finished. But then he’d gone and burnt Obsidian down anyway. I’d checked the news earlier – at the moment the fire was being reported as an electrical fault. Mr. Cold likes finality, Ezra had said. Maybe I was part of that. Maybe I was a loose end now. The pizza turned to lead in my stomach.
All three of us jumped when the doorbell went.
“Stay here,” I said to Elijah and Kinley. I grabbed a stake as I rose.
Charlotte stood on the doorstep, looking unhappy to be there. Maybe it was the wild roses making her uncomfortable, or maybe she was thinking of our last encounter. She’d healed beautifully, but that could be undone.
“You’ll understand if I don’t invite you in,” I said, keeping the stake visible, but my posture unthreatening.
“You’ve already got one vampire in there. What’s one more?” She flashed me a toothsome smile.
“I want that one in here,” I said.
“Of course. You claimed him. We haven’t forgotten. You can’t relinquish that claim, just so you know.” Her smile turned smug and knowing, and once again I had that poking sensation that there was weight to the word claim.
“What do you want, Charlotte?” I asked, dismissing her words. Whatever she was insinuating, it didn’t matter now. “I killed Kaminski. Unless you have money for me, we’re through.”
“There’s no proof you killed him. You could have just found him dead for all we know. Mr. Cold can’t possibly pay you without proof.”
I gritted my teeth, pushing down the memory of how good it had felt to smash her face in. “Then fuck off. You have no reason to be here.”
She rubbed her face absently. “Believe me, it’s not my choice. I’m just here to deliver a message. You know what they say about shooting messengers, right?”
I folded my arms, making the stake more obvious. “Get on with it, then.”
I was guessing since it was just Charlotte, Mr. Cold wasn’t looking to kill me, but I couldn’t think of any other message he’d have now he was stiffing me on five thousand fucking dollars.
“Kinley is one thing,” Charlotte said. “But if you interfere with Ridderport’s vampires any further, there will be repercussions.”
I laughed, anger and disbelief bubbling in me. “Are you serious? You came to me. Your boss came to me, harassed me and blackmailed me into taking care of his problems. And now you have the gall to tell me to keep my nose out? Fuck you. Fuck all of you.” I waved the stake dismissively at her. “I’m retired. Get the fuck off my doorstep.”
She hissed, baring her fangs at me. “You can’t retire from being a dhampir. It’s in your blood. It is your blood, and Mr. Cold knows it. He’s just setting the boundaries.”
Her words both chilled me and exhausted me. Suddenly I wanted her gone badly enough to hurt her to make it happen. I swiped out with the stake, deliberately missing, but making it close enough to keep her guessing.
She yelped and leapt back, all that aggression gone. Violence leaves scars. I had the feeling Charlotte would feel my beating for months to come.
“Go,” I said, my voice empty. I didn’t have the energy for anger now. “Just go. I get it. I’m not interested in crossing any boundaries. You can tell Mr. Cold I understand, okay?”
She backed away cautiously and then, when there was a good distance between us, gave me one last defiant hiss before melting into the shadows.
I sat down on the doorstep hard enough to jar my spine, the stake falling from my limp fingers. I was shaking all over, adrenaline and the heat of the night making me feel clammy and itchy.
I heard Kinley creep up behind me. “You claimed me?” He sounded confused.
“Yes. I guess. Does that mean something? I’m not up-to-date on hip vampire lingo.”
He cleared his throat. I could almost smell his nervousness. “Uh. Well. I mean, it’s not like a mystical thing. Like, there’s no magic involved or anything.”
His need to reassure me of that was somehow not reassuring. “Then what is it?”
“It’s just...uh, because my maker is dead, remember? So I’m an orphan. An orphan vampire, I mean. So Mr. Cold is like, technically my guardian. But if you claimed me...that makes you technically my guardian.”
I rubbed my eyes, trying to decide what, if anything I felt about that. “You’re not a piece of property, Kinley,” I said finally. “I can’t own you.”
“No,” he said. “I guess. It just means...I’m your responsibility. Like, um, if I do something...Like if I...if I turn a bunch of kids or I leave a trail of dead bodies in the city center, or if...If I fuck up past repair. You know.”
Ah. It clicked then. Mr. Cold had killed Kinley and Beckett’s maker for turning them because they were underage. I guess there were plenty of other reasons for vampires to take each other out as well. I’d basically appointed myself as Kinley’s sponsor. His behavior was my responsibility now.
“Well,” I said finally, deciding I could live with that. “You seem pretty sane. You’re not going to go on a rampage or anything, right?”
“Sure. I mean, no, but...” His voice quaked, and I twisted my head to look at him properly. Something about the way the hall light reflected off his dark hair and haunted eyes made him look painfully young and afraid.
“But what?”
“But you’re a vampire hunter. And I’m a vampire. I feel like we’re fundamentally incompatible, you know?” He wrung his hands, chewing his lip. Waiting for the axe to fall. Or the stake.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the doorframe. “My house, my rules, okay?”
“Okay?”
“So, just two rules. One, you don’t feed off anybody on this street. Two, you never bring anybody back here to feed on.”
I had to force the words out. He was right in a way. It went against everything I’d ever believed to take a vampire into my home, to let him be a vampire, do all the things that meant, and turn a blind eye to it. It was painful.
But this was Kinley, and it turned out it wasn’t quite as painful as it could have been. I wasn’t quite sure why that was, but I let it slide.
“And we’ll be okay like that?” he asked. “I mean...what Charlotte said. You can’t stop being a dhampir.”
“No,” I agreed. “But there are plenty of dhampirs out there who don’t kill vampires, and I’m one of them these days.” I stood, stretching, and faced the night. Rain clouds had pulled in again, dragging the smell of the ocean with them. It was fresh and invigorating, and reminded me of what I was doing here in Ridderport, what had brought me here to begin with, seven years ago.
I found I did have the energy for a smile.
“I keep telling people,” I said to Kinley. “I’m retired.”
The End.
Thank you!
I think I say this about every book I manage to finish writing, but The Mortal Touch was a labour of love, and so much fun to write. Georgia’s story had been kicking around my head for several years in a very nebulous way, and I’d written bits and pieces here and there. But la
st year I got serious about it, and finally dug in and got that bastard written! And I love it! I’m a huge sucker for an old-fashioned, noir-tinged urban fantasy, and I think The Mortal Touch checks those boxes.
I have plans for plenty more adventures with Georgia, Elijah, and Kinley, so f you want to keep up with what I’m working on, please join my Facebook Group or follow me on Twitter!
Stay safe, everyone x
More Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance from Naomi!
The Quinn Inheritance
Hand of Fate
Blood Canticles
Blood Witch
Dark Days
Lich Queen
Imperial Demons
Chaos Songs
Void Dreams
Urban Wolf
Wolf Strap
Silver Kiss
Blood Hunt
Phantom Fears
Cold Night Moon
In Cold Blood
Stand-Alones and Short Stories
The Witch’s Guide to Werewolves
On A Dark Tide
Thrown to the Wolves
The Necromancer’s Apprentice
The Sea Wife
The Beast of Birch Hill
About the Author
Originally from Cambridge, UK, Naomi now lives in Amsterdam with one human being and three cats. When she’s not writing, she can generally be found watching retro cartoons, playing epic board games, or curled up with a good book and a cup of tea, because you can take the girl out of England, but you can’t take the England out of the girl.
[email protected]
Did you love The Mortal Touch? Then you should read Hand of Fate by Naomi Clark!
I thought I was done with magic when I left home at sixteen.
Ten years later, it turns out magic isn't done with me.Because I'm not just anybody - I'm the heir to a magical legacy I want nothing to do with. And if I'm going to persuade my family I'm the worst person for the job, my only option is to go home and prove to them I'm still the same old useless, powerless Theo Quinn. But when I get back to the sinister Elder House, I find nothing but death, lies, and fear. I've got nobody to trust, no place to go, and no choice but to confront the worst nightmares of my childhood.
My mother is dying. It might be murder. And I might be next.Fuck my life.
Hand of Fate is the first in an urban fantasy trilogy with a slow-burn romance, a ton of magic, and a web of lies you'll be dying to see unravel!