A Taste of Crimson

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Michael stepped close. “Friends protect each other, Jenkins. That’s what I’m trying to do for you and your family.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Please.” Keeli touched both their shoulders. “Don’t fight over this. We’ll tell you eventually, Jenkins, but not yet. We can’t.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue—pigheaded, stubborn—but he swallowed hard, sucking down his words. “I’ll take that for now, but not much longer. I can’t afford to.”

  “I understand,” Michael said, relieved. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t.” Jenkins began to walk back to his car. “The only way you can thank me is with the truth.”

  The truth? Easier said than done.

  They took a walk around the neighborhood and looked at the graffiti. The artists, along with their usual scrawled insults and concrete poetry, had managed correct and succinct depictions of current affairs in the city.

  “We think we’re living such secret lives,” Keeli said, looking at a mural that showed some rather bloated wolves sucking vampire cock.

  “Hm.” Michael pointed at another, smaller, picture that illustrated humans ramming a wooden spike down a vampire’s throat.

  “Wrong spot,” Keeli said, tilting her head. “They need to go for the heart.”

  “It’s art, Keeli. Allow them their drama.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  But the one that disturbed Keeli the most, which kept them both standing still for much longer than was wise, was a rough drawing of a werewolf and vampire feeding, together, on a human.

  “Is it possible they know what’s going on?” Keeli wondered. “About the possible alliance? Or did the humans anticipate an alliance all along? Is it them doing this, trying to frame a werewolf for murdering vampires, keeping us from banding together before we’re destroyed?”

  “Anything is possible,” Michael said, tearing his gaze away. “But don’t forget that traces of vampire DNA were found under Walter Crestin’s fingernails. This could be a different kind of setup.”

  “You really think there are vampires so hot against this alliance they would kill their own kind just to frame us?”

  An odd expression passed over Michael’s face. “Some, yes.”

  Darkness pressed gently down on the streets; headlights flashed in their eyes. Cigarette tips flared bright in shadows. Keeli and Michael could see just fine; they were the only ones on the sidewalk who managed to avoid the piles of broken glass, used condoms, discarded needles. Prostitutes eyed Michael and Keeli but kept away, giving them wary looks while shaking their backsides at drivers.

  “How do they know what we are?” Keeli asked Michael.

  “Good survival instincts,” he said. “When you’re always prey, you learn to spot the predators.”

  Keeli shook her head. “It shouldn’t have to be that way.”

  “But it is. In all my years, I have never seen anything different. The cities may change, as well as the clothes and customs, but the people don’t. People don’t ever.”

  “I changed,” Keeli said quietly. “I changed fast.”

  Michael said nothing for a moment. He picked up her hand and cradled it in his elbow. Keeli felt like an old-fashioned girl being walked to dinner, a dance.

  “I stand corrected,” he said, his voice dark and lovely.

  “Of course you do,” she said.

  He laughed, low, and it was strange—strange and wonderful—being normal and easy with a man, someone so different from Keeli and yet so similar.

  And those differences should have been overwhelming—were overwhelming to everyone else—but Keeli could no longer give them any real meaning. Just a day—oh, God, a day—and she felt like she knew this man. All the essentials that mattered, and she was crazy—so crazy …

  Michael stopped walking. “Do you hear that?”

  Keeli listened hard. She heard car tires on pavement, the jeers of prostitutes. She heard men and women talking, cursing, the chatter of train tracks from far away. And above it all, light and lilting, came a man’s lovely voice, floating desperate melodies in shadow.

  Keeli grabbed Michael’s shoulder. “Could that be the same person Richard and Suze talked about? He sounded dangerous.”

  “I have heard that voice before,” he said. “Last night, just before the envoys entered the underground.”

  “He must have been near Maddox territory. Do you think … do you think he was involved with Crestin’s death?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” Michael pulled her into an alley.

  “Wait,” she said, but he kissed her hard and jumped into the air.

  “I can fly faster than you can run,” Michael said. “Please do not be angry, Keeli. I’ll meet you back at the tunnels.”

  And then he was gone, zipping into the darkening sky.

  “Hey!” Keeli shouted after him. “Hey, you stinky bastard! Come back here!”

  Which did not bring him back, but did gather some very appraising looks from several nearby junkies who were jacking needles into their legs. Keeli scowled at them and trudged back home to the tunnels.

  Walking helped her nerves, her irritation at being left behind. She worried about Michael, too. Of course, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d been alive a lot longer than Keeli—and she could certainly understand his reasoning. Flying was faster.

  It was just … she wanted to help. She’d always been one to take care of herself first, but now she had this desire to do the right thing, to spread herself out in a way that did something for other people. That did something for her clan. For Michael.

  She thought about this, letting her instincts guide her down the dirty sidewalks. The neighborhood got better. Less broken glass and broken people; cleaner buildings with actual business, and customers who looked askance at her pink hair and rough clothes.

  Keeli moved down old Smokehouse Street, past the rows of underground clubs, which even at the dinner hour were already adding a thump-thumping to the air. Their long lines were filled by the early birds—young sharp kids with sharper eyes, who also judged her hair and clothes and attitude like it meant something, as if it were currency or power instead of just fun.

  She walked past them to the calmer joints, the simple blue-collar bars with motorcycles and floozy women hanging out the door, talking shit about their bosses. They looked at her funny too, but their eyes were less feral, more tired. Nothing to prove. Just a hankering for a drink and some talk and maybe a soft bed or body to share it with. Keeli would not have minded a drink, but now was not the time—there might never be a time, certainly not to loosen control. Not here. Not with strangers.

  Maybe with Michael.

  Maybe. Maybe she trusted him that much. Maybe, yes. Maybe, definitely. Maybe she was insane.

  You already covered that, she told herself. And there are worse things than being crazy.

  Yeah, like being dead. Or living like an uptight asshole.

  Raucous laughter made her veer down a side street. The men were far away, but Keeli had too many uncomfortable memories from the night before. Just because she could protect herself did not mean she wanted to go out of her way to find situations where she had to.

  Keeli walked faster. The street was unlit except for the dim glow of light streaming down from several apartment windows, but even that did little to cut into the hard black shadows. She had no trouble seeing, but something about the darkness made her uneasy. The back of her neck prickled. She turned, walked backward for a moment as she scanned the street that had been behind her. Nothing. Everything was very still. Quiet.

  Movement flashed at the corner of her eye, a lifting of shadow from shadow. Keeli whirled, crouching low. Barely breathing, she searched the narrow alcove where darkness seeped like oil.

  She heard humming, then, so out of place it took her breath away. She listened, resisting the urge to take off screaming, Richard’s voice running a litany through her mind about blood and song an
d other, more frightening things. The humming was from a lovely voice, soft and eerie.

  Very slowly, Keeli said, “Come out, come out, whoever you are.”

  The humming stopped. The silence was almost worse. Keeli heard a deep voice, quiet and masculine and strained, say:

  “I like that. You’re different from the others. The wolves. I think I like you.”

  “Yeah?” Claws pushed through Keeli’s fingernails. Her muscles tightened. “Why the hell should that matter to me?”

  “It means you should go now. You should run. Please.”

  Shit, yes. But Keeli did not run. She said, “Who are you to tell a werewolf what to do?”

  “I’m no one,” said the voice. “No one. Or everyone. I don’t know. Please. I’m not supposed to hurt you. Just watch, just watch, but I’m so hungry, too hungry to watch.”

  Keeli edged down the alley, taking deep even breaths. Her heart felt like it was going to pound right through her ribs. “So find something to eat. There’s a restaurant right down the street.”

  “It’s wrong to eat humans. It’s wrong to eat wolves.”

  Keeli froze. She stared hard into the shadowed alcove and thought she saw a hand, pale and large.

  “Go,” he said. “Please. There’s someone else I need to find, but I just had to see you close. I had to see your eyes.”

  “Come closer,” Keeli said, tasting blood as her canines pushed into her bottom lip. Her claws felt sharp, tight. She glanced down the alley; it looked empty. No witnesses. No one else to get hurt. “Come on,” she said, taking a step toward the alcove. “Show me your eyes.”

  “No,” he breathed. “I’m not right; I’m not good. I’ll hurt you.”

  “Yes,” Keeli said. “You can try.”

  His answering cry nearly deafened her. Heartrending, terrible, the sound cut through her ears and heart. Keeli staggered as something large flew out of the alcove—man-shaped, but so fast that all she could do was raise her hands before it slammed into her chest, knocking her to the ground. Breath left her lungs and she arched upwards, scrabbling for flesh. She tried to see—to smell—but the darkness pressing down on her was too thick, blinding, and she felt cloth, and—he is hiding his face—he was strong—oh God, he’s strong—and she dug her claws into where his eyes should have been, digging deep, screaming, screaming …

  He rolled off her body, clutching his face. Keeli smelled blood. She scrambled to her feet, breathing hard.

  “Come on,” she snarled, the wolf raging inside her chest, howling for release. She tore into her T-shirt, ripping it off. Her ribs began to shift. “Let’s try this again.”

  The mask he wore had a tear in it now, a gaping hole that revealed blood on pale skin, a high cheekbone. She did not recognize his scent, which tasted strange, familiar yet alien.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, still covering his eyes. She heard shame in his voice and it made her gut twist.

  “Sorry,” she hissed. “What good does that do me?”

  He shook his head, backing away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, and he looked at her—looked—and Keeli saw blood and the glitter of impossible eyes, eyes as bright as fire, even in the darkness shining—and she stepped closer, all of the sudden unmindful of danger. The man shook his head.

  “No,” he said in a strangled voice.

  He looked up at the sky, and then he was gone. Shooting up, flying away into the night. A blur, swallowed by the sky.

  Keeli was left alone, shivering and half-naked. She stared at the sky, watching the retreat of violence, and felt very, very, afraid.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keeli jumped down the first tunnel entrance she found and raced through the wide corridors so quick she almost dropped to four legs instead of two. She fought to keep the wolf at bay—she was already running on instinct, but it was tempered with humanity. If she went to the beast, she might lose that. She might get everyone in a stir, when what was needed now was calm.

  The werewolves she passed shouted after her—“What is wrong, do you need help?”—but Keeli ignored them. She had no time. She had to find her grandmother. Michael.

  Please let him be here. Please, oh God.

  She reached the Alpha core, turned a corner, and found the Grand Dame standing in the doorway of her brightly lit home. She held herself straight, clad only in an elegant silk robe that draped around her bare feet. Lower Alphas surrounded her, keeping a respectful distance. Leroux stood in the back, shoulders hunched, the front of his shirt covered in blood.

  Jas was there, too. He noticed Keeli and glanced quickly away. He seemed tired.

  Hargittai touched the Grand Dame’s shoulder and gestured at Keeli. The Grand Dame pretended not to notice. She continued speaking to the other wolves, some of whom gave Keeli and her grandmother curious looks. It was quite apparent that none of them missed the old woman’s slight against her granddaughter.

  Keeli’s cheeks warmed; her pounding heart tightened into an unbearable ache. She knew her grandmother very well, and it was clear that the woman was angry.

  I don’t have time for this.

  She approached slowly but with intent, throwing confidence into her every step. If she were the challenger, an Alpha in principle, then it was her right—though it pained her to use that against her grandmother, especially now.

  “Grand Dame Alpha,” she said, lowering her chin. “I need to speak with you. It’s very urgent.”

  “Later,” said the old woman, without sparing Keeli a glance. She continued talking with a skinny red-haired Alpha, whose gaze flickered past the Grand Dame’s shoulder to Keeli and her dirty, nearly naked, body.

  “Grand Dame,” Hargittai murmured. “You should at least look at her.”

  “She is being disruptive,” growled the Grand Dame. “Now be silent.”

  Hargittai blinked, as did everyone else. Keeli gritted her teeth.

  “Fine. Ignore me.” Keeli gestured at the other Alphas, who were paying attention. “All of you need to keep your wolves off the street tonight. There’s something—”

  The Grand Dame snarled, whirling with claws outstretched, teeth sharp. She faltered when she saw Keeli’s body, the signs of a fight, but then her eyes hardened and she stalked forward with vicious intent. Keeli felt slapped upside the head by her grandmother’s anger, but she steeled herself past the pain and held her ground.

  “It is not your place to give orders,” snapped the old woman.

  “You wouldn’t listen to me,” Keeli replied, trying to keep her voice steady, quiet. “There is something out hunting wolves tonight. Hunting vampires. It almost killed me.”

  “It obviously didn’t try hard enough.” The words came out fast, angry; Keeli stifled a gasp, and for a moment imagined she saw regret in her grandmother’s eyes. But it was too late for that. Keeli’s heartache turned to anger.

  “Fine then,” she spat, backing away. “Don’t listen to me. But if a wolf is found dead in the morning, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

  The Grand Dame threw back her head and barked—sharp, and piercing. The Alphas backed away. When there was a respectable distance separating the Grand Dame from her subordinates, she approached Keeli. Gold flecks blazed within her blue eyes. Keeli felt trapped by that gaze, by the unfamiliar rage that for the first time—awful, stunning—was directed at her alone.

  “How dare you,” whispered the Grand Dame. “How dare you come here and undermine me like that. In public, no less.”

  “Jas did it earlier,” Keeli said, licking her dry lips. “You were not so angry at him.”

  “Despite what I told him, I expected it. I’ve known for some time he would make a bid. But this, from you …”

  “What has you so mad?” Keeli asked, desperate. She could not stand this. “If it’s because of the bid, I’m sorry! I had no idea who Leroux was when I fought him, and he was hurting—”

  The Grand Dame bared her teeth. “No excuses. You made your bid, Keeli. You made your bi
d for Alpha, just like your father did all those years ago. They killed him for that. For his temper. They called him unstable, because he could not control himself, even against other wolves. A threat. A mad dog. Your poor mother tried to protect him, and they …” She shook her head and leaned close. “They will do the same to you, Keeli. You with your temper. And your vampire.” Her nostrils flared. “Everyone can smell you. Smell his seed on your body. It’s sick. Disgusting.”

  “You’re disgusting,” Keeli said, fighting back tears. “To use my father’s death against me like this. I know why he died, and maybe the same thing will happen to me, but I don’t care. I don’t care.”

  The Grand Dame moved so fast Keeli barely had time to gasp. Hands pressed down on her shoulders; her heart clutched, twisting. Voice breaking, her grandmother whispered, “I won’t lose you. I won’t take the risk.”

  “Don’t,” Keeli breathed. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “It is too late. Everyone knows. Brian O’Dell was here, asking questions. He is going to write about your fight with Alpha Leroux. He is going to tell everyone what you are doing with—with him.”

  “Good,” Keeli spat. “I want everyone to know.”

  “Idiot.” The Grand Dame’s lip curled. “You are just like your father. Brash, impulsive. Arrogant. So arrogant. He thought he could claim leadership of any clan he wanted.”

  “I am not him.” Keeli shook with anger. “But I loved him, and he loved us. Don’t you dare speak badly of your son.”

  “I dare what I like! You are my blood, my wolf. I cannot make you give up your bid—that would go against all our laws—but you and the vampire are done. Do you understand? He is dead to you. He is dead.”

  “No,” Keeli breathed.

  “You had your chance to prove control, but in every way you have failed me. After the negotiations are over, I will abdicate to Jas. Until then, you will remain in your room. I am ashamed of you, Keeli. I am so disappointed. You smell like trash.”

  Keeli snarled, breaking her grandmother’s hold. The Grand Dame’s hand shot out and slammed into Keeli’s breastbone. A crack, and pain made her blind. She fell hard to her knees, unable to breathe. She heard shouts. Hargittai, maybe. More than one wolf; a clamor of voices.