Day Killer

by Clara Coulson

  I show him my right palm. “I sure do.”

  He gives me a sympathetic look. “What happened there?”

  “I got shot by the brainwashed DSI commissioner. Another one of Delos’ pawns.”

  He stabs his fork into his eggs and starts shoveling them into his mouth, like he hasn’t eaten in a year. Then again, he may have very well lost his stomach contents after being eviscerated. “I heard about that. Some people in the Parliament used it as an excuse to discredit DSI as a reliable ally in the fight against the Methuselah Group. But others didn’t buy it, those who know Delos, who’ve seen him in action. He’s used his magic on vampires before, put sleepers in our ranks. I read about it in my family’s archives. There were some low-key conflicts with the ICM in the eighties where Delos and others were employed to gather intelligence from within the noble houses. He sounds like a nasty son of a bitch.”

  “You’re right about that.” I fill my own plate and start eating. “He almost brought the DSI building down in a last-ditch effort to beat us. Lucky Iyanda showed up when she did.”

  He nearly chokes on a bacon strip. “Did you actually meet High Witch Iyanda?”

  “She visited me in my hospital room after the battle with Delos. Seems like an…” I try to come up with a single word to describe that woman, but I can’t find one. She’s complex in a way that isn’t easy to define, so many years of built-up knowledge and power packed into one human body. I felt like an ant in her presence, and I’m glad I haven’t been maneuvered into another conversation with her since our hospital encounter. She’s too intuitive. Too keen. Too much. “Interesting woman,” I finish lamely.

  “The High Court gives me the creeps,” Foley admits. “Some older vampires do as well. It’s like they’re from another world. The way they think, after living so many years, learning so much, gaining so much power. I can’t relate to them at all. I feel so inadequate.”

  “A vampire who feels inadequate about his own power?” I point my fork at him. “I like you already. You make me feel better about myself.”

  Foley smiles. “At least I’m doing something right. I royally fucked up during the fight with the Knights. I didn’t even see Lizzie coming until her hand was already in my stomach.”

  Now it’s my turn to choke. “Your own sister disemboweled you?”

  “Lizzie is a psychopath,” he says, totally straight-faced. “She was a bad apple long before the formation of the Black Knights. Everybody knew she wasn’t right in the head. She’s sadistic to a degree that even the most bloodthirsty vampires can’t match. She takes pleasure in inflicting maximum pain. She killed the family pets when she was a child, so many times that my parents stopped having pets. By the time I came around, there was a total ban on animals in the house whenever Lizzie was around. When I was little, I didn’t understand why.” He worries his bottom lip with his fang. “Then I walked in on her torturing a bird one day. Gods, what a nightmare she is. And now she’s a nightmare with a purpose.”

  “World domination?” I mutter, recalling Lucian’s original description of the Knights.

  “Or something like it,” he confirms. “We still haven’t penetrated deep enough into their organization to learn the true motives behind their actions, but we do know their plans are vast and complex. The takeover of the Federation is just a stepping stone, along with the expansion into North America and other continents. They’re quite driven, however, toward that unknown ultimate goal. So driven, in fact, that many have theorized they didn’t come up with it on their own.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask as I take a bite out of my toast. “Like, they’re working with somebody else?”

  “Exactly. There are meetings we haven’t been able to spy on, with people we haven’t been able to identify. We think that perhaps some other group, a non-vampire group, prompted the formation of the Knights by offering something—we know not what—to the vampires who would be most likely to defect from the Federation.”

  He picks up his own slice of toast but doesn’t eat it. “Ruthless, cunning vampires like my sister. Those without morals, who dislike the limitations we’ve put on ourselves. Those who think themselves above humanity and the other supernatural races. Those who want vampires to become true terrors of the night again. We believe this foreign group let them in on some great secret. But we were still early in the process of finding out just who these people are, and what they offered. And now…”

  “Now the Parliament is shattered, and half the noble houses are under the thumb of the Knights, while the other half are in disarray after the attack.” I drink my orange juice in one go, using the silence as I gulp it down to try and process everything I’ve learned since Foley showed up at my door. Something occurs to me. “Hey, during Lucian’s call last night, he mentioned your sister is a powerful practitioner. She won’t be able to track you down here with magic, will she?”

  Foley takes a hesitant bite of his toast. “I hope not.” He raises his arm to showcase the watch. “This thing is chock full of anti-tracking charms. Everything Lucian and I could come up with on the fly as we were fleeing the parliament building. I’m not a bad practitioner, but as with my vampiric abilities, I’m still a novice practitioner compared to most other vampires. Most older vampires. Lizzie may well be able to break through my charms. I just…don’t know.” He drops the toast back onto his plate. “There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “You and me both, pal.” I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, even though a voice inside my head is screaming at me to run to the ocean, steal a boat, and sail off to a deserted island so I don’t have to deal with this crap. I ignore the impulse and add, “But we’ll figure it out. For now, let’s finish breakfast and then enjoy some TV. How’s that sound?”

  Foley relaxes slightly, and nods. “You’re right. We need to stay calm.”

  After we clear the table, I set Foley up in the living room with the remote and the Netflix app, then retreat to my bathroom for a shower of my own. As I’m grabbing a towel, I happen to glance into my bedroom, and find that the soiled sheets and comforter have been stripped off the bed; Foley balled them up and stuck them in my hamper. I appreciate the gesture, but those are destined for the trashcan, and my mattress is destined for the big dumpster behind my building.

  Hm. Maybe I should start a tab for things Lucian needs to pay me for in exchange for accepting this job. Wonder if I can slip “intense psychological suffering” onto the list without him noticing?

  Under the hot spray of the shower, I try to let my stormy thoughts fall away, but they persist. The thing that annoys me the most is that I can’t tell Riker, Ella, Amy, and Desmond anything about the impending disaster at the charity gala. If I disobey Lucian, and his plan gets out to the Knights as a result, he could end up dead, or the Knights could simply switch tactics for the assassinations.

  However, leaving DSI in the dark means putting them at more risk if they end up having to confront the Knights at any point during this conflict. We’ve already suffered major setbacks over the past year, the most devastating of which was the loss of many members of our medical staff during Delos’ curse epidemic. At the top of that list was Navarro, our chief of medicine, who got shot by his own damn commissioner, along with numerous CDC employees.

  DSI has had it rough thanks to these supernatural shadow groups making war plays in the dark that bleed into the daylight. They don’t deserve to be caught unaware again, especially not when vampires are involved, especially not when vampire practitioners are involved—that’s the most dangerous combo that exists on Earth. Only Eververse creatures pose a greater threat than highly skilled vampire practitioners. Foley’s sister must be an absolute titan.

  If any DSI agents have to fight her, they won’t survive.

  But if I warn them, I could make the situation worse. Damn it all.

  I shut off the water, no longer in the mood to bask under the spray. Toweling off, I slip into my room, holding my breath so I don’t have to smell the
rotten blood on my mattress, and rummage around in my dresser until I find a suitable cold-weather outfit. Most of the available clothes are for summer, because it was still August last time I was in town. The bulk of my winter clothing is in a plastic bin in my closet. I make a mental note to unload that thing soon and swap the contents for the summer stuff.

  I pull out an extra set of clothing for Foley to wear, jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, both of which are a little tight on me. They might fit him better. After I dress, I tuck the spare clothes under my arm and bend to retrieve my backpack, still lying where I left it the night before. I have some things in there I need to unpack as well, including my laptop, its charger, and…the iPad.

  I don’t know what I’m going to tell Cooper if he calls in and sees or hears Foley hanging out in the background. Maybe I’ll have to forgo answering him, even though I really want to hear his voice right now. Cooper would be the perfect person to talk to in this scenario.

  But, again, top-secret project equals monitored calls.

  Sighing, I think, This is getting old.

  I sling the pack over my shoulder and head back into the living room to give Foley the clothes so he can stop lounging around in his expensive underwear and my faded metal band T-shirt that I can’t remember the origin of. I round the corner to find him watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Which I find so fucking funny I actually start laughing in earnest, to the point where I end up slumped against the wall, giggle-snorting like a twelve-year-old who just sucked milk up his nose.

  Foley peers over the back of the sofa, eyebrow raised. “What? I like this show.”

  “Me too. It’s just…” I have to pause to catch my breath. “A fictional show about a vampire slayer? Come on, man. You’re an actual vampire. How can that possibly be exciting to you?”

  “It’s actually more comforting than anything else,” he says. “I find watching shows about significantly less powerful fictional vampires makes me feel better after I have encounters with the far more menacing real-world variety. It’s kind of like joking immediately after you survive something that should’ve killed you.”

  “Oh, really? Do you find real-world vampires menacing often?”

  Foley lifts the eyebrow higher. “Don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but I’m not—”

  The front door of my apartment splinters down the middle, rips free from the hinges, and sails down the hall until it crashes broadside against the doorframe to my bedroom with a resounding bang. Standing in the gaping hole left by the door are five tall, bulky men with biceps the size of watermelons, wearing glares that could make plants wilt on contact.

  Speaking of eyes, four of the men have amber irises. And the middle guy, the one who looks like the leader of the crew? He has crimson eyes.

  “—a vampire.”

  Chapter Four

  After a year of getting attacked by supernatural creatures way stronger than you, you tend to develop some reflexes in the face of danger. The second the vampires register as my enemies, I drop the spare clothes, dive into the living room, swipe my gun off the table with my left hand, and flick off the safety, while at the same time shoving my formerly dominant hand into my backpack and quickly finagling on the set of beggar rings Riker sent me in the mail two months ago.

  By the time I’m on my knees with my gun up in the air, the five vampires are already in the living room doorway, with their noble leader standing in the middle, a nonplussed frown on his face. Like he doesn’t understand why Foley Banks is in the apartment of some random human dude.

  They don’t know who I am. They tracked Foley here.

  I pop off a shot, and it nails one of the vampires right between the eyes. The bruiser sways for a second then tumbles backward, landing with a floor-rattling thump. I adjust my aim and make to shoot a second vampire, but I’m distracted by the blur that is Foley leaping over the top of the couch and surging forward. He barrels into the leader’s chest, and the two of them fly back into the kitchen. They slam into my table, sending it into the fridge. Both table and fridge crumple under the force, wood shattering into shrapnel, metal and plastic warping with a shriek.

  The other mooks are so stunned at Foley’s sudden attack that they don’t take me out when they have the chance. So I fire another shot, which tears out the neck of the vampire on the far right, then swivel around on my toes so I can hit the others. Unfortunately, their reaction times are faster than mine, and I barely get off a third shot—which catches one guy in the chest to minimal effect—before they’re both on me. Good thing my beggar rings are in place.

  As the first guy’s fist rockets toward me, I brace myself and raise my backpack. The fist collides with the pack like a battering ram, driving me back across the floor and crushing both my laptop and iPad, plastic and glass crunching loudly. The second guy tries to stomp on my chest, but I’ve already positioned myself in a roll, and the momentum from the punch shifts me enough to the left to avoid the boot. The guy’s foot smacks the wooden floor and goes right through it. He yelps and falls as his leg sinks into the space beneath my floor—which may very well be someone else’s ceiling. No time to think about that though.

  I raise my right fist, beggar rings already charged, and shoot the fire ring. A jet of flame consumes the second guy’s upper body, and he reels back, screaming, as he burns. Bounding back up to my feet, I throw my backpack at the remaining goon’s face, forcing him to bat it away before he can try to strike me again. I empty my magazine into him, shredding his gut, chest, and groin. It’s the groin shot that sends him down; even vampires aren’t immune to that. And when his knees hit the floor and his second swing goes wide, missing me by inches, I drag my hand around and point my fist at his head. Then I let off another volley of fire.

  Leaving two charred vampires shrieking on the floor behind me, I recover my backpack and rush toward the kitchen. The first two vampires I shot have nearly recovered already, and I don’t have time to dig through my bag and find my spare ammo. So I jump over the vampires avoiding a weak grab by the one I shot in the neck, and land in the kitchen. Where Foley is wrestling with the other noble vampire. And not doing very well.

  I avoid the tussling nobles, race to my cabinets, yank open the utensil drawer, and pull out a huge steak knife. I nearly drop it—thanks, mangled right hand—and have to stuff my gun into my waistband and take the knife with my left hand before I can make a concerted effort to help Foley. Grip firm on the knife handle, I spin around, wait two seconds for an opening, and lunge toward the bigger blur. The knife sinks into the base of the man’s neck, right where it meets the shoulder, at a sharp angle that severs his windpipe along with several important blood vessels.

  The guy collapses, choking, and Foley quickly disentangles himself and staggers back. He’s breathing heavily, and bleeding from about twenty different deep cuts. He looks from the disabled noble vampire to me and again to his adversary, surprise written into his crimson eyes. (He lost his glasses somewhere, and with them, the eye-color charm.) He peers over his shoulder, at the vampires in my hall and living room, all four of which are healing very, very fast. The guy I shot in the neck is almost to his feet.

  “Thanks for the save?” Foley says in a way that indicates he’s not sure he believes a regular human rescued him from a death match with another vampire.

  “No problem.”

  Mystified by my blasé reaction, he mutters something in a language I don’t know, then bends down and digs his intact glasses out of a pile of broken wood on the floor. He wipes them off and sticks them back on his nose, restoring his fake eye color. “I think we should leave now.”

  “My truck’s outside,” I reply. “Let’s go.”

  We dart into the foyer and head for the gaping hole where the front door used to be, but before we even reach the hallway, Foley throws his arm up, and I skid to a stop behind him. He wrenches his head to the right, face tensing in fear. I focus my ears, trying to pinpoint what spooked his vampire heari
ng. I don’t have to wait long to find it, because the stairwell door next to the elevator bangs open, and another four sets of footsteps storm down the hall toward us.

  “Crap.” I grab Foley’s outstretched arm and yank him around, pulling him behind me as I sprint toward my bedroom. The guy I shot in the neck is on his knees now, a convenient height for me to kick him in the face and break his nose. He slumps to the floor again with a groan, and I don’t slow down as I drag Foley past him and the guy I shot in the head, who’s twitching but clearly still brain damaged. I do pause to snatch up the spare clothes though, before charging into my bedroom. I slam the door shut behind me reflexively—it won’t deter even the weakest vampire—and release Foley from my grasp.

  I toss Foley the clothes and say, “Dress. Fast.”

  He does. Dude’s got his pants on before I even turn around.

  Next, I raise my right fist, point it at the window, and unleash a wave of force from the respective ring. The blast shatters the glass outward, shards raining down onto the street below. I look at Foley and say, “Over and out.”

  I dash toward the window, jump through it in a graceful high-dive formation, and plummet toward the sidewalk. Halfway down, I stick out my hand again and release a weaker, continuous force blast, slowing my descent. Foley and I land at the same time, him like a cat on all fours, graceful and soundless, me like a wobbly toddler who fell off a swing.

  But who cares? It’s not a contest. It’s not.

  “This way.” I tug his sleeve, directing him to the parking area.

  I’m about to turn and make another mad-dash for my truck, when Foley replies, “Too slow.” And the next thing I know, he’s got me slung over his shoulder and is running at about eighty times top human speed. Only two seconds later, he slides to a stop in the lot, drops me, and says, “Which vehicle?”