“I am the Vendix,” he said, so quiet, so dangerous. He touched his tattooed cheek. “It is Latin for ‘Punisher,’ and that is what I do, Keeli. I punish my own kind. I execute vampires who step outside our laws and murder humans.”
“Oh,” she said.
His jaw tightened. “A long time ago, it was decided that the only way to control the vampire community was the threat of death. Otherwise, it would be too easy to murder humans. To treat them as nothing more than cattle. The Primary Assembly used to carry out the law themselves, but decided that was … inappropriate. They passed the task on to me and a few others, all of us scattered around the world.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Keeli could not imagine a life where she had to hunt and kill her own people, although this murder investigation was bringing her perilously close.
“Long enough,” Michael said. His expression dared her to push him. Keeli did not feel lucky. She stepped farther into the hall. She did not know what to say to a vampire who executed his own kind. What the hell was an appropriate reaction?
He still wasn’t moving. Keeli scowled, forgetting shock as her temper flared.
“Can you be any slower about moving your ass? Come on, Michael. Daylight’s burning.”
“Very funny,” he said, rolling tension out of his shoulders. He left his weapons behind, but slipped a tiny bottle of sunscreen into his pockets.
Keeli barely waited for him as he locked the door; the moment the key turned she slipped away, stepping lightly over shattered tile, noting bullet holes riddling the corridor walls; the smells of vomit, piss. She wanted to ask Michael why he lived here when all the other vampires made their homes in downtown penthouses—the height of cool, worthy of their own documentaries on the entertainment networks—but she kept her mouth shut. Keeli had a feeling the answer, if he chose to give her one, would be too personal, and she didn’t want any more of that. It was enough that he had helped her from a tough spot, enough that she was compelled to do the same. Enough, enough. She did not want to get too personal with a vampire. Especially this one.
“The vampire who was killed last night … what was he like?” A safe topic: completely nonpersonal and free of innuendo. She glanced over her shoulder at Michael as they walked down a set of rickety stairs.
“Did you read the file? As of last night, the police still hadn’t made an ID. Too much damage to the body. They’re scanning the ashes for identifying markers.”
“I know. I just thought you might have heard if someone went missing.”
He did not respond, and Keeli sensed the disapproval, the heat, in his silence.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s a common misconception. I suppose I should not be surprised that you would think I’d know every vampire in this city, or that I would have my teeth on the pulse of all our comings and goings. Unfortunately, I’m just not that popular.”
“Never would have guessed.” Keeli refused to feel guilty. She stepped over a nest of discarded needles. “So where does that leave us?”
Another moment of eloquent silence. Keeli stopped descending the stairs. She turned around, craning her neck. Michael was one step above her, which was too tall for her tastes.
“Say it,” she ordered.
“I shouldn’t have to,” he said. “The body was found on Maddox territory. We need to investigate your clan. Or at least, start there.”
A growl rose up her throat. “Just because a vampire was found dead on our land, doesn’t mean a Maddox wolf is responsible. Someone could be trying to frame us.”
“Or not. But considering what else is going on at the moment, that seems like a possibility. We simply need to investigate every lead. Someone in your clan might even have witnessed the crime.”
The fact that he agreed deflated her anger somewhat. She folded her arms against her chest. “It’s not going to be easy. No one’s going to be happy with a vampire asking questions, even if I’m there with you. And the fact that you’re investigating for the Man? Worse.”
“It has to be done,” he said quietly. “There cannot be a true alliance between our two peoples unless we discover who is responsible for the murder. Otherwise, how can we trust each other?”
“At least we can agree on something. Any word on how the negotiations went last night?”
“Not well.”
Keeli frowned. “I’m worried about what will happen when the vampires find out there’s been another murder.”
Michael shook his head. “I wish I could tell you how my people will react. I just hope there isn’t retaliation.”
“This murder might already be retaliatory. A wolf was found in the subway several days ago. Drained.”
There was no faking Michael’s disgust. “I had to hear that news from Jenkins. If anyone in the Council is aware of it, they’re keeping quiet. Did the Grand Dame Alpha contact the vampires or police about the murder?”
“I don’t think so. The victim wasn’t especially loved. The Grand Dame would be reluctant to disrupt negotiations just for him.”
Michael’s lips pressed into a hard line. “This is unacceptable.”
“No argument from me. The last thing we need is to be killing each other. Let that be a human thing. I don’t want to make it any easier for them.”
Keeli began walking down the stairs again. Michael easily matched her pace. She felt the long lines of his body shadow her, cool and solid. She wondered how it would feel to walk in broad daylight with him, if people would look at them funny.
And why would they? You can pass for human. So can Michael, as long as he doesn’t open his mouth or do any strange voodoo. And besides, what vampire would be caught in this part of town?
True. Only Keeli and Michael would know the difference, the oddity of their situation. A sliver of excitement slid up her spine, but it was quickly dampened. Why did it matter, what people thought of a vampire and werewolf, walking together in public?
Because the wolves will know what he is, and it will matter to them. I’m just trying to prepare myself, that’s all.
But why? All they were doing was investigating a crime together. It wasn’t like they were having sex.
Not yet, whispered an insidious little voice. But you want him. You want him.
Keeli stopped on the landing, still two floors up from street level. There was a lump of a man sleeping hard against the wall near her feet: another inhabitant of this inescapable building of the damned.
“I have a question,” Keeli said, turning to face Michael. “About your side of things. You know, the vampires. What will they say about you working with a werewolf on this investigation? Will you get in trouble?”
Michael’s mouth tightened. “I don’t think you understand, Keeli. I have very little contact with other vampires.”
Keeli looked pointedly at the wounds on his face. “Contact enough, I think.”
Michael took a step closer; she did not retreat, but it was a struggle. She felt a shift in his body, new tension, a coiled power radiating from his chest. The stillness of his arms, the movement of his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, and Keeli was ready—ready for anything—when a door slammed open somewhere below them. A shout, and then gunshots rang out. Keeli slapped hands over her ears.
“Motherfucker!” someone screamed, and there were more cries—of pain, of rage, impotent and cruel.
Michael grabbed Keeli around the waist and flung her against the wall, cushioning her in his arms, shielding her body with his tall lean strength. The floor behind him ripped open; bullets thudded into the landing above their heads. The homeless man sleeping at their feet snorted, rolled over.
“What the hell is going on?” Keeli screeched, trying to be heard over the sounds of battle playing out beneath them.
“There’s been trouble between local gangs,” Michael shouted back, his mouth pressed to her ear. “This is the second fight this week.”
“And they think we’re animals!”
&
nbsp; Michael smiled—a quick flash of teeth—and warmth gathered tight in Keeli’s belly. Nose to nose, suddenly the gunshots did not feel so loud, so close, the danger not so near.
Pervert, she called herself, and forced her eyes closed. She pressed her forehead against Michael’s hard chest, and a moment later his hand buried itself in her hair, holding her close. He felt good, and with her eyes closed Keeli could pretend he was not a vampire and she was not a werewolf, and that this was fine, all right, just walk on, yessiree, nothing to see, nothing to see …
“We have to move,” Michael said, and he was right; Keeli heard boots pounding hard on the stairs, pausing once, twice, while the air filled with quick sharp bursts. She nudged the man beside them with her foot.
“Hey!” she shouted, but he kept on sleeping, snuggling deeper against the wall. Michael said nothing. He simply bent down and picked the man up, scattering newspapers and the scent of piss. Michael slung the man over his shoulder and gestured toward an apartment door just past the landing.
“It’s empty,” he said, and Keeli took the invitation and kicked hard against the old wood, wolf strength flooding her muscles. Her Doc Martens broke the rusty lock on her second try, and they tumbled through as bullets strafed the hall. More shouting, most of it in mixed patois, and Michael slammed shut the door, leaning hard against it. The homeless man, finally coming out of his funk, began struggling. Michael let him slither off his shoulder, and Keeli helped him stand. She tried to ignore his smell.
“Dude,” he said, gazing blearily at the two of them.
“Right back at’cha,” Keeli said, giving him a gentle shove. “Now get into that bathroom and keep your head down.”
“You too,” Michael said, grim.
Keeli shook her head, watching the lump of beard and stained brown clothing that was the homeless guy shuffle into the bathroom. “Bullets can’t kill me.”
Michael looked away, as though trying to see through the door. “I always forget that part.”
Keeli grinned, about to agree, but a thunderous explosion rocked the floor beneath them. She staggered, catching her balance as Michael reached out a hand to steady her. Her ears felt strange; everything sounded dull, muted.
“What the hell? They got grenades or something?”
“Something.” Michael pushed away from the door, grabbing Keeli’s hand and tugging her toward the bathroom. “Violence in human neighborhoods is escalating, but no one is talking about it.”
“These areas are always violent.”
“Not like this,” he said, giving her a sharp look. “But humans take their own violence for granted, so they don’t see the change. Vampires and werewolves are something else. Outside the human perception of normal. We draw attention.”
Keeli heard sirens. “Police are coming.”
Michael glanced into the bathroom. The homeless man was asleep in the tub. “We can’t stay here. Too many questions if they find us. We don’t have time to prove we’re on their side.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Keeli reminded him, though she was already headed toward the window. She shoved it open and leaned out, slow and cautious.
“Firefight is dying,” Michael murmured behind her.
“Good.” Keeli crawled out the window to the fire escape. “Won’t have to worry about our friend in the bathroom, then.” She glanced up, glimpsed heavy green vines, rich with color. “Or your roses.”
She stifled a gasp when Michael wrapped his arms around her waist. “Look down,” he said, before she could protest. “We’ve run out of fire escape.”
It was true, Keeli realized. The ladder below had been sawed off, leaving twenty feet of air.
It was a jump she could make, but Michael lifted her in his arms with easy grace, floating, flying, suspended light as a breeze, and Keeli could not bring herself to tell him “no.” I’m in trouble, she thought, breathless with wonder as he brought them swiftly to the alley below. The other stuff was child’s play. I am going to hell for this one.
Because she was beginning to like him. A vampire. Keeli shuddered.
“Are you all right?” Michael asked.
“I’ll be better when we get out of here.” The police were almost on top of them; the sirens hurt her ears. She’d had enough of the cops to last a lifetime. “Come on. I have a way out.”
Michael frowned, but hurried to keep up with Keeli’s quick strides. Instead of leading him out of the alley—and oh, God, this place smelled worse than an open sewer drain—in fact, it was an open sewer—she stopped after several feet, in front of a small steel door set in a wall. Unassuming, dirty, old: a round swinging door, like she had seen in pictures of submarines, dull and mean. Keeli knelt, scrabbling at the rusty grate set just below the door. She lifted it off, revealing a small keypad.
“Interesting,” Michael said, as Keeli punched in a set of complicated numbers.
“Bolt-holes are all over the city, especially where there aren’t other access points to the underground like dry unused sewer tunnels and drain-off grates. I think we’ve got three like this in your neighborhood alone.”
She pushed the door open and gestured for Michael to precede her. “Hurry. I still need to replace the grate.”
Car doors slammed, accompanied by shouts and gunshots. There would be police around this way any second. Michael knelt and crawled through the opening; Keeli covered up the keypad. Close … close … she finished, and threw herself after Michael into the yawning darkness, spinning on her knees as soon as she was through to shut the door behind her. Darkness swallowed them.
She stood, shoulders brushing stone walls. Penned in, caged. Her eyes adjusted enough to see Michael standing sideways in order to accommodate his wider body. Looking at him made her feel even more ill at ease.
“The bolt-holes were never meant to be comfortable,” she said, sneezing as a cloud of dust entered her mouth and nose. She wiped at her watery eyes.
“Do I follow the tunnel?” Michael asked, his voice echoing softly.
“Yes, but I better lead. The door we came in through is linked to the updated security system, but before the tech was installed, we used good old-fashioned misdirection to keep the underground core safe in case someone broke through a bolt door. That hasn’t changed.”
Keeli squeezed past Michael, sliding tight across his body. So close to him, pressed warm and hard in the dark—truly and securely alone—and those unwanted desires she had fought to rid herself of sprang low in her belly. Keeli pushed herself free, breathing faster than she should have. She did not wait to see if Michael followed; she took off at a quick walk down the hall.
“I never imagined the wolves had such a complex infrastructure,” Michael said.
A sharp response rose to her tongue, but Keeli realized at the last moment that Michael was not trying to insult her people, and so she said, “The clans have been in this city for almost one hundred years. Plenty of time to carve out everything we need to survive.” Everything but acceptance. Prejudice would kill them in the long run—maybe the short run, too, if this negotiation fell apart. Werewolves simply did not have the resources to fight humanity on their own.
And why should we have to fight? We’re not even the ones who started this mess. Which was a train of thought not only useless, but dangerous, as well. It was an argument Keeli remembered hearing many of the lower Alphas use as they came out of their meetings with her grandmother. Why even bother with negotiations? Why contemplate the possibility of helping the vampires? They will just screw us in the end.
Alpha Hargittai, one the few werewolves to initially side with her grandmother, gave what Keeli considered the best response: The vampires only laugh at us, while the humans want to kill us. What, my dear brothers and sisters, do you prefer? What do your clans, and the children of your clans, prefer? Pride or the grave?
The voices of dissent quieted after that.
Keeli led Michael down a ladder into another tight corridor that split off into four
separate tunnels. The air felt stale, dirty. Keeli brushed her arms, trying to rub the sensation of thick dust off her skin. She wished she could do that for her burning nostrils. Her eyes watered.
Michael stood beside her, quiet and still. She tried not to look at him as she said, “The key here is scent. Follow the tunnels without one, and a silent alarm will be tripped, alerting the nearest clan—which would be mine—to an intruder.”
“And what if you’re a werewolf with a bad nose?”
Keeli threw him a sharp glance. “Funny.”
“Actually, I was being serious.”
“Any werewolf who can’t smell this”—it was some awful, terrible, someone-needs-to-pay concoction—“deserves to be humiliated.”
Trying to breathe through her mouth, Keeli led him down the tunnel that was second to the right. The ground was pitted with holes and broken glass, and she heard scratching sounds in the pipes that ran out and up from the wall. It was a very unpleasant place, and though the foul scent eventually dissipated, the atmosphere was depressing. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen tunnels this bad before; it was just that now, with the possible end of everything the clans had fought to build, she worried this was their future. Bleak, empty, decayed—hiding like larger versions of rats in pipes, scratching out an existence that was nothing more than mere survival.
She almost said something out loud just to hear her voice—any voice—but that was silly, weak.
“This place bothers you,” Michael said. Keeli stopped walking and looked at him.
“How did you know?” she asked, not bothering to lie.
His gaze remained steady. “You walk differently. You do not hold your head up. That does not seem … like you.”
“You know me that well, huh?” She tried to sound defiant, but her gut churned. Was she that obvious? Or was he just that observant?
“I don’t know anything but what you’ve shown me,” he said.
“It’s only been eight hours since we met,” she replied. “I haven’t shown you all that much.”
She thought he smiled, but his mouth barely moved so it was difficult to tell.
A Taste of Crimson Page 7