Hunting the Dark

by Karen Mahoney

  She dug one of her knees into my ribs so hard that I felt something break. Pain made my eyes water, making me glad that I didn’t need to breathe. She shoved her face close to mine and I half expected her to bite me – despite her lack of fangs. But the press of teeth against flesh never came. Instead she whispered in my ear, her voice so cold and emotionless that it made me shiver: ‘Stay out of this, or I will end you.’ She pushed up and away from me. ‘Don’t try to get up – just let me leave. My argument is not with you.’

  I gave myself a second, hoping that my ribs would start to heal while I was flat on my back. ‘If you don’t have an “argument” with me, why did you attack me?’

  ‘You were following me,’ she said.

  ‘You wanted me to follow you.’

  ‘I needed to know if you were a threat. I saw you go into the old hunter’s house.’

  She was watching me? Damn, she was good. I hadn’t been aware of her presence while I was looking for a way in.

  ‘So you did kill Quinn,’ I said, not really expecting a response. ‘Why would you do that? Did you kill Nicole, too?’

  ‘Just leave me alone.’ Her expression was grim. ‘I won’t warn you again, vampire.’

  Like hell. I wasn’t leaving her to kill anyone else!

  With a Xena-style battle cry, I sprang at her, fast enough that she didn’t have time to dodge. Gritting my teeth, I head-butted her so hard that lights flashed in my vision and my knees wobbled. The sickening crunch of bone and cartilage was my reward as I shattered the bridge of her pretty little nose. Blood poured down her face and her whole body went momentarily limp. I shoved her away and prepared to finish her off.

  A high-pitched shriek hurt my ears, and I spun to face this new threat, my inner predator growling at the interruption.

  Taking my eyes off Ten for just a moment, I found myself looking at a young mother with her toddler, out for an early-morning stroll in the Gardens.

  Great. Just perfect.

  Our audience seemed frozen in place, and that’s all my opponent needed. She ran – so fast there was only a dark blur as she raced away. I’d never seen anyone move like that, not even some of the older vamps in the Boston Family. The only sign that she’d even been there was the blood on my sweater . . . and one of her dog tags glinting at me in the grass. It must have broken free from the pair. I scooped it up and moved after my attacker, leaving the woman and her little girl gaping after me.

  No way Subject Ten was escaping, even if she was faster than me. I had her scent now.

  I caught sight of her on Beacon Street, dodging pedestrians as I gave chase. It felt good to be doing something. Not to feel like I was a victim. The air was still fresh from last night’s rain, and I almost lost her as we turned onto Arlington. I trotted at a human pace, careful not to draw too much attention to myself until I’d found my prey. Searching, searching . . .

  There! She was waiting with a queue of people at the bus stop. She probably thought she’d escaped and was trying to blend in, but surely the people around her would wonder about the broken nose I’d just given her. All the blood. But even from this distance I saw an elderly woman turn her face away, and a young man in a suit stare but just sort of shut down his expression. People didn’t want trouble, or anything to do with someone who might lead to trouble. It was still early morning; maybe all they saw was a tough-looking girl glaring at them – daring them to say something. If anyone wanted to ask if she needed help, they certainly didn’t give any sign of it.

  I raced across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a speeding van, and caught up to the bus as the line of people was gradually filing onboard. A group of tourists ran to join them, all chattering and gesturing and fiddling with their cameras. I searched among the growing crowd for bright blond hair and any signs of inhuman speed, pushing my way through to the front and ignoring the complaints as I trod on someone’s foot.

  Where was she? Crap. I’d been watching her the whole time – she couldn’t have gotten away no matter how fast she was.

  But then I mentally face-palmed. Of course, I had taken my eyes off her for that split-second I’d altered course to avoid becoming roadkill.

  I turned one way, then the other, but I couldn’t see her. The commuters were all safely aboard the bus and the doors sighed as they closed. The engine growled and I stepped back to get a last look through the windows as it pulled away. Was she on the bus? I could have missed her darting between the closing doors . . .

  I’d lost her. Facing the bleak truth I prepared to walk away, trying to figure out my next move. Whoever she was, it was likely she was responsible for both Nicole and Quinn’s deaths. I know I didn’t exactly have a signed confession from the girl, but it was the most logical conclusion to draw. Subject Ten was fast enough, and potentially skilled enough, to have pulled off a motorcycle hit on an Elder vampire. But what possible link could there be between the two victims? My mind raced with theories, none of them seeming even remotely possible. I should feel glad that I had an alternate suspect to hand over to Theo, but Ten wasn’t what she seemed. There was more to this, and I was desperately curious. What was her story? Who was she?

  And forgetting about ‘who’ she was, just for a moment . . . what was she?

  A sudden movement in my peripheral vision was my only warning that I’d stood wool-gathering for too long.

  Hands shoved me hard in the back, and I stumbled in front of the accelerating vehicle. The bus hit me, and my world exploded with light and pain . . . and then merciful darkness.

  Chapter Nine

  A Real Girl

  The first thing I became aware of was someone putting a jacket beneath my head.

  ‘Don’t move her,’ a woman said, her voice soothing with an undercurrent of fear. ‘You don’t know how badly injured she is.’

  ‘Are you a doctor?’ a snotty male voice replied. ‘We should at least be making her comfortable until the ambulance arrives.’

  Ambulance? I kept my eyes closed, wondering how I could possibly get out of this potential nightmare without drawing any more attention to myself. Ha! Yeah, like that was going to be possible. I’d just been mowed down by a stupid bus.

  I heard a distant siren. Surely they weren’t on their way already? How long had I been out? I couldn’t let EMTs examine me. The superficial wounds on my hands, where I’d skidded along the gravel and tried to stop my momentum, were already beginning to close. I could feel my skin knitting itself back together, my super-healing going into overdrive. Nothing was broken. If it had been, those injuries were already fixed. Nobody would believe I wasn’t more badly hurt.

  Well, I was hurt. I could feel my entire body throbbing like a giant bruise. But external signs of injury were going to be harder to present to concerned bystanders – and more importantly, to sharp-eyed medical professionals.

  I had to get out of there. Now.

  In one movement I rolled onto my hands and knees, dislodging the coat that someone had draped over me. A collective gasp rose up from the small crowd that had gathered. I heard the click of cameras (that was probably the tourists) and could see a couple of kids with cell phones. I winced. Hopefully I wouldn’t show up on any of their videos. Being a vampire meant it was unlikely that my image could be recorded, and I certainly couldn’t afford to be the latest YouTube sensation. Theo would be furious.

  I stayed where I was, head down, stunned and frozen by pain. I remembered the impact of the bus as it hit me and rolled all the way over my limp body. The memory was so visceral I imagined that I could feel each individual tire track across my skin.

  Getting all the way up proved to be more of a challenge. I tried to stand – twice – and fell both times. I gritted my teeth and pushed my palms against the cool concrete, levering myself into a vaguely upright position. Well-meaning people tried to stop me, to help me, to put their damn hands on me.

  I stumbled, but managed to remain on my feet. Standing was one thing, but now I had to walk. I tremble
d as a vicious ache spread from my lower back all the way up to the top of my head. The ground moved beneath my feet. Someone touched my shoulder.

  ‘Sit down, you shouldn’t be moving.’

  Another voice: ‘How is she standing up? The bus hit her.’

  ‘I saw it,’ said another. ‘She went right under it!’

  I started walking, shaking off hands that tried to stop me. My head pounded and I swallowed bloody bile. I wanted to cry, but dug broken nails into my palms and forced the tears away. No time, no time. I chanted it in my head. No. Freaking. Time.

  The howl of the ambulance’s siren split the air as the vehicle screeched alongside the stalled bus. I needed to feed and then I needed to sleep. Preferably for a week, but I’d settle on a few hours.

  I picked up my pace, limping, not daring to look back.

  Later that day, just after sunset, I sat on my bed with my laptop and waited for Quinn’s files to transfer. I held an empty mug and sighed with relief: partly because the thumb drive seemed to have survived the fight and the bus, but mostly because I had finally satisfied my hunger.

  The first thing I’d done after getting home had been to nuke some blood in the microwave. A quick fix had been enough to tide me over so that I didn’t lose my grip on humanity – it had also allowed me to sleep, even though I hated to sleep in the day. But I didn’t want to feel the bloodlust so strongly ever again, the way I had when faced with Quinn’s body. It made me feel like I was splitting into two people – and that Moth, my darker self, was gradually taking over.

  I so badly wanted to be Marie, and only Marie. I wanted to remain myself – my true self – for as long as possible, which made it more important than ever that I was careful to feed when I needed to. No more trying to delay the inevitable. No more living in denial. That’s why I’d just forced down a second helping of blood as soon as I woke up.

  The second thing I’d done since getting home – just before sleeping and allowing my battered body to heal – was to borrow a pair of Holly’s pajamas. The black ones with little pink bats all over them. They were in the dryer anyway, so she might not notice I had them for a while. They were cozy and comforting, and I needed that.

  Propping myself up on all my pillows, I settled in for some research time. I was still tired, but nothing that would get in the way of a little laptop love.

  That’s when I remembered Subject Ten’s creepy dog tag.

  Luckily, I’d put it in an inside pocket of my leather jacket. The chain was snapped, but the tag itself was intact. Here’s what was hammered into the steel:

  SUBJECT 10

  HM-01-2001-NB

  HS/NEMESIS

  Nemesis.

  So Ten was attached to the mysterious Nemesis Project – which connected her firmly to Quinn and, judging by the blood on her clothes, also to his violent death. Was she some kind of assassin? But it didn’t make sense to kill Quinn if he was also part of Nemesis. And where did that leave Nicole? Not to mention the scrap of Jace’s jacket left at the scene of that particular crime.

  And what the heck was her beef with Jace, anyway? Unless he was just unlucky enough to have been chosen as a scapegoat? A convenient local hunter to blame, so that Subject Ten could get away with killing vampires?

  So many questions . . .

  I looked at the steel tag again. What did HM stand for? I had no idea. About anything. The numbers could easily be a date, but they could just as easily be something else entirely. What about ‘NB’ and ‘HS’? It was a code of some kind – or maybe something as simple as initials. For what, though? People? Organizations?

  I grabbed my laptop and pulled up the now safely downloaded PROJECT NEMESIS folder: the one that needed a password. Well, I had no idea what to do about that. Being reasonably proficient with computers was one thing, but I wasn’t tech-whiz enough to crack passwords.

  How hard could it be . . . right? I tried lots of obvious words: Murdoch, Quinn, vampire, blood. Clearly, I was going to have to dig a little deeper.

  What about . . .? I tapped the steel tag against my teeth, trying to come up with some kind of genius solution. The taste of metal caused me to mentally face-palm.

  ‘So obvious, Moth,’ I said aloud. ‘So damn obvious.’

  I typed in subject10, this time filled with confidence.

  Confidence that was soon deflated when the error message came up for the twentieth time. So much for my sudden flash of intuition.

  ‘Crap.’ Biting the inside of my cheek, I re-read the weird faux-military dog tag and then glanced back at the computer screen. The password could only contain a maximum of eight characters.

  It was a leap, I knew that, but sometimes a leap of faith is what it takes to get things done. Subject Ten was obviously connected to Quinn – and possibly to Nemesis – which meant it was worth a try.

  I typed: hm012001nb.

  The folder opened.

  ‘Yes!’ I punched the air and congratulated myself. I almost gave Subject Ten’s tag a little victory kiss, but drew the line there. Because, ew. I’d had to scratch some blood off it before I could read the engraved ‘code’ in the first place.

  There was a single file inside the folder, which was a bit of an anticlimax after all that effort. Of course, I couldn’t be certain that I hadn’t lost a whole bunch when I’d ripped the flash drive out of Quinn’s computer.

  I sighed. There was nothing I could do about that now.

  I clicked on the file, simply called ‘Nemesis’, not honestly expecting to be wowed with a ton of useful information. This was probably a dead end.

  But instead of opening some kind of document, my web browser launched all by itself and landed on what was most likely the home page of a proxy server. Hey, I know a proxy server when I see one. Not that I’ve ever downloaded any premium TV shows or anything. Nope, because that would be wrong. Seemed like the password-protected file was just a reflection, set up to hide a link to where the actual data was stored. I figured that it would do no good going directly to the server, to try accessing whatever Nemesis had to hide that way. You needed Quinn’s own personal link in order to gain access.

  Excited now, I examined the new list of files.

  I had to admit that it was all pretty clever, even though I didn’t quite understand it.

  Talking of not understanding things, that was my experience of looking through the information stored on the Nemesis super-secret server. But I was beginning to build a picture in my mind of a small, but tightly run organization that focused on the preternatural. Nothing seemed to indicate why it was called the Nemesis Project, so I made a mental note to look into that separately, but the more I scrolled through reports and internal memos . . . the more sick I felt.

  Nemesis acknowledged the existence of all kinds of preternatural beings, including but not limited to vampires, werewolves (really!) and ghosts. They were the Big Three, right? Of course there were plenty more bogeymen, but this group of scientists seemed to focus mainly on vampires anyway. Lucky me.

  I’d need hours to explore everything on here – time I didn’t have if I wanted to speak to Theo now that he’d be awake. Apart from that, the longer I spent logged onto the Nemesis server the more likely it would be that my snooping could be detected. It wasn’t as though my IP address would be hard to track.

  One of the most interesting memos that I did find was from a Dr Helena Stark. Along with some boring housekeeping and maintenance stuff, she mentioned something that made my hair stand on end: ‘From now on, we need to be more vigilant with security. Keep the dhampir on full lockdown.’

  That could be what I was looking for. Not only did I have the name of a scientist to investigate, but this Dr Stark was talking about something that was only spoken of in hushed tones among the vamps I hung out with. Dhampirs – or dhampires – were part of vampire mythology, but all I knew about them was that they were supposedly half-human and half-vampire. Hybrid creatures, born with the power to destroy full vampires. Mostly they were co
nsidered to be a scary bedtime story, but there were some who believed that the dhampir had actually existed. At least, once upon a time.

  Anything I’d find about them online would only be half-assed folklore, not exactly the best starting place for research. Most humans had an extremely limited knowledge of true vampire mythos, so I’d do well to speak to someone about this first-hand. Someone who knew about the real monsters.

  I briefly considered asking Holly, but she’d only go snitching to Theo. I could, of course, talk directly to my Maker – especially now that I was building an admittedly vague picture of what was going on – but he might not let Jace off the hook unless I presented him with hard evidence. Short of delivering Subject Ten to him, I couldn’t think what else might actually convince him that Jace hadn’t killed Nicole. He wanted it to be true, and if that was the case it would be almost impossible to change his mind.

  Which meant I was going to be picking Jace Murdoch’s brains about vampire lore – and the possible existence of dhampirs – sooner rather than later. And anyway, I didn’t need Theo to tell me what I already suspected about the girl I’d fought just this morning. I might not want to admit it, but that didn’t make it any less true.

  Subject Ten’s silver eyes told me more than I was ready to accept. I just didn’t want to go there. Not quite yet. I couldn’t see how a true dhampir could exist when vampires couldn’t procreate. Whether or not they’d been able to in the past, I have no idea. But everything I’d been told indicated that all vamps are sterile. This was potentially a big deal, and I’d have to face the reality of it myself one day.

  But that day was not now. I exercised my right to stick my head in the sand and move on.

  I moved onto the word Nemesis. That seemed a safe enough subject to research by myself.

  I knew that she was a Greek goddess, something to do with revenge, but that was as far as my basic knowledge went. A few quick web searches later, and I had more information than I could possibly need. I checked my printer had paper and printed out a handful of pages so that I didn’t have to stare at the screen all evening. I had a wicked headache brewing, and that was most definitely unusual. Maybe I just needed blood, but I’d already had way more than my usual amount.