Switch of Fate 2

by Grace Quillen

  As he plugged his phone in to charge on the nightstand Flint thought about going over there, knocking on the door, making her have it out with him. But Goldie was so skittish, it was as if giving her what she needed sent her further away from him instead of bringing her closer. And he just didn’t get that at all. And worse, he didn’t know how to be anything else. He loved her, and he wanted to show it, to her and everyone else. Hell, with his heartbound glow, there wasn’t any hiding it. But he wanted more.

  A thump near the front of the house drew Flint’s attention. Bryce coming home? But he was supposed to be staying all night at the hospital, watching over Darby. Flint stepped into the hallway and headed for the kitchen. The pass-through bar was still full of his grandmother’s silver that he’d polished the night before. It caught the moonlight from the picture window and gave off a subtle sheen. Slacker. You still haven’t put it away. He would do it now, before he went to bed.

  Flint hadn’t taken two steps when the smell of pine and bitter herbs assaulted his nostrils, acrid and shocking. Vampires! Here! Flint whirled in a circle and came face to face with the Fatherborne he and Goldie had fought in the forest, standing - how the fuck was he standing? Flint had damn near ripped his leg off! - just a yard away and snarling. “Found you.”

  Flint started to shift, but in that same instant the bloodsucker’s arms whipped out. In the dark Flint had the impression they were long and muscular, like giant pythons, with lots of little snakes curling off of them, and they wrapped around him and suddenly Flint had no energy. His bear was stuck somewhere so deep inside him Flint couldn’t access it, almost couldn’t even feel it, and he was sinking into a great void, like falling asleep under sedation. It was undeniable.

  Pain in his knees and the view changed and after far too long Flint realized he had fallen to kneeling but by that time his face hurt, too, and all he could see from prone on the floor were expensive black leather motorcycle boots walking across the tile to the back door, and an equally snazzy pair of black and red sneakers joining them. His brain was having trouble processing. Sneakers? Motorcycle boots? I always pictured bloodfuckers as the loafer type.

  He thought about getting up, ordered his arms to brace beneath him, but they wouldn’t obey. Tied. He was tied with something. The vampire’s arms? But the vampire was ten feet away, so his arms couldn’t be here on the floor. Could they? Flint squeezed his eyes shut tight then opened them, willing his mind to sharpen. Why couldn’t he move? With great effort he tried again, but only succeeded in making a metallic clunking sort of noise. Did my arms always sound like that?

  The Fatherborne vampire chuckled, his voice several feet above Flint. “You like them? I call them bloodchains.”

  Flint growled shakily, helpless. Chained. Bound. Goldie. He had to paint the walls with this vampire’s blood so he could check on his woman. The bloodsucker crouched down, his smarmy smile so close Flint could see the two white points of his fangs encroaching on his lower lip. His face up close had a gray cast, almost as if it was stone covered by skin. If he’d been human, Flint would have guessed his age to be mid-fifties, and not easy years at that, from the way his skin gathered in craggy wrinkles around his eyes, ears, and neck. Flint snapped at him, but weakly. Fuck.

  Despite the vampire’s smile, the expression in his eyes was approaching bored. “I mean, I say ‘instead of killing’ but the truth is I don’t know. You’re my first test subject. I suppose if we leave you chained up long enough there’s a chance they could kill you. Let’s test the hypothesis, shall we?”

  Flint snapped again, almost getting flesh, unable to speak. The vampire laughed at him. “I assure you this is all perfectly scientific, if that’s your issue.”

  All vampires must fucking die. This one first.

  The Fatherborne gestured to his partner in the sneakers and before Flint could figure out what was happening the bloodsuckers had each grabbed one end of the chain and started dragging him down the hall towards his room. Move. Now. It didn’t work. He could barely move at all. The thump of music from Goldie’s side of the duplex reminded Flint of what, of who was at stake. Fuck! Move, dammit! An impotent rage built as he tried to command his muscles to rebel, to call on his bear to shift, to break the chains, but the best he could do was give a weak growl that had both bloodsuckers laughing at him.

  He stopped trying to fight and opened his eyes instead. Think his way out of this. He wasn’t nine anymore.

  Flint looked at the chains that bound him. Black, but not painted or coated. It was almost as if the blackness moved inside of the metal. Inhabited it. And just as he’d seen in the forest yesterday, spilling of the vampire’s very form, these chains had snaking tendrils of dark magic that wound through and around the links, in constant magical motion. Flint’s eyes moved up the chain to the Fatherborne’s companion.

  The second vampire looked younger than the Fatherborne, closer to late twenties and dressed like it, in skinny black jeans and an olive green canvas jacket with a vintage concert t-shirt underneath. He had gauges in his earlobes and his hair was a uniform brown, no stripe. Not Fatherborne. So he couldn’t phaze.

  They reached Flint’s bedroom and hoisted him onto the bed, which was a feat in itself. They were stronger than they looked, the skinny little fuckers. The Fatherborne reached into a pack on the other vampire’s back for more black chain and used it to spread Flint’s arms and legs wide, tether them to the four corners of his bed frame like a man about to be drawn and quartered. Flint gritted his teeth. The sting of the metal on his skin was fucking unreal, like a million tiny insects biting him.

  Think. Escape. He racked his brain as the Fatherborne pulled up a chair and dug in the breast pocket of his classic leather motorcycle jacket, coming out with a triangular black blade. Flint couldn’t tell what it was made of, metal or stone, but the sheen on it was like nothing he’d ever seen before. It was as if the light captured by the surface of the blade was moving on its own, like there was an oil slick inside the blade that could slosh back and forth, but with its own will. Gravity wasn’t invited to the party. Just looking at the blade made Flint’s heart beat faster, his breath speed up. Last time he’d been this close to a bloodblade nearly everyone he loved had died.

  Something caught his attention and Flint squinted closer, not sure if he could trust his eyes when he was hurting so bad. But in the light Flint could see the tiniest tendrils of the same oily, black liquid smoke that poured off the bloodchains, that had surrounded this bloodsucker yesterday in the forest, just before he’d phazed. What the fuck is this shit? It reminded Flint of the magicks he’d seen dripping from Goldie’s fingers, up at Resperanza.

  The vampire spoke, his tone amicable, conversational. Flint wanted to spit in his face but he listened instead, focusing on the bloodsucker’s words over the pounding music he could still hear. “You know what this is, don’t you, Bear? May I call you Bear? My name is Vlade. You see, Bear…”

  Vlade leaned back in the chair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, as if settling in for an intimate talk. He gestured lightly at Flint’s neck. “I knew you’d get the idea of bloodchains.” He looked more closely at the scar, examining it as Flint seethed and plotted which limb Vlade would lose first. They’re all coming off at some point, fucker.

  But the vampire was still talking about Flint’s scar like it was a piece of performance art. “Not my work, if you were wondering. I never would have left you alive. I suppose I can’t blame my siblings, whoever they were, for thinking they’d done the job. It is quite an ugly wound. You must be a strong one.” The vampire’s jaw hardened and clenched, his dark eyes going steely. “Of course I already knew that, from our previous encounter. Took me all night to heal that ruined leg.”

  Flint’s mouth curved in a lazy smile. Serves you right, bloodfucker. He’d had to brush and floss his teeth six times to get the lingering taste out of his mouth, but knowing he’d ruined - what had he said his name was? - Vlade? What kind of stupid-ass name was
that? Anyway, ruining Vlade’s night made all the extra doses of mouthwash worth it.

  The vampire with the dumbass name set his jaw and smirked. “Enjoy it while it lasts, shifter. I want to know everything you can tell me about Mitch Garner, and I’m going to make sure it hurts.” He lightly dragged the tip of his black blade down Flint’s bare chest, barely grazing the skin, and Flint could swear his flesh was being seared with a red-hot poker. The oily black smoke around the edges of the blade curled and snapped, seeming to whip and lash at Flint’s skin, adding to the agony. He watched the curls of his chest hair burn away, the skin go red and angry along the blade’s track.

  All he could do was grit his teeth and send his mind to somewhere safer. An image filled his brain, of himself reclining on the overstuffed sofa in Resperanza’s upstairs living room, Goldie on his lap, his nose tucked close to her throat, smelling her scent of basil and rosemary, taking it deep inside. Even now the scent was so strong, like she was right there with him.

  Vlade stood, glaring at the wall over Flint’s head, running his hand through his skunk-striped hair as a nasty sneer of rage settled on his face. “Father condemn it, your neighbors are rude! Must be the woman I spied a few days ago, whose pink hair makes binoculars unnecessary.” He leaned over Flint’s bound body and met his eye with a smarmy smile. “Maybe after we’re done with you we’ll go teach her some manners.”

  Flint almost laughed. Poor fussy bloodsucker didn’t appreciate good music. Anyway, Flint knew that if Vlade tried to take Goldie out, she’d stick him for sure. Then Flint sobered, thinking about Goldie, just on the other side of the wall. How would she feel when she learned he’d died less than twenty feet from her? Would he just be one more person who left her when she needed him most? Would she know how much he loved her, even though he hadn’t said so? Fuck, why hadn’t he said so?

  From the other side of his room Flint heard the crash of door hitting wall. As if he’d conjured Goldie’s voice with his love, it rang through his head, more confident than he’d ever heard before. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying for twenty-four years and it ain’t stuck yet.”

  Chapter 31 - Goldie Goes A-Huntin’

  An hour after she’d closed the door on Flint’s clenched jaw, Goldie was starting to be almost positive that she’d pretty definitely done the wrong thing. Maybe. Oh shoot, she didn’t know! Had she been too harsh on Flint? Yes, that was for sure. But had she done what was necessary to keep her and Darby safe? Also yes. It was all so confusing that even after a shower and putting on her favorite kneesocks and nightshirt - featuring the heroine from Beauty and the Beast curled up in a library that looked way too much to her like the book nook up at that hacienda - Goldie was sure her head was going to explode if she kept up this round-and-round much longer.

  Time for another tactic.

  She went to her room and hooked her phone up to the speakers, then scrolled through her music app until she found a song with a driving beat and lyrics that felt right. She stomped her feet as she sang along, letting the words mix with her feelings and carry them away on her breath. Shoot, she would have pounded on the wall if she wasn’t sure it would bring Flint running to her side.

  But far from helping her feel more centered, Goldie’s aggression was ramping up. She sang louder, almost shouting the words, but it wasn’t enough. This ritual that usually served her so well was failing her. Goldie felt short of breath and stopped singing, her nerves buzzing like they were on fire, like… like… That doesn’t make any sense! But even as she thought the words, her vision went green.

  A thump from Flint’s side of the duplex caught her attention, Goldie’s head swinging around as if she could peer through the walls and see what was happening. Then another thump, not even heard so much as felt through the floor, and she was in motion, moving down the hallway to the living room and stepping into the slippers she wore to get the mail. Quiet as a mouse out the front door. The dark outside looked like a scene from a movie shot in night vision. Down one set of stairs and up the other to listen at the brothers’ door. Did she hear voices inside? Not Bryce and Flint. The clinking of coins or some other metal? Definitely dragging.

  Goldie tried the door but it was locked and she hesitated, but only for the barest moment. Climb into the backyard. Try the back door. Goldie started to step away, unable to stop herself from taking some kind of action, when the sconce by the door caught her eye. Maybe?

  She held her breath and slipped her slender fingers between brass and brick, feeling for loose metal and found it immediately, pulled the spare key free from its hiding spot. Ha-ha! Gingerly she slipped it home in the deadbolt first, then the knob, moving as silently as she could. Where the heck was Flint? With her world going green, Goldie expected to see him in full bear-mode, tearing some vampire’s legs off. The silence by contrast was spooky, only the steady drumbeat of the music she’d left playing in her place providing any soundtrack for the scene.

  Some part of Goldie’s mind was aware that she was walking into a situation that was crazier than anything she’d done before. But the spiraling bloodlust inside her compelled her on. Don’t fight it. Fight them.

  As she came through the door Goldie froze, her eyes wide with alarm. Fight them with what? She’d left the small knife Flint had given her in her purse after they found Brittany, and she sure didn’t have a spare hidden in her kneesocks. Should she go back to her place?

  Not an option, the surge of aggression inside her said. Find something. Kill. Do it NOW. The feeling was punctuated by a groan from one of the back bedrooms. Flint’s voice. The color that shaded Goldie’s vision deepened to evergreen and the muscles of her arms rippled with tension, her fingers clasping at nothing. Weapon. Now!

  On quick, silent feet she slipped towards the kitchen to search out a blade, but her eye was drawn to the side and the stretch of pass-through countertop covered in cloth. There were stacks of shiny silver forks in different sizes, spoons, table knives, salt and pepper shakers, a pie server… As Goldie moved closer she saw a two-pronged meat fork and reached for its graceful length. Then her eyes lit on the piece beside it and Goldie’s heart thudded so hard she was sure the vampires would hear.

  There you are.

  It was an old-fashioned carving knife, the blade long and slightly curved at the tip in a way that Goldie found indescribably sexy. Hello, gorgeous. The handle was what sang to her, though. Even with a fresh polish its surface had a matte glow to it that enchanted her, the long strips of silver shaped into an undulating sort of cage and covered with decorative vines sporting fat, triple-pointed leaves. Goldie recognized them as pumpkin vines from the times they’d grown sweet-as-sugar pie pumpkins in Tallulah’s garden.

  She picked up the knife, grateful for the cloth beneath that deadened the sound. A warmth so strong it had to come from love ran up the blade and into Goldie’s arm, moving with an electricity that set her heart to thumping even harder. Ooohhhhh. A confidence moved through her. A deep knowing she was helpless to deny. This weapon had been waiting for her.

  Flint is waiting for you, too. The thought forced her breath to fill her lungs, the air seeming to shimmer green with the heat of her hatred. Stinking vampires wouldn’t dare take him from me. He was her shifter, her lover, her protector. And now, with this weapon, she would be his.

  Goldie kicked off her slippers and started down the hall, stepping cautiously but quickly, one ear on the conversation she could hear coming from behind the only closed door. A friendly voice speaking of bears and strength. No. Not friendly. False. She could hardly distinguish words over the music she’d left playing, but she could sense the bloodsucker’s murderous motives.

  Only a few feet left now. The music offered Goldie a modicum of cover while she planned her next move. Have to get through the door. What if it’s locked? What if they’re ready for me? Then Goldie smiled to herself. Was she a switch or wasn’t she?

  Casting her mind back to the other day with Shiloh and Cora, Goldie held her hands
in front of her, her lovely new knife still gripped tight, and blew into the space between her fingers. A green ball of lightning formed at once and she felt it throb, more intense than she’d ever felt it before, as if knowing there were vampires on the other side of that door had given her an injection of power.

  Goldie focused all her energy on her bundle of magicks, on containing the maximum amount of power she could fit into its softball-sized space. Emerald lightning buzzed between her palm and her closed fist gripping the knife that felt as natural as a part of her body.

  The fake-friendly voice in Flint’s room turned petulant, complaining about the music. Waa-waa, bloodbaby. Gotta be better than whatever Transylvanian funeral dirges you listen to. Then sneering, threatening. Saying something about teaching a woman with pink hair some manners. Ha! That’ll be the day.

  Goldie whipped her left hand back, carrying the ball of lightning with her, and fired it at the doorknob. Wood splintered and flew like shrapnel and Goldie stepped through the opening with a smirk on her face. Someone thought he was gonna teach Darby some manners? “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying for twenty-four years and it ain’t stuck yet.”

  A quick scan of the room showed her that the vampire she’d chased through the forest was to her left on the closest side of the bed, between her and Flint, his skinny henchmen to her right, near the foot of the bed. Skinny henchman looks worried. He should be.

  His eyes shot wide as he focused on Goldie. “What the fuck is she, Vlade?”

  The Fatherborne whose leg Flint had nearly severed from his body yesterday sneered in Goldie’s direction as he snarled at his henchman. “What do you think? She’s a fucking switch.”