The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 10

by Maxim Jakubowski

  He reached for his revolver as metal knocked against his temple.

  “Move and you’re dead,” the voice said. Another knock against his skull, he could tell that it was the barrel of a gun hitting him.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Another knock to his scalp, this one opened a wound.

  Movement in his peripheral vision caused his eyes to slide sideways away from the voice. It moved along the wall like a shadow.

  “Where’s the bitch?” the voice demanded.

  “Huh? Bitch?”

  Then the window exploded into a thousand shards, a blue flash, like an electrical arc illuminated the room. The voice in his ear became a scream. Locan knocked the gun away and rolled out of bed taking his assailant by the lapels, and slamming his head against the wall. He cocked his arm and sent his fist crashing into the man’s face. His nose and teeth crumbled. Locan cocked his arm again and drove his fist into the face, now wet and pulpy, again. The man seized, then he went limp. He stood and spun around. Rachel stood outside on the balcony naked. He ran to the door and stepped outside. A woman’s body hung backward over the railing, its head dangling by a strip of flesh.

  Rachel stood trembling. Her face and breasts painted with blood.

  Somewhere a woman screamed. People began to pour out of doors and on to the balcony.

  “Shit!”

  He grabbed Rachel’s arm and pushed her back into their room. He guided her to the bathroom where he grabbed face cloths to wash away the gore.

  “I … I don’t know what happened. I just woke up; I knew they were there, I just knew they were there. I saw her holding the gun on you; I don’t know why she didn’t see me.”

  “You’d gone dark.”

  “What? Dark?”

  “It’s like becoming invisible, but you aren’t really. You blend into the shadows.”

  “It was like … like …”

  “What?”

  “Like back in the convent. I can’t remember.”

  There was a pounding at the door. “Police … get your hands up.”

  “We aren’t dressed.”

  “Get your asses where we can see them or you’ll be dressed for the undertaker.”

  The officers grabbed their wrists and spun them around.

  “Can she have a blanket?” Locan asked.

  “Shut up!”

  Outside pulses of blue and red lights turned the place into a party club. Locan and Rachel were made to sit on the bed. Finally, one of the cops tossed some blankets over them.

  More cops arrived, as well as the coroner.

  The one who appeared to be the lead investigator stared at the IDs one of the officers handed him. He leaned toward another plainclothes cop. “Look at these. Vatican passports … diplomatic passports. What the hell are these, badges?” He stepped over to Locan while Rachel was taken to be interrogated in another room. “This your name? Garreth Locan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who the fuck are these dead people?”

  “I have no idea. They broke in.”

  Outside someone yelled, “Careful how you move that body; her head’s going to fall off.”

  “Did you do that?” the detective asked, gesturing back toward the voice.

  “No.”

  “Who did?”

  “Can’t tell you …”

  “Sergeant.”

  “Very well, sergeant.”

  “It looks like you were expecting trouble,” he said, holding up his and Rachel’s pistols.

  “They were never fired.”

  The sergeant shook his head. Another cop approached him and handed him a cell phone.

  “Yeah, did you run those IDs? Christ, they’re legitimate? We can’t even hold these people? It’s a fucking massacre here. What? Mullens? Yeah, hang on.”

  He uncuffed Locan and handed him the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “For Christ’s fucking sake, what’s with you two?”

  “Mullens … do you have any idea who the hell these people are?”

  “They used to be a husband and wife hit team. Do you believe in coincidences?”

  “Not really.”

  “They were hunting down the runaway wife of one of the biggest money launderers on the West Coast. We were too, trying to get to the lovelorn couple before they did. They were contracted to kill her and the boyfriend. We’d just located the couple at the Quality Inn about a half mile from where you’re staying. Then all hell broke loose. Seems you and your partner are the victims of mistaken identity; although, the way things turned out, maybe you weren’t the victims.

  “Anyway, the couple we got here, the guy looks a lot like you, and the wife, well, she’s blonde but she was traveling as a brunette.”

  “You’ve explained things to the local constabulary then?”

  “Yeah, you’re free to go, but I gotta tell you, Rome’s been in touch. They’re mightily put out that you haven’t been maintaining a low profile; in fact, they’re pissed. They want you and your partner back there the day before yesterday.”

  “Thanks, they’ll have to wait.”

  “For crying out loud, try not to kill anyone for a while, will you?”

  “You know me, turn the other cheek.”

  “Shit. Get outta there.”

  They were allowed to dress and take their belongings. A police car escorted them back to the Interstate.

  Rachel sat still, her legs drawn up as she gnawed on the knuckles of one hand.

  “Hey, cut that out, will you? You’ll draw blood.”

  “I killed her didn’t I? They were the couple we saw making love in the window.”

  “Were they?”

  “You know they were. Did they have souls?”

  “Doesn’t matter – self defense.”

  “God, it was horrible, but why can’t I remember? Going dark?”

  “Yes, a pretty useful talent in our line of work.”

  “Stop! Just tell me what’s happening to me. I was dead asleep and I woke right up. I knew they were there before I even knew I was awake.”

  “Sometimes your senses will become acutely heightened.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “For instance, when you’ve just had really good sex.”

  “Cripes.”

  “Or whenever you feel threatened, or angry … or even happy.”

  “When are you going to tell me what’s happening to me … what I am?”

  “Soon, Racey. Very soon.”

  “Rachel,” she insisted, though her chin trembled and a tear spilled over her cheek.

  “I promise you.”

  He could feel Rome breathing down his neck; they wanted an answer or a result. And, if he didn’t check in soon, they’d send someone after them. Not another pair of Paladins, but a pair of blockhead Swiss Guards who’d follow their orders without reservation – like a pair of Nazis.

  They checked into a hotel in Utica, cleaned up and then started out for the village of Oriskany.

  They sat in the car outside the tavern for a while.

  “I think we’ll have some answers for you, maybe more than you were hoping for,” he said. “The thing is, you need to hold yourself together, no matter what they tell you.”

  “Who?”

  “C’mon.”

  They entered the tavern and he took her hand and paused. He nodded toward a couple at a corner table.

  The man was tall. Rachel could tell even though he was sitting. Black hair flecked and streaked with silver. She wondered at his age, but couldn’t put a number to it.

  The woman was long and lean, a cowl of the blackest hair draping her shoulders. She wore a deep blue satin blouse, black leather mini skirt and nearly knee-high boots. Her legs crossed under the table, her thighs pale in the shadow. They were so long, Rachel guessed she had to be six feet tall or more.

  She squeezed Locan’s hand.

  “The man’s name is Connor,” he told her. “He’s been on the Paladins’ hit list sin
ce there were Paladins. I could shoot him right now and walk away – no questions asked. I’d probably even get some half-assed decoration from the Pope.”

  “Then why …?

  “I never would, but even if I wanted to, they haven’t invented a bullet fast enough.”

  “But … what is he?”

  “A species unto himself.”

  “The woman … she’s striking.”

  “Wait until you see her up close. Her name is Clare.”

  Locan took Rachel’s arm and guided them to the couple’s table. Connor rose to greet them. He was taller than Locan, but he had the same, dark fathomless eyes.

  “Locan, good to see you again,” he said. His voice was lightly accented, but Rachel couldn’t place it. “And this lovely lady?”

  “This is … Rachel … Rachel McDaniel.”

  Rachel turned a bemused glance at Locan as Connor took her hand and kissed it lightly. A tingle ran up her arm.

  “Clare?” Connor nodded toward his companion.

  Clare extended her hand; Rachel took it in hers. This time more than a tingle coursed up her arm. Tiny sparks, like a company of blue fireflies danced around her wrist and marched toward her elbow. She released her hand and looked into Clare’s eyes. They shone pale blue, like backlit arctic ice. Rachel shivered.

  Clare smiled.

  “Remember.” Locan bent to her ear. “Hold it together.”

  “Rachel?” Connor said. “Hasn’t Locan rechristened you with a nickname?”

  “Racey,” she answered.

  “Racey!” Connor laughed. “Of course.”

  A waitress in a white dirndl dress asked for their order.

  “The steaks here are splendid,” Connor said. “Shall we order, once and all around?”

  Locan nodded. Rachel assented.

  “Very good.” Connor smiled at the waitress. “Make mine very rare.”

  “Bloody rare,” Clare added. The waitress, shaken, retreated a step when she noticed Clare’s eyes.

  “Um, medium, please,” Rachel said.

  “Medium well for me, dear.” Locan nodded.

  Rachel tried not to stare at Clare, but her eyes were mesmerizing. Clare looked right back, a smile, or perhaps a sneer curling her lips.

  “Your accent,” Rachel asked, her voice suddenly timid. “Are you French?”

  “Breton.”

  “Oh.”

  “So, Locan,” Connor said, lifting a glass of dark red wine to his lips. “How’s the fiend-hunting business treating you?”

  “So far, so good. And the benefits … out of this world.”

  “Ah yes, traveling in the company of charming young women.” He nodded toward Rachel. “Seems to me you normally worked alone.”

  Locan nodded and smiled. “Maybe they think I’m getting too old for the job and I need someone to watch out for me.”

  “Old? You’ll excuse me of course, old is a concept I have trouble grasping.”

  The men laughed. An invisible nod passed between them, an inside joke Rachel was not privy to.

  “And Rome?” Connor asked. “Still fervent about their crusades.”

  “Fervent … fervent to a fault.”

  “I miss Rome,” Connor mused, swirling his wine in the glass. “I used to know a girl there, the youngest sister of senator … oh, the name escapes me. A sweet girl …”

  Rachel’s head turned slowly toward Clare, the source of a low frequency rumble that grew louder as Connor spoke.

  Was she growling? God, Rachel thought, she is growling.

  The waitress returned with the steaks, putting a period to Connor’s story of the girl in Rome.

  Dinner conversations continued, just normal small talk that Connor would punctuate with a historical anecdote.

  After dinner, Connor ordered a round of dessert liqueurs. Rachel sensed an intimacy, as if a veil of shadow had been drawn around their table.

  “Rachel,” Connor said. His voice was deep, calming. “Locan has asked my assistance and I cannot refuse because I owe him a debt that cannot be repaid in one lifetime. But even if I did not, I am glad to help, that is, Clare and I are glad to help … you, to understand.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “I … Where have I heard that before?”

  Connor smiled. “It doesn’t matter, whether you believe in God or Mr Darwin. But let’s keep this simple. The human family tree came into being; it split off into various branches. Some withered, others thrived. So now we have the human species as we know it, ostensibly alone, but what if that species is not alone; it has … cousins it is not even aware of.

  “Let’s say God has stepped away from his masterpiece, the ‘paragon of animals’, and sees that as masterful as it is, it is not perfect, it has flaws.”

  “Yes?” Rachel had no idea where this was going, but she loved listening to his voice.

  “So, he creates this companion species, not to supersede homo sapiens, but to … take out the garbage, as it were.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “That’s all right, you’ll reach your own conclusions soon enough. The thing you need to understand now is that both these branches of man could, and have interbred from time to time. Rarely, due to circumstances that are rooted deep in history, but such unions have occurred.”

  Rachel began to tremble, sensing an impending epiphany she wasn’t certain she wanted to experience.

  “Clare,” Connor said. “Rachel looks like she could use a bit of fresh air.”

  Clare stood. Rachel thought she would keep going up and up. Clare took her hand and drew her on to her feet, but she still towered over Rachel.

  “Come on, petite soeur.”

  Locan and Connor watched the ladies leave.

  “You care for her very much,” Connor said. “A dangerous thing to care for one so much, in your line of work.”

  “I know.”

  Connor raised his glass. “You’re a good and noble man, my friend.”

  “I hope she goes easy on her,” Locan said.

  “She’ll open up a new world for her.”

  “Yeah … I just hope she’s up for it.”

  Connor laughed. “She looks tough enough to me.”

  Outside a clear twilight sky cast the first stars over the heavens.

  “Follow me,” Clare said.

  “Where?”

  “Across the road, to the edge of the forest.”

  Rachel complied, her eyes captured by the sway of Clare’s hips, and her pale, sculpted thighs. Women’s thighs excited Rachel, in all their shapes and textures. Clare’s were smooth, muscular, strong. Rachel thought about touching them, even kissing them. A tickle began to swirl in her belly.

  They crossed the road and Clare stepped into the trees.

  “Do you smell them?” she asked Rachel.

  “Smell? Who?”

  “Give free rein to your senses. There now, smell them … beer, sweat, sour breath, bowel stink?”

  Rachel filled her nostrils and nearly retched. The clean smell of pine vanished; she felt like she was standing in a very dirty men’s room.

  “What the …”

  “I don’t like them,” Clare said.

  “Them?”

  “People … I’ve seen the worst of them. But … Connor … he’s shown me many have worth, they can even be noble.”

  “Oh.”

  “These swine are only here to do harm. Shall we have our fun with them?”

  “I … I don’t know …”

  “You’ve shifted?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Shifted?”

  “It’s frightening at first, when you don’t control it, and it comes over you all of a sudden,” Clare said. “Like the first time you pass blood.”

  Rachel said nothing; her mind was astir with questions she couldn’t form into words.

  “You were in the convent,” Clare said. “So was I, a long time ago.” Then she grinned. “You may want to
leave your clothes here. We can return for them later.”

  “Leave my clothes?” Rachel asked.

  “I go through so many clothes. They don’t survive the shift. It can get … expensive.”

  Clare began to unbutton her blouse, and then she turned her back to Rachel and shrugged it off her shoulders. Her bra instantly fell beside it.

  Her skirt was already set low on her hips. Rachel watched her, dumb as the trees, as Clare shook it off her hips. There, above her tailbone, a perfect blue disk.

  Clare turned. “Well?”

  Rachel stripped, quickly, clumsily.

  Clare held out her hand. “Come along, little sister.”

  Rachel took her hand and the night turned into a sea of blue light.

  She was running, bounding through the forest, a step behind a sleek black animal, its silky coat streaming as they traversed clearings, streams and columns of pines. Even the stars passed by in a blur. The sheer sense of speed was exhilarating. Then she realized … she was running on all fours. She could hear Clare clearly communicating a change in direction … not as a voice, but as pure thought. Her senses had never been so keen, she processed a cascade of aromas and sounds, heard a mouse rustle in its nest, a pair of night birds mate on a branch yards away, and felt the wind as it rushed past. And she could see into the darkness.

  They were close. Clare had told her. The stink of the men became stronger. Ahead of them a creature moaned in fear and despair. Flashlights marred the dark. They had chased a black bear up a tree and were throwing things at it, trying to get it to fall. Some wielded bats and swigged from cans.

  It was all a blur of screams as they tore into their company, doing no real harm other than hurtling into their bodies and knocking their legs out from underneath them.

  Rachel bowled one of them over and now she stood, stock still, a rage pulsing in her core. The man looked into her eyes and screamed, “Oh, Jesus! Please!”

  There was a snarl, ferocious, announcing the arrival of hell itself. It was Rachel, baring her fangs. Then the scent of urine stung her nostrils. The man had pissed himself and passed out.

  Clare called her to withdraw. The bear jumped from the tree and bolted into the woods. The other men had scattered screaming, all but the one who fainted beneath Rachel’s fierce gaze.