Bad Impression : A Sadie Salt Novel (Sadie Salt Series Book 2)

by Ware Wilkins

  “Homeless might be the exception to the rule.”

  My mind is blank on the how, but my gut keeps me from losing hope. I mean really, after all this, I’m still here, aren’t I? Ingrid and I will figure it out. We’ll be okay. Besides, I need to keep it together for her and Commissioner Biscuit.

  “I’m going to take a long shower, Abe. Then I’m going to sleep in here, if that’s okay, because I’m done. Wake me up when the vampire is up, okay? I want to be at least a little rested before I try to break this news to Ingrid.”

  Abe gives me a side eye, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still sane, but he says okay, so I go. There’s so little room in me to think of anything beyond the next minute. Like, all I can handle now are getting clean, and getting rest. When I wake up, I’ll get ready to do the next thing, and then the next, until I can clear away enough space in my chest to breathe a bit easy again.

  That seems unlikely for a very long time.

  Benji wakes me up with a gentle shake, but coming from deep sleep and not enough rest means gentle still feels like an act of cruelty. Whatever dreams I was having are wrenched away and my eyes, itchy and dry, work hard to focus on him.

  “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “I’m pretty sure a sun is a necessary component of the shine in that equation, Benji.”

  “Probably. But you’ve got the beauty part down.”

  Sitting up, I look at him. “Do compliments mean I’m forgiven?”

  He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not yet. It just means I understand that you’re human.”

  “That might be the most clichéd, vampire-like condescending thing you’ve ever said.”

  His smile broadens and his eyes brighten. “I’ve been alive longer than you. There’s been so much time for condescending remarks and being as cliche vampire as I can be. Remember that my wardrobe still contains as much black Italian wool as it does band t-shirts.”

  He’s wearing one now. Megadeath. Not really my thing and, if you ask me, lacking in taste after the attacks last night, but who am I to judge? It does fit him just right, ripped in the perfect places to reveal slivers of pale skin. He does the distressed look a favor.

  “Time to go?”

  “Yes. I called the queen and he explained everything.”

  “How much are you going to yell at me for going to the nest without you?” I slide out of Abe’s bed and stretch.

  Benji taps his lips with a finger. “That depends. How sorry are you that you did it?”

  “Emotionally? Not sorry at all. But I’ve got some major physical punishment going on now from the sleeplessness, the fighting, the digging, and running out of bone essence. So if you have to yell, do it softly, please.”

  He gives me a sympathetic look, his gaze cautious. “Yikes. That sounds harsh. Humans are so fragile, it’s easy to forget it doesn’t take much to put you out.”

  “Condescending vampire remark number two! Are you going for a record?” I slide into Ingrid’s jacket, which he nicely left for me at the edge of the bed.

  Benji shrugs, his dark hair unkempt and tumbled. “I’m not going to yell at you. It isn’t my job to parent or police you.”

  “Oh.” I push my hands into the pockets, at a loss as to how to respond. “Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

  “I wouldn’t thank me.” He motions to me and we walk out together, stepping quietly through a home filled with exhausted, sleeping werewolves. When we get outside, he opens the passenger door to the queen’s car. “I’ll take you to your uncle’s, and then I’ll return the car. Jeremy and I need to have a little chat.”

  The leather seats are chilled but butter soft. He turns the engine and it’s so quiet you’d never know. Warm air blows and the seats begin to warm. Someone should shake the hand of the inventor of the seat warmer, because damn, this is luxury I could get used to.

  “What are you going to talk to the queen about? And why shouldn’t I thank you?”

  “You should never have been at the nest without me. He knows I’d be irate. He’s using you to get under my skin.”

  “Probably he just wants to get under you again. List again all those famous people you screwed and you might know why.”

  He’s speeding, but it isn’t the reckless driving I’m familiar with. He wants this conversation to happen, and I’m glad. It sucks to be having heart to hearts back to back, if you catch my meaning, but it is also like ripping bandages off: do it fast and all at once and the pain’s not quite so bad. “If it helps, he legitimately had a busted tooth. Exposed nerve and everything.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it himself to have an excuse to call on you.”

  “Why would he even need one? He’s the queen. Can’t he just force people to his will?”

  Benji’s knuckles press hard against the tight stretch of his skin, the only outward sign that he’s upset. “Not if he wants someone older and scarier than him in his face.”

  His comment makes me think of what Uncle Oliver said. “About that… how old are you, really?”

  Benji’s eyes dart to me. “A couple hundred years. You know that. Why?”

  “So the queen is younger than that? And in charge of a nest already?”

  “Well--”

  “Or, when you say a ‘couple hundred’ do you mean, say, five or six thousand instead of two or three hundred?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. I get that age “ain’t nothin’ but a number,” but I’m not going to lie-- five thousand years older is enough to give anyone pause. I kind of feel like if you’re older than Jesus, you need to admit to it.

  “Where did you come up with this theory?”

  “A reputable source named Oliver Salt.”

  Benji snorts. “Reputable. Yeah, right.”

  “So he’s telling the truth?”

  Benji shrugs. “It’s… There are things about myself that I keep hidden for good reasons. That’s one of them.”

  “But why--”

  “Trust me. Please.” He gives me a pleading look. “Another time. I promise.”

  I don’t want to drop this. But I also want desperately to be back on his good side, so I shut up about it for now. We’re winding up the mountain to my uncle’s house, anyway. There’s not enough time for a long story that I’d have to pry out.

  “Did you notice the hunters were using the same bone powder?” I change the subject.

  “Yes,” he snarls. “I wish I knew how they’re getting it. I’ve never seen such a concerted effort on behalf of hunters. They’re supposed to be individual stalkers, preying on us in ones and twos. This wasn’t hunting, it was an attack.”

  “Who do you think the target was?”

  “I assumed you.”

  I chew my lip. “I mean, maybe? But David had been working on his own. He was hired by a bone witch, and he was an ex-hunter. They were after me, specifically. This, though, was bigger. They didn’t just attack me, either. Yeah, they got the apartment complex. But why attack the nest? The pack? And all at once?”

  “If they were hopped up on magic, maybe they thought they could clean out the city in one go.”

  My hands twist together. Something feels off about this. “What, so Grimloch was the target? Not me?” Grimloch’s always been a big draw for the paranormal. They’ve been living here almost as long as the town has been a town. Why would the hunters now try to come and attack in such an open and obvious way?

  Benji runs a red light. I don’t know if that’s because he knew it was safe or this is consuming his thoughts so much that he didn’t see, but I double check my seatbelt just in case. “I don’t think that’s it. What do we know about hunters?”

  “Besides the fact that they’re murderous dickholes?”

  “Obviously.”

  He snorts. “We know that they kill all paranormal kind. It isn’t just vampires, or werewolves, or fae. If it isn’t human, they try to kill it.”

  “We know from Dr. Winston that they’
ve got some magic, though, to help them in their cause. Like the necklace.”

  “Yeah, that’s thrown me; I’d assumed they’d avoid all magic, since it’s so closely tied to paranormals.”

  I finger the purple gemstone, worrying at its smooth, crystalline surface. “But witches and warlocks are human. Technically. Do you think they’re okay with that, then?”

  His jaw clenches. “We should ask Doug after checking in with Ingrid and Oliver. My instinct is, as much as they hate us, they’d probably be willing to overlook a loophole like human magic-users if they felt the end justified the means.”

  Which means they’d have no problem using the bone witches’ magic powder.

  “What if…” he says, determined to find an answer. “What if they were trying to pull you out of hiding? The attack at the apartment was earlier, and had the most hunters. But you disappeared-- don’t do that spell again, please-- and they had to come up with something new.”

  It clicks into place. “If they’ve been watching me, and the dead cats seems to suggest that they have been, they know I’ve been over to the pack house at least twice.”

  “They’ve probably seen you with Abe, too.”

  “And if they’ve seen you with me, they’d assume you were part of the nest. So they were hitting both? To get me?” We drive in silence for a moment, the engine barely moaning about having to climb the mountain to Uncle Oliver’s. “Okay, so that makes a bit of sense. But why?”

  “If there’s a bone witch supplying them with the magic, do you have to ask? They sent David, and that failed. This time, instead of a single hunter, they send an army. I’m sure the witches were able to sell the idea, since they’d be killing all the weres and vampires they could.”

  “Do you think this means it’s the last we’ve seen of them?”

  “Did you get captured?”

  I feel sick. “No.”

  “Then you have your answer. But it will be weeks, more likely months, before they can regroup. Enough time for Oliver, the pack, and I to come up with a defensive strategy.”

  There isn’t time to contemplate it further, because we’ve pulled up next to Oliver’s house. The necklace is dark, just a stone, and I let myself relax a bit. Some part of me was worried we’d find a horde of hunters here, too.

  As we approach the house, Benji puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in place.

  There’s a pause, like this is the part where we should kiss after a date. But I don’t care how many years he’s been alive, I don’t think anyone qualifies fending off a hunter massacre and burying an alpha wolf a date. “So… I’ll see you later?”

  With where I left things with Abe, I’m feeling more open to the idea of something romantic happening with Benji. If he forgives me, of course. And, I think, after a bit of time. I know he said to consider him another possibility, but I don’t want him to think he’s sloppy seconds. Yes, yes, he was first in my pants, but I’m talking romantically. I don’t want him to think I’m settling for him and, to be frank, I want time to make sure I’m not settling for him.

  I’m a slow learner sometimes. I know it. But Ingrid, Dr. Winston, and heck, even Ingrid’s father have chastised me for being indecisive and wishy washy. They’re not wrong. I’ve been greedy, trying to have both. It hasn’t been fair to them and it’s made me into a selfish person at a time when I should have been thinking of others. Not just how others fit into my life.

  “You’ll see me later,” he says. He’s still surveying the home behind me, so I touch his face to bring his attention back to me. The cheek beneath my palm is cool and soft. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb.

  “I’m sorry for lying and playing games, even though those are the only two things you’ve asked me not to do.”

  His stare pierces me, searching, his green eyes sharp and curious. Satisfied with whatever he finds in my gaze, he sighs. “I know. I forget how young you are. And this time I’m not trying to be a condescending vampire. You’re young for a human, too. Not even a quarter of a century.”

  “Yeah. I also have so little experience in this area. You’re intimidating, you know.”

  His mouth quirks at the corner. “I know. You hold your own, though, Sadie.”

  “So I will see you later?”

  His lips are pressed to my forehead, and I’m glad. It feels like forgiveness, and though I’m sure he’d get it, I’d feel like a jerk kissing Abe and Benji back to back like that, even if Abe’s kiss was to say goodbye.

  Shutting the door behind him, I turn around and lean into it, resting the back of my head on the sturdy wood. The hunters are gone, at least for now. I have no doubt that they’ll be back, especially with a source of bone magic fueling them. But their numbers are weakened and now every paranormal in Grimloch will be on high alert.

  More importantly, to me at least, is the fact that I fought and struggled with the vampires and werewolves under dire circumstances and didn’t use magic. The two teeth are still in my pocket. There were countless times when I could have absorbed their power and hidden behind it, using it instead of my brains and my bat. Stretching my arms, I smile. I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow, but it’ll come from swinging Respect, not from withdrawal.

  “Sadie, stop dawdling,” Uncle Oliver shouts. “Come tell me what the hell happened!”

  Right. Walking with a bounce, I head toward his bedroom. The door is cracked, his light on. “Alright, Uncle, let a girl catch her breath.” I push open the door and step into a nightmare.

  Oliver’s body is floating in the air, frozen. It’s like a freeze-frame in a movie, only it’s real, he’s real. His face is twisted in pain and anger, mouth caught in a snarl that never moves. Speckled around us like stars are droplets of blood, paused mid-spray. Because his mouth is open, I can see his teeth are missing.

  His neck has been severed so deeply his head is barely attached to his body. Whatever time-stop magic is happening in the moment, it gives me too much time to see the bone and connective tissue exposed by the violent slice.

  My uncle, the hardass who has been a difficult thorn in my side since taking up guardianship of me, is dead. But not… not yet. There’s this wild quality to his eyes, and I shiver when it seems as if they meet mine. Like a painting, where no matter how I move, the gaze follows. His mouth moves like a puppet’s. “Hello, Sadie. So nice of you to finally make it.” All I can think of is a marionette. My own mouth gapes in response.

  Without thinking, my fingers reach in front of me and touch one of the droplets of blood, suspended less than a foot from me. It floats away, pinging off others, like the most fucked up version of pinball ever.

  Then everything drops.

  The blood flies again, continuing in its original arc, spattering the walls and my body. It whips across my face, coating me in a mist. His body collapses on the floor and there’s a squelching noise that makes it obvious that some of his bones are missing, too. My uncle, once powerful and feared, has been reduced to an almost-headless sack of skin and meat.

  I choke down bile and slip my hand into my pocket, grabbing the two teeth. They sear my palm as I absorb their power. On the outside, I’m standing, unblinking and coated in blood, next to the heap that used to be my uncle. I’m silent, still.

  Inside I’m a goddamn tsunami of emotion and power. The teeth I’d chosen are so rich, so full of power, that it feels like it’s whipping inside of me. It mixes with my fear, my disbelief, and most of all my absolute and total wrath that this has happened.

  Just because I’m not reacting in a sane way does not mean I’m not reacting. My uncle was my last connection to my father. He cared for me in his own, weird way. We’d just started to connect on some adult level, communicating in a way that left me thirsty for more. He’s always been strong, quite a bit scary, and there for me as much as he knew how to be.

  Now he’s dead, and someone has stolen his teeth and bones. My uncle will have to bargain hard with the Ferryman and that, that I will not stand for.

&
nbsp; The spell forms as my plan forms, disjointed as it is. I’m past thinking. This is pure reaction. Lips and tongue shapes words that are deep, the weight of them crawling up my throat and into the air like spiders.

  Detect. Like so long ago, when Nash was killed in my apartment, I used the bone magic to check my apartment for any presence. Now I use it again in Oliver’s home. There’s one, female, alive. Ingrid. That she’s alive is the only thing that keeps me from burning everything to the ground in my state.

  Illusion. This spell is more difficult, twisting my reality so that I can see, shimmery and hard to make out, but I get enough. My uncle, firing spells and casting desperately. There are flashes and ripples of spells clashing with spells. Then the picture shifts and there are red lips laughing, their cruel smile haunting me as they cast.

  My uncle dies, and I stop my spell from replaying when the red-lipped witch begins extracting tooth and bone.

  I can barely see anymore, I’m hurting so bad. The room spins and I bite my tongue hard, using the pain to stay in the moment. The woman from around town was a bone witch, and a powerful one at that. Ms. Nickles had said the bone coven wanted me, using my magic to help do their bidding. If they thought killing my uncle was going to make me more amenable, then they’ve got another thing coming.

  Get Ingrid out of the house.

  Except… My spell of detection only let me know there was a single female in the house with me. I’d assumed it was Ingrid. After the horrific scene that just played out, my blood runs cold. Because I swear, if the bone coven hurt Ingrid, I don’t care how many bones I consume or how much skin I use up. I’ll burn through it all to pay them back.

  Immediately, I begin casting again. A spell to make my skin tough as stone. Magic detection, to see if there are any spell traps waiting for me. Thanks to my deal with the Tooth Fairy, I’m still immune to most magics, but just in case I throw up a shield for that, too.

  The teeth I’ve absorbed have given me so much juice that I barely feel a drain, even after all the spellcasting I’ve been doing. Finally, I look at my left hand, cupping it, and begin to funnel power into it. It starts as a flicker, green and blue light sparking then fading. But I hone my anger into that place, staring at it until it catches. First, the magic fireball is the size of a marble. Then, after a visual of my uncle’s violent death passes through my mind, it grows. When it’s the size of a baseball, I’m ready.