Then again, we did barge in on these guys. This is the vampire equivalent of rural cops storming into a house and catching a guy watching TV in his underwear. I shouldn’t infer too much by them not bothering to force themselves to appear lifelike when they’re hanging out at ‘home’. Goth Dude—Robert—probably leaves himself pale on purpose for style. Still, these guys are giving off an odd vibe. Or maybe it’s coming from the thing under the sheet.
“What manner of political reasons?” Holden tilts his head. It’s not a confused tilt. It’s a scheming sort of tilt. “How did you manage to get the council to all agree on not wanting you in their city?”
“The usual petty drivel.” Robert, evidently unable to figure me out, peels his gaze off me to stare once more at Holden. “What else would it be? You know how they are.”
Holden bows his head. “Yes, I know how they are. Twenty-two different groups, no more than six ever able to come to a consensus on any particular topic. I find it implausible or alarming to suggest they all managed to agree you two needed to leave Portland?”
Robert and Albert look at each other. I swear a pulse of hostility wafts from the object under the sheet.
An explosion goes off next to me.
Or at least, it sounds like an explosion. One second, Holden’s merely standing there. The next, his right arm is extended holding a gun. Robert and Albert reel backward simultaneously, each man shot once in the forehead. My vampire reflexes kick in—hey, better late than not at all. Both exiles crumple toward the ground in slow motion while Holden hurries over to the sheet-covered table. Looks normal to me, but he’s moving so fast a few of the Warhammer figurines fall over from the breeze. He grabs the cylinder, wrapping it in the linen, and rushes straight for the door behind us, passing the two guys before they’re done falling.
Stunned at the sudden, unprovoked violence, and clueless as to why he’s running, I end up standing there like a gawking fool watching the two guys sink to the floor. A relative three seconds after Holden’s outside, a door beside the back hall opens. Four corpse-pale men dressed somewhat like a motorcycle gang run into the room.
Crap.
I’d complain about high heels again, but they don’t matter. I’m flying, maybe forgetting to move my legs to make it look like I’m running. Who cares? Four-on-one never ends well for the one, especially when she’s small, not a master at hand-to-hand combat, and left her sword at home. I cruise out the door. Holden’s already driving away. He’s opened the window on my side at least. Not difficult for me to accelerate faster than a Cadillac. I swing my legs up, swerve in the window, and land in the passenger seat.
The vampires spill out of the bar. Two try chasing our Caddy on foot. Given we’re in downtown Seattle traffic and they’re vampires, it’s not as unreasonable as it sounds. However, it is after midnight and there aren’t too many other cars on the road in this area, allowing us to break the speed limit. I stick my head out the window to look back at the two sprinters falling behind. Three blocks away by the bar, one of the two not chasing us on foot straight up GTA’s a dude out of a red sports car, grabbing him by the chest and yeeting him across the road before jumping in behind the wheel.
“Shit! They stole a car.”
Holden squeezes the wheel tighter.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
I stare at him. “WTF?”
“Pardon?”
“Argh. What the hell did you shoot them for? And why does the thing in the back seat feel like it’s alive?”
The red sports car slows to pick up the two guys still trying to catch us on foot. Dammit. I never signed up for a car chase. So much for a professional meeting. If I’d have known the night would turn into this, I wouldn’t have bothered wearing nice clothes. Probably would’ve brought my sword along, too… and some car chase music. Dad would insist. Oh, and I’d have put on a headband. We’re only going a bit over the speed limit. Not sure it counts as a car chase yet, but the vampires do seem to be following us.
“Sorry for assuming, but you’re fairly new, yes?” asks Holden.
“Yeah. About a year.”
“Anyone mention Oblivare yet?”
I blink. “Oh-bli-var-ay? Guessing it’s not a new boy band or a line of Italian purses.”
He snorts, trying to suppress a laugh. “No. They’re a nihilistic bloodline. It makes sense to me now why they got kicked out of Portland. Took me a moment to realize what they are.”
Whoa. I whistle. “These Oblivare are bad enough to get the entire council to agree on something?”
“Yes.” He nods.
A gunshot goes off behind us. Oh, wonderful. Not merely a car chase. An extra spicy car chase.
Holden accelerates. “They want to destroy society. Ours as well as mortals.”
“Uhh. So, they’re morons.”
“Not as much so as you are thinking. They don’t want to destroy vampires and people, just society as a construct.” He slams on the brakes, skidding us into a right turn.
Someone in a light green Prius lays on their horn—until the Oblivare resume shooting at us.
I grab the roof handle to keep myself in the seat. Crap. Total mistake to wear heels and a skirt tonight. “Society. So, what? They want anarchy?”
“Not exactly. They think mortals should be barely advanced past the point of using fire to cook and live in tiny villages, constantly in fear of vampires coming out of the wilds to feast on them. They also believe vampires should exist in small roving independent packs like wolves. No large communities or governments or leaders on either side. Whether or not it’s true, they believe the world used to be that way thousands of years ago, and they want to go back to it.”
“Wow. Okay, still crazy.” I glance into the back seat. “So, what’s that thing?”
“A reliquary.”
“Isn’t that like a eulogy?”
“You’re thinking of requiem.” Holden chuckles, grunts, then yanks the wheel to the side, throwing us around a left turn.
The move is so abrupt, I kiss the passenger side window. Two bystander cars smash into each other trying to avoid us… but the Oblivare overshoot the turn and slam on their brakes, the wail of screeching tires echoing over horns.
“Oh, okay. Reliquary…”
“Basically, a soul jar,” says Holden. “Oblivare don’t invoke the Transference the same way as other vampires. They claim never to have been human.”
I look around at relatively quiet streets. No sign of a red sports car. “Those guys looked pretty human to me. Well, except for being obviously dead white.”
“The bodies were human. They pour Oblivare souls from the reliquary into a corpse.”
“Whoa.” I gawk at him. “Doesn’t that make a Sefil?”
“No, you’re thinking blood. Sefil are the result of a standard Transference done too long after death.”
“Yeah. I know that.” I exhale hard. “Nothing good ever comes from messing with a jar of ghosts. Ask me how I know.”
“Later. We have a problem.” Holden points backward.
I twist around to look behind us. The red car gains on us, weaving around people who have the temerity to drive at or under the speed limit.
“They’re back.”
“Yes. I noticed. The vase might contain a hundred potential Oblivare or perhaps only two. I’m sure they’re rather interested in getting it back.”
“Holden… there’s no way you’re going to lose them in this Caddy. It’s a beautiful car, but it’s not going to outrun a… whatever they have. Let’s ditch it and fly.”
He groans. “I wish. Can’t fly. Go ahead if you want. Won’t ask you to stay.”
“Grr.” I squeeze my fingers into the plush seat, watching the sports car creep closer and closer. Two guys lean out the windows, pointing guns at us. “They’re gonna shoot!”
Holden swerves into the oncoming lane to get around a pack of cars stopped at a red light, threads the proverbial eye of the ne
edle between two SUVs on the crossing street, and stomps the gas once we’re back in the clear. Good thing I’m dead already or I’d have had a heart attack.
“Why did you grab the stupid thing instead of just smashing it?” I yell.
“Breaking it only lets them out. The Oblivare would eventually collect them again. We need to bring it to Eidolon so he can destroy them.”
Whoa. Sounds impressive. I blink. “Who or what is Eidolon?”
“He’s the oldest Shadow in the Pacific Northwest.” Holden lifts his right hand off the wheel for a moment to wave around in a random gesture. “He knows all sorts of weird mystical stuff people don’t believe in anymore. Even most vampires think the stuff is nonsense. It’s not his real name, though. No one knows it.”
“So, you’re saying no woman named their son ‘Eidolon’?” I fake roll my eyes. “Wow, never imagined.”
He laughs.
The back window explodes into tiny crystals as a barrage of gunfire goes off behind us. Orange light smears go by outside, bouncing off the street ahead of us. Some vanish, some spiral into the air.
“Okay, that’s weird. Kinda pretty, but weird.”
“Tracer bullets.” Holden stomps the brakes so we don’t drive into the window of a Starbucks on a turn. “I believe they are attempting to light us on fire.”
I gawk at him. This guy is unbelievable.
3
Pear-Shaped
Anyway, so I’ve ended up playing chicken with a fireball in a gradually exploding Cadillac.
Shame, too. It’s a nice car. Or was. Well, not ‘was’ yet. It’s presently in the rather expedited process of transitioning between past and present tense in regard to being nice. I must be absolutely terrified in order for my reflexes to have amped up enough to perceive an expanding fireball in such slow motion. It’s gotta be like a hundredth of a second and it feels like ten.
As Dalton would say, tonight’s meeting went pear-shaped. No idea what the heck being pear-shaped has to do with failure, but the British are odd. Maybe he’d say tonight went tits-up. He likes that phrase, too. It also means something went quite wrong.
So, right. I have a serious problem at the moment. No time to think.
My primitive lizard brain takes over, and I’m not going to argue. Its desire is to move directly away from the fireball as fast as possible. This involves launching myself out of the windshield. Smashing my skull into automotive glass is a lot more comfortable than burning. In fact, it hurts less than the time Sierra pranked me by sneaking Justin Bieber onto my iPod. Not the boy, his music. Sophia might be able to put the actual boy in my iPod now using magic, but I hope she doesn’t try. Besides, demons are Sam’s thing. Also, our lives are crazy enough without our family being sued by a giant record label.
Wonder how they’d explain it to the public? Would they put the iPod on stage so the trapped Bieber could sing out of it?
Bleh.
The instant I clear the windshield, I veer straight up. Next thing I know, I’m hanging in midair above the road, looking down at a flaming wreck in the trees. Lots of forest to the northwest. There’s a small residential area a short distance farther southwest of where the Caddy went into the woods. Oh, my shoes are gone and nylon has bunched around my knees. Feet are slightly sore. The shoes probably fell off. Guess the fireball came close enough to melt my stocking soles. Eep.
Tire screech redirects my attention straight down. The red Camaro slides to a stop, jumping up onto a little bit of sidewalk at the edge of the road. Our Caddy narrowly missed a utility pole and trenched a path into a thick mass of underbrush and pine trees. It’s still on its wheels—the whole ‘exploding gas tank makes cars flip over’ thing definitely is Hollywood nonsense—and is rapidly becoming engulfed in fire.
Groaning in the scrub draws my gaze to Holden dragging himself away from the wreckage—or trying to. I think he’s pinned under the back tire. Yeah, most vampires could make themselves strong enough to move a car, but he’s also on fire. Probably taking all his concentration to resist the burning. Gah. Acrid fumes make my eyes water so bad I have to flinch away. Car fires stink. Good thing I’m already dead or breathing this stuff would probably give me cancer.
Four Oblivare exit the Camaro, still holding guns, and stalk toward the Caddy. Somehow, they haven’t noticed me up here. Sure, I’m like 200 feet in the air, but how could they have not seen me flying? Oh, wait. The fireball was pretty bright. It’s not fun to go from near total darkness to blind. Yes, a flashlight can buy a few seconds in a vampire attack. Gotta be a good one, though. Not a convenience store single-AA battery cheapo. Get one of those ridiculous internet flashlights capable of setting paper on fire from across a room and anyone could be a vampire hunter. Seriously though, even an unexpected police Maglite will blind us for a good thirty seconds. Enough time to run and hide.
Damn. I’d really rather get the hell out of here, but I can’t leave Holden to die. I pantomime tying on a red headband, take a deep, unnecessary breath, and foolishly decide to dive-bomb the Oblivare in the back of their group, taking advantage of the element of surprise.
By the way, it’s not on the periodic table.
Silly me, I didn’t bring a weapon of any kind, so I improvise with what I have: my fist. Being 200 feet in the air lets me gather a bit of speed, which goes into my best attempt at a WWE elbow-drop… kinda. I’m not using my elbow. Looks kinda the same, though. Oh, also, what I’m doing is not fake.
The guy’s skull crunches under my knuckles. Blood streams from both ears. Pretty sure his eyeballs shoot out of his face. Feels like I’ve mashed my hand through a solid chocolate bowl into a mass of warm pudding. The rest of his body cushions my impact against the ground. I probably only broke two fingers on my right hand from hitting his skull. Pain can wait a moment.
Gotta love adrenaline.
I’m already pushing all I can into speed and strength, giving me a few relative seconds before the three remaining Oblivare react to the splat behind them. Sure, all vampires can speed themselves up, but it takes about a second or so, leaving a tiny window where even other vampires appear slow when they’re not expecting a fight. This is how Holden got the drop on Albert and Robert. And, he’s crazy fast. Like, the fastest I’ve ever seen. Maybe he came from the Old West, a former gunslinger.
The other three are all starting to turn. Since the dude I flattened was obligingly carrying a handgun, I grab it, aim, and shoot the next nearest guy in the back of the head. An orange light smear flies from my gun and disappears into the dude’s head above his left ear. Flames burp out of the hole.
Oh, they definitely have tracer bullets. Not good. Well, not good if I get hit by one.
The instant unconsciousness of a bullet having an argument with his brain turns a rapid twist into a pirouetting fall. I have no real urge to find out what it feels like to be shot with a burning bullet. Also, I’m not exactly the most experienced when it comes to using guns. My panic-fueled attempt to shoot the other two biker dudes before they shoot me results in four misses—and my gun locks open, out of ammo.
Made them flinch, though.
This is the moment—standing here unarmed in front of two vampires holding handguns—where I have a tiny bit of self-doubt and wonder if maybe I should have tried talking to these guys first instead of going straight to an aerial hammer fist. Like, ‘hey, sorry, my associate is off his meds. Take your reliquary back, we’ll go this way, you go that way.’ It’s pointless to think about it now since I kinda started something in motion here.
Funny how time seems to hang sometimes. The three of us seem to stand there staring at each other long enough for me to feel like a dumbass and think about random stuff like what Sierra learned in her sword class. Conventional wisdom says an attacker using a knife can cover twenty-one feet and strike before a person can draw and fire a gun. I’m only like ten feet away, but they already have guns out. I also don’t have a knife, rather claws. Still counts. Anyone in the know would be more afra
id of my claws than a simple knife.
Also, no time to debate my odds. As Yoda would say, there is no try, there is only stab.
Okay, he didn’t really say that; I’m ad-libbing here.
Claws out, I launch myself forward.
The biker dudes both get off a shot each before I’m on them. Luckily, they didn’t expect me to literally fly at them. No idea where the bullets went other than they didn’t end up inside me. I grab the arm of the dude on the left, shoving the gun away. The other guy hesitates, not wanting to pump a red-hot nugget of burny death into his buddy. Damn, this would be so much easier if I had a sword on me. Dammit! Why does society have to frown on the routine carry of long blades?
Dude swings me into the air, trying to throw me off his gun arm. Flight is a huge help. I stay put, causing him to inadvertently smash me into his friend. The shock of impact is enough to break my grip on his forearm, but I don’t go away easy. The dull thump of a handgun hitting the ground confirms my weaponized fingernails shredded all the tendons in his wrist. Every finger on his right hand is gonna be useless for a few days.
He howls in pain, staggering to one side, clutching the bleeding slashes.
The other guy stumbles forward from the force of me hitting him like a human club. I drop to the ground on my side. He wheels around, aiming down at my face—so I kick his arm away an instant before the gunshot goes off, putting a bullet into his friend’s left foot. A tiny jet of fire rises up from the hole in his boot. Between his ‘oh shit, sorry’ expression and the other guy’s cartoony yowl of pain, I almost laugh. If not for Holden’s distant wails of agony, I probably would have.
Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances Page 3