by Rob Cornell
“Because we’re gonna die.”
Chapter Eleven
KENNY’S HOME DIDN’T look anything like Elka expected. A two-bedroom condo in Lincoln Park, the place must have cost at least half-a-million. Clean brick and vinyl siding on the outside, fresh off-white paint all through the inside, the condo looked newly built and barely lived in.
In the living room, Kenny pointed out the pair of abstracts hung on a wall above the leather couch. “The artist is a friend of mine,” he claimed. “An ex-girlfriend, actually. But we’re still friends. She owns a gallery in the loop.”
Elka must have had one funny look on her face because Kenny snickered.
“What? You don’t think I have any culture in me?” He slipped his arms around her waist. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises.”
Me too. Elka forced a grin and tried not to vomit when she let Kenny kiss her. She held her breath, expecting his to smell like peanuts. But she caught a whiff of wintergreen. At some point he must have popped a mint. Thank the Bright Beyond for small favors.
Kenny opened his mouth and tried to push his tongue into hers. She pulled back and patted his chest. “Why don’t you show me the rest of your abode.”
His eyes narrowed. He cocked his head to one side while he studied her.
“Relax,” Elka said. “I’m obviously missing a whole other side to you. I want to get to know it.”
His expression loosened up. “All right, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
He turned his back to Elka and headed for the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a long counter with a glossy marble surface. A leafy plant with purple flowers sat in a handspun pot at the end of the counter. It looked vibrant, well cared for. A hardcover copy of a Gabriel Marquez novel lay flat beside the plant. A bookmark stuck out from between the pages about three-quarters of the way through the book.
No way he was actually reading that book. It was probably a prop to impress his female conquests. Elka, however, wasn’t fooled. And with his back to her, she had her opening to remove this disgusting fraud from existence.
She held back, though, still not sure how to handle his remains in broad daylight. Some of the girls at the restaurant had probably seen Elka leave with Kenny too, which complicated things further. If the dope had stuck to the plan, she could have snuck out with him in the cover of dark after the rest of the staff shambled home from the late shift.
Maybe she should wait for another day.
Of course, waiting meant playing along with Kenny’s plans for her, which was not something she thought she could handle. She had little doubt his “grand tour” would end in the bedroom. He was such a cliché.
Kenny turned into the kitchen, stopped in the center of the tiled floor, and pivoted to face Elka as she joined him. His shoe squeaked on the floor. Everything looked as neat and untouched as in the living room. The tiles shined. The fridge practically sparkled like a unicorn horn. The gas stove didn’t have so much as a smudge.
Kenny released a contented sigh. “My first love is cooking. I used to dream of studying at Cordon Bleu. But life takes its turns, you know?” He shrugged. “I won’t bore you with backstory.”
The fact that he had a backstory baffled Elka. At work he had come across as so one-dimensional. Now she was picking up bits and pieces of a Kenny she never would have guessed existed. She hated it because… Well, because it made it harder to hate him. She remembered her desire to throttle someone when she woke that morning while facing the displeasure of a double shift at Chuggers. Because of his lustful zeal for Elka, Kenny had presented himself as the perfect relief to her urge, another body to leave behind until she finally found and killed the one who had sent her off on this wicked path in the first place.
The others had never had a chance to let Elka get to know them. They had been targets of convenience.
Damn Kenny for making her second-guess herself.
“Something wrong?” Kenny furled his brow.
Elka blinked away her annoyance and tried a smile that felt awkward but hopefully looked convincing. “Fine. A lot on my mind.”
He tried to slip in close to her, but Elka backed up.
Kenny held up his hands. “I told you not to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”
That again. And he said it as if he knew what she was thinking about. Sure, Kenny, throw money at me. That will solve all my problems and convince me to go to bed with you.
“I don’t need your help,” she snapped before she could stop herself.
His mouth fell open. He squinted as if wincing in pain. Then he closed his eyes and hung his head. “I thought… I thought you liked me?”
Elka stared at him with a dizzy sense as if she had never met him before. This wasn’t the Kenny she knew at all—dejected, pathetic even. What was that tightness in her chest? She couldn’t possibly feel sorry for him. Yet she couldn’t fight it. She both hated and pitied him at the same time.
She needed pure hate to move forward. Hate fed her desire to kill. Hate powered her to lash out. But the mix of pity worked like cutting scotch with water. It lacked the proper kick. She could not get drunk on diluted hate.
“I should go,” Elka said.
“You sure did send me mixed signals.”
Mixed signals? Did he have any idea what a contradiction he came off as, as if he suffered from multiple personality disorder? Perhaps that was the problem. Kenny was mentally ill. It would explain a lot.
But the thought made her feel that much more sorry for him.
She had to get away from this man.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said, taking slow steps backward and through the archway between the kitchen and the living room. “This was a mistake.”
A red flush painted Kenny’s cheeks. His eyes flashed. He began making a high-pitched keening from the back of his throat, the sound muffled by his clamped shut mouth. His lips were pressed so tightly together, the skin around them turned white, a stark contrast to the red across the rest of his face.
Elka backed up some more, throwing glances over her shoulder to make sure she was lined up with the door. This whole thing had turned sideways. She was supposed to be the one in control. Kenny’s only purpose had been to sate her rage.
Kenny approached the counter, his gaze fixed on Elka, but his hand reaching down out of sight. Elka heard the rollers on the track of an opening drawer. A moment later, Kenny raised a knife into view. He stopped whining. When he next spoke, his voice sounded wet and nasal like it would after a long cry. His eyes shined in the kitchen’s fluorescent lighting.
“I’m a mistake?” he asked. “You’re calling me a mistake?”
Chills rolled down Elka’s back. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Time to get out of there, fast.
She spun and sprinted for the door. When she reached it, her momentum caused her to slam against it. The doorknob jabbed her in the belly. But she didn’t let the dull pain slow her. She grabbed the knob and twisted.
The knob didn’t budge.
Shit. He had locked the door after they came in.
Her fingers quivered as she tried to twist the lock open. They didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Footsteps brushed across the carpet behind her. The smell of Elka’s fear curled into her nostrils.
She froze.
Why would she let this fool frighten her? She had spent so long in her human shape, she had nearly forgotten what she really was. She turned to face Kenny.
Tears streamed down his face. Snot hung on his upper lip. As he came toward her, he pointed at her with the knife’s tip. An ordinary steak knife. A nuisance at best. To her, the equivalent of a wasp’s stinger.
“A mistake, huh?”
Elka shook her head like a disappointed teacher. “You idiot. I was going to let you live.”
He hitched to a stop. His brows came together. He tilted his head in that way dogs do when they don’t understand a command. He moved his mouth, but no words came out.
> “That’s right,” Elka said. “I am the hunter. You are the prey.”
She set her jaw and pushed energy through her body. The pulse of her blood quickened through her veins. Her heartbeat slowed as the heart itself expanded in her chest. Her spine crackled as it bent and elongated. The hairs on her arms grew long, white, sparkling, and covered her skin completely. Her fingers curled into her palms as her hands turned into hooves. The familiar pressure at the center of Elka’s forehead as her horn pushed out from her skull sent orgasmic spasms through her whole body.
Her clothes absorbed into her skin, hidden from sight but ready for her transformation back to human form. Unlike weres, her people had mastered this trick, another piece of the camouflage that had helped unicorns survive for millennia against the most aggressive poachers across all planes of existence.
Kenny staggered backward. The harsh red drained from his face, leaving a dirty shade of white like old newsprint. The knife tipped off his fingers and toppled to the carpet with an insignificant thump.
Elka reared up on her hind legs and let forth a piercing whinny. Her horn cracked through the ceiling and tore a hole in the plaster. White dust rained down around her as she stomped her forelegs back to the floor.
A wet spot spread through the crotch of Kenny’s pants. Elka huffed at the smell. He dropped to his knees and held his hands out.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t—”
Elka didn’t let him finish. She drove forward and lanced him with her horn straight through his throat. He expelled a single bloody cough. Then Elka swung her neck and ripped Kenny’s head from his shoulders.
She languished in the spray of Kenny’s blood, the hot droplets like spring rain on her coat. The stress had brought on a faint glow in her horn. Pump enough adrenaline through a unicorn and her horn could do some amazing things.
Elka had never reached that level of stress before and actually had a chance to use her power. She didn’t need to anyway. She could kill just fine without it.
Thank you, Kenny. You came through in the end.
Chapter Twelve
THE WEIGHT OF AGENT REE’s body on Jessie made it hard to take a full breath. In the seconds before the second shot from the weird weapon Ronald Reagan in the minivan wielded, Ree’s words rang in her head.
We’re gonna die.
Then a twisted sound cut the air, like an out of tune chord struck on an electric guitar.
Jessie squeezed her eyes shut.
I’m coming, Dad.
A crack of thunder boomed in the room, but nothing struck Jessie or Ree. No burning flesh or obliteration. Just her and Ree’s breathing in an unsteady chorus. Ree’s weight lifted off of Jessie. She opened her eyes and sat up. Gasped.
Wertz stood in the center of the room, arms outstretched, while a bluish-green beam from the weapon blazed into his chest. He growled and shook, hands in fists. But the beam didn’t seem to otherwise harm him.
“Let’s go,” Ree said and took Jessie’s arm to help her up.
Her head spun as she found her feet. She couldn’t take her eyes away from Wertz. His growling turned up in pitch, sounded on the verge of a scream. He looked over his shoulder at her. Tears ran down his face. The rims of his eyes were swollen and red. “Go,” he said, voice quaking. Then his whole face scrunched up in pain. He turned back to face their attackers and screamed.
Ree, again, pulled her toward the door.
She stumbled along with him in a daze. What she had seen, what she had heard, did not process in her brain. How could Wertz stand in the path of a weapon that had destroyed the whole front of the freaking house?
She had nothing.
Through the kitchen and out the back door. During their retreat, four other agents joined them. They hurried across the fenced in backyard and its perfect square of bright green grass. Ree hoisted Jessie up over the rear fence while another agent helped her down on the other side. The chain-link rattled as the agents scrambled over. Then more running. On their way down the street, Jessie glimpsed a man standing on his porch in his boxer shorts. He tracked them with his camera phone, apparently recording their retreat.
Not good.
They made it a block away when the explosion roared across the suburb. Jessie ripped free of Ree’s grip and spun to look behind her. A column of fire rose above the rooftops of the cookie-cut houses, followed by a black plume of smoke that spread like a shadow at dusk.
“No.” Jessie tried to run back, but Ree had her arm again, like her arm was a fucking leash to him. She jerked and twisted to break free. Another agent took her other arm. Together, he and Ree dragged her back on her heels.
A walkie-talkie squawked from somewhere. A disconnected voice responded. “Roger that.” Background noise while Jessie stared at the smoke, wondering if any of it belonged to Wertz.
Her guardian.
A person she had let down.
The one who had saved her life and died after an argument she would never get to apologize for.
Tears blurred her vision, turning the billowing smoke into an impressionistic nightmare. A collaboration between Monet and Dali.
Tires squealed behind her. A door rolled open. The agents pulled her into a van and buckled her into a backseat.
The Agency always had an escape plan.
The door slammed shut. Jessie’s stomach rolled when the van took off, again squealing its tires on the concrete street. One that looked like all the others in this place. Perfect camouflage for a safe house—unless you go out to a club and expose yourself to the enemy because you wanted to rebel without considering the consequences.
The van turned, putting the looming black cloud out of Jessie’s line of sight. Jessie put her hands over her face and wept.
Ree sat next to her and she felt his hand on her shoulder.
She shook it away. She didn’t deserve comfort.
I did this. I killed Wertz.
Chapter Thirteen
BACK IN HUMAN FORM, ELKA washed the last of Kenny’s blood off of herself in his shower. His body and head remained in the living room where they had fallen. The carpet had soaked up his blood in little time. Short of tearing it up, there was no way to hide the stains.
With the water beating down on her, Elka leaned her head against the shower tiles. Damn it, why had he forced her to kill him?
He didn’t. He dropped the knife after you changed. You could have scared him off and left without harming him.
She pounded the tiles with the heel of her fist.
She had wanted to kill him. Needed to. From the moment she woke up to the rage, someone’s death had been inevitable. But she was better than this. More careful. Kenny and his twisted, impatient lust had ruined everything.
She no longer felt pity toward him. She was glad he was dead. That didn’t, however, change the fact that she had a job ahead of her. In broad daylight, disposing of his body would prove difficult. Scrubbing the evidence, impossible. This left her with one option. The one she had wanted to avoid, but that she had known she would have to choose eventually.
It always came to this.
Her tears blended with the water pouring over her. She wiped her face. Double-checked for any remaining blood, then turned off the spray. She dried herself with one of Kenny’s towels stored in a cupboard under the bathroom sink, then dropped the towel on the floor. She wasn’t worried about leaving DNA evidence. A mortal forensics technician wouldn’t know what to make of what she left behind.
There were other hunters besides mortal law enforcement, though. Hunters who knew how to look for signs she could not erase. The only way to keep them off her trail was to avoid bringing attention to her acts. She would fail any attempt at that here.
Elka dressed back in her Chuggers uniform, the feel of the synthetic fabric especially abrasive after she had spent time in her natural form, in her natural skin, the touch of her mane along the back of her neck, the warmth of her white hair across her flanks.
She returned to t
he living room to survey the gore to make certain she couldn’t sufficiently eliminate any trace. The artery in Kenny’s neck had stopped pumping blood, but the pool left under his headless body had soaked the carpet so thoroughly the nap had flattened like the hair on a wet dog. Probably had soaked through clear to the floorboards by now.
His head had wedged between the floor and wall not far from the entrance to the kitchen. One eyelid had stuck open, making it look like he was winking at her. Ragged flaps of flesh hung from his throat with the look of torn leather helped along by the browning blood.
The air stank with the blood’s signature metallic scent.
Elka saw little hope of salvaging the scene. Even if she waited till nighttime to remove the body, the blood would never come out no matter how hard she scrubbed. And waiting until night would increase her chances of discovery as every minute passed.
“Pisser.”
She had no choice.
Once again she would have to disappear, create a whole new life, start from scratch.
Run, as her people had for as long as their history.
Like prey.
Chapter Fourteen
WHAT’S HAPPENED WITH US?
Jessie sat in the backseat of the small jet, contemplating this question. She would never get a chance to answer it for Wertz. And never mind all the questions she had about what had happened back there.
The jet’s engine sounded like a low hum, almost soothing like white noise. A half-empty bottle of water sat on the table in front of her, ripples quivering on the water’s surface as the jet hit some minor turbulence. Across the table sat Ree. He kept glancing at her. He would open his mouth as if to say something, then clam up and pretend he hadn’t looked at her at all.
Eight pairs of seats with tables between them lined either side of the jet’s interior. The four agents who had escaped from the safe house with her, and the one who had picked them up in the van, occupied some of these seats. Two sat together, while the remaining three sat alone, their expressions solemn, eyes glazed over while they looked inside themselves. Jessie knew what they were doing because she was doing the same.