by A. J. Aalto
“That's for stabbing me,” I shouted, and hit her again as she lurched forward. “And that's for lying about Mark. And this is for trying to steal Harry.”
Chapel was there then, grappling with her, hauling her by the armpits. I backed away, kicked the BBQ grill off the already-blackened pit and turned to instruct him. It wasn't necessary. He shoved her forward at the dark gap, thrusting her so hard that her left arm flew out of its socket with a wet crack and skid under the front tire. The rest of her tumbled in a pile, scrambling as she collapsed, one remaining arm flailing. I hit the flicker on the butane lighter again and the residual gas lit like magic, trapping Danika's ghoul in a fiery embrace.
“Arm!” I barked, and Gary kicked it to me. “Grill!” Gary booted that to me too. I shoved the oven mitts back on and muscled the grill down over Danika's still-muscular arm, as she fought to toss it off. The pit wasn't deep enough to keep her in, if she was determined enough to explode out of it. Her jaws chattered and I removed the hot grill to kick her in the mouth.
“Knock it off,” I roared, frantic to be done with this. “Don't be a little bitch and die already.”
I kicked her again. Her head snapped back, leaving a big smear of rotting flesh on the toe of my Keds. Her teeth fractured, splitting her tongue in half. Horrified, I forced the grill back down and stood on it with the opposite foot, giving the left one a dose of burning love.
Dead Danika flew into a wildly flailing, pitching hysteria, sickly wet noises popping in her throat. I turned my eyes away so I wouldn't have to watch her face melt off in a big waxy slab.
As soon as the hands stopped clawing, I pulled my foot back and gave it and the pit a few blasts with the fire extinguisher. Then I foamed the Bugatti so Harry's two million dollar car wouldn't go kablooey. Charred ghoul bits mixed with foam spit up and floated out of the pit into the air.
But it wasn't over. After the foam and charred ash settled, a warmth remained, a sickly heat that did nothing to warm my spirit or put me at ease. I felt my lips moving even before I could imagine the problem.
“Beroth of Sanchoniaton, Berith of the Sichemites, known as Duke Bolfri of the Grave, here and below, Seer of the Past, Present and Future: I witness thy Great and Terrible otherworldly presence, and hereby free thee of thine unnatural chains to mortal flesh.”
A shriek to rattle the boathouse window ripped through the air and blew past us, shoving out the door and into the night. When our hair settled and our shoulders un-pinched, I craned my neck and snuck a peek at Chapel.
He looked like a man in a trance. His mouth opened, but he didn't seem to be able to make any sort of sense, so he closed it again. When he did speak, he said:
“What the hairy fuck?”
I'd never seen him baffled, and I sure as hell never heard him swear, ever. A laugh, sudden and straight from my quivering knot of a gut, exploded into the night air behind the vanished demon. I was victorious. Exhilarated.
“Burnt the heck out of my Keds, but I think the ghoul problem's solved.” I tossed the fire extinguisher on the ground with a clang. When I was sure my knees weren't going to embarrass me by buckling, I took a few shuffling footsteps toward him. “Thanks for, uh… Danika.”
“I've got your back,” he said dazedly.
“I'm sorry you got ghoul scum on your hands.”
“Not your fault.” He dropped his too-wide eyes down and examined the smears on his palms and in between his fingers. “I'm going to throw up.”
I nodded in complete understanding. “I might do that too. We'll take turns.”
“OK.” He backed out of the boathouse. “I'm sorry about before. About overstepping the boundaries. I owe you an explanation.”
“Maybe later,” I suggested. “Right now, I'd love a shower. And then what do you say you and I celebrate by getting rip roaring drunk, Gary Chapel?”
Gary bent to pick up his gun, looked at it like he didn't understand why he even carried one anymore. “Where is everyone else?”
“Buying me tampons and chocolate.” I motioned to the stinking ghoul pit. “I have PMS.”
He surveyed the damage. “Obviously.”
“Batten drank all my gin, but Harry always has absinthe,” I said, putting a hand out to grab his elbow. “How about it, SSA Chapel? Are you on duty tonight?”
“I don't see why the hell I should be. Hey Marnie?”
“Yes, Gary?”
“I meant what I just said. I've always got your back. Why didn't you…” His face appeared pained. “I hope you know you can always call on me. You never have to face any of this alone: the Motor Inn, Ruby, any of it. I wish you hadn't gone alone.”
I bit my tongue, casting a glance at the reeking boathouse, where Danika had finally come to rest. “Look, I'm no angel. I don't pretend to be. I had to go to the Motor Inn. She had something on me, threatened to expose it to the media if I didn't help her. It was self-interest on my part.”
“Don't protect him,” Chapel advised with a shrewd look. “Mark's a big boy, he can take care of himself. And when he can't, it's my problem, not yours. If he knew that's why you went, he'd say the same thing.”
I kept my face blank. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Gary.”
“All right,” he conceded.
“It's all water under the bridge,” I sighed, trying to change the subject. “The Green Fairy awaits. I'll get the bottle, you get the sugar cubes.”
A furious squawk made both of us flinch. In the distance, Ajax and Wesley's debt vulture had taken flight to defend their turf against a third bird, a creature of generous proportions and enormous swooping wing span. I cast my chin around nervously at the yard, looking for movement. Looking for Gregori Nazaire.
“Too bad Ruby Valli didn't follow her bitches in,” he mused, then caught himself. “Monsters. I don't say the b-word. Officially, I didn't say any of that.”
“Officially, I didn't hug you for sayin’ it,” I said, and planted a big wet one on his cheek, squeezing him hard. Taken off guard, he was stiff in my arms, and didn't relax until I said, “It's fine, Chapel. Harry isn't going to rip your head off for a hug.”
He let his breath out, patting my back. “But Gregori Nazaire might. We should get back inside.”
* * *
By the time the familiar growl of the Kawasaki rumbled out front, Chapel and I were showered, re-dressed, smashed on a very old bottle of Pernod Fils and acting silly. Slightly more sober than he, I was able to register the fact that Gary Chapel was an amusing drunk. His smile was every bit as warm and professional as ever, but when something tickled him he let loose a high, bubbling giggle that set me off over and over. Half way into the bottle, I'd realized that having Chapel feed my Harry suddenly wasn't the worst thing in the world. Especially now that I'd seen a ghoul's face slop off.
Wes joined us in the front yard to greet them, complaining about a craving for cheeseburgers. I didn't have the heart to tell him he couldn't eat real food anymore, not now, not yet. There's only so much you can tell a new dead guy in one day.
We let Harry and Batten know about the ghouls. The expressions of shock on their faces were priceless, if a little insulting. I couldn't blame them for being surprised, but did they have to go on and on about how unlikely it was that I had succeeded? Harry offered me the bag of female stuff he knew I didn't need; I hoped there were cookies inside. Our fingers brushed as he passed it, mine warm and sticky with slopped booze, his cool and firm.
An ill spark lit between us and his hand shook. Without warning, Harry's gimlet gaze bled past silver to pure white, and the voice that purled on the back of his throat was unrecognizable, inhuman. “MJ…”
Shot through with panic, I put my hand on Chapel's forearm to steady myself. “Gary…” I choked on my warning. “Oh God, Gary. Back. Get back!”
And Harry whispered, “Run, my love.”
FIFTY-THREE
Wesley whipped around and lunged at me, hissing, fangs bared. I slugged his open mouth, feeling the
press of mouth-hot enamel against my bare knuckles. Psi flung open a link, a blood-red wash of wild hunger, uncontrolled. Ducking, I fell under Wes’ reaching arms, scooted through his legs, heaving the Buick's door open and plunging inside.
“Get in the car, get in the car!” I hollered over my shoulder.
The minute the doors slammed behind us, the Buick was rocking over on its side. I fished under the passenger side seat for my Beretta while Batten was distracted. With a window-shaking slam, the car rolled onto its roof. I folded into an awkward flailing ball upside down, my neck bent unnaturally. Flipping over, feeling as dexterous as a walrus on a bicycle, I watched through the windshield as Harry grabbed the side of the car and gave it another heave.
“Hold on!” I warned as the old Buick came off the ground. This time, glass broke somewhere, and the inner workings made horrible crunching metal noises as one revenant rolled it and the other slammed bodily into it from the driver's side. Batten poured out the bent passenger side door and Chapel and I followed. We beat-feet across the frozen ground, not near enough to the house to make it. The SUV's black shadow was the closest shelter.
Behind us, the Buick tumbled end over end landing with a teeth-jarring smash, crumpling into itself when it came to rest.
Batten exploded, “Fuck!”
I slugged him in the arm and shouted, “Don't look back, just go go!”
“What's going o—”
“Don't stop!” I screamed. “SUV! SUV!” We dove in, making room for one another in a desperate pile of arms and legs.
We'd barely shut the door when Wes slammed into the passenger side. The safety glass held, but wouldn't for long. Dropping in front from the sky, Harry's fist pulverized the hood. Metal crumpled with a screech. Harry bared his teeth, saliva flying from behind his fangs as he hissed in frustration. My hackles went up and stayed there. I'd never seen him feral and out of control, but I knew it was as bad as it could get.
“Don't make eye contact!” I reminded over the sound of the pummeling. “They'll try to snag you with their mind control. Keep your eyes averted!”
Chapel's shirt had been torn down one arm and his skin shredded by the Buick's splintered metal grabbing at him. Blood plumed down from Batten's nose, and he ran the back of his hand to swipe it clear.
“Kit's in Harry's room.”
“You'll never make it,” I panted. “I'll go.”
“Fat fucking chance,” Batten snarled.
“I'm faster than you could ever be,” I assured him. “And I'm the only one who can—”
Chapel pointed past our faces. “Brace yourself; they're going to flip it!”
The windshield burst in a glittering hail of glass and a back tire blew with a bang. My face dropped into the gear shift hard. A solid welt sprang instantly on my forehead like a black knuckle.
I crawled over the seat into the back, yanked down the back seat pad, accessed the spare tire well, wrestled the tire out, shoved it in Batten's lap. “Chapel, get in,” I barked. “And stay down.”
He blinked at me. “I can't do that.”
“If anyone should be hiding in there it's you,” Batten told me sternly, “But we gotta get out of here before they crumple us into a big metal ball.”
“We're going to climb out, so they can shred our throats?” I challenged. “And you call me a dunce?”
Chapel's hand quickly went through his pockets for a spare clip. He didn't have one. He looked hesitant to drop the gun, though it was useless in his hand. “Why are they doing this?”
“Someone got them by the feeding instinct, throwing them a big fat dose of feral aggression. And I bet I know who.”
Chapel said, “Ruby Valli.”
“Could she do this with black magic?” Batten asked.
I was pretty sure Ruby Valli, left to her own sick devices, could do anything. With her shop burnt down and all her supplies gone, I didn't know how she'd come up with something so complex so quickly, but I didn't have time to worry about it. “Has to be her. The only other person who hates us this much…” Is dead, Dunnachie is dead, but I was careful not to finish that thought aloud. “Is a vampire hunter. He wouldn't have the skills to do this.”
Batten studied the look on my face, sniffing freely-running blood back up into his nose, then nodded. I thought maybe he agreed with my thought, and not what came out of my mouth, and wondered if my eyes had told all.
Batten put the seats back and cranked them into a half-sleep to create cavity. Wes was crouching in the corner by the rear window, making an ungodly noise in the back of his throat, pounding holes in the SUV's body like it was paper.
“Marnie, get in.” Batten motioned to the cavity, voice raised. “Don't fuckin’ argue with me, just do it.”
I pulled the Beretta out from my back and shoved it unceremoniously in his face.
“You get the fuck in, asshole, before they make me accidentally pull this trigger.” Batten dove like he'd been kicked in the temple. The SUV rocked again. “Now, I'm sure I told you: I'm faster than you. The reason for that is, right now, wearing his dinner fangs and trying to work out how to crack this shell to eat the tender morsels inside. I'm going. You're staying, both of you.”
That being said, I really didn't know what the hell I was going to do, once I got inside the cabin, but it was a safer place to think over my options. I hoped it wouldn't come down to getting Batten his kit.
I tumbled over the seat back and kicked at the weakened car window, spider-veins of fractures making it unclear. I had to do it three times, but finally squares of safety glass showered my ankle. Wrangling out of the shattered car window took what felt like forever, considering two slavering revenants in a blood rage were on the other side of the car whipping jagged-edged chunks of the SUV's metal around. I felt like I was fishing for sharks with my legs as bait.
The second my head was clear I threw myself in a clumsy roll and got to my feet. I booked-it for the front door, afraid to look where the vamps were. Breath streamed from my nostrils in furious puffs.
Wesley's alert, a high keening wail of hungry triumph, roiled over the yard behind me. An answering bellow from deep in Harry's throat told me I had two seconds, tops, to get in the house. I was wrong. A hundred and ninety pounds of angry monster hit my back and catapulted me forward into snow. I flung one arm out to stop my spin. Coming to rest, I shook my head clear.
Fangs ripped and shredded into that hand. I felt little bones bend like twigs under the pressure of Harry's jaws, threatening to snap. The high-pitched sound that tore from my chest was an entreaty that went unheard, but there was no pain.
The hand wasn't appealing enough. Harry snarled his dissatisfaction and threw it away from his blood-smeared lips, and moved closer to eye my neck. My hand felt like a slab of throbbing, useless meat.
“Harry! Harry, it's me, please come back to me,” I begged, nearly weeping as my un-chewed hand pushed the front of his shirt. If he got on top of me, I was done for. But he didn't.
He reared to strike from the side, honed-in on my throat. I shoved two fingers up fast at his eyes and his head darted aside, the curve of his neck reminding me of a cobra.
“Mind your manners, revenant!” I attempted, my voice sonorous, surprising me. “Death Rejoices, for your DaySitter calls you forth from wild pursuits, and you will listen. I command it.”
He bayed, caught in the throes of ecstasy at the scent of blood spilling from my palm.
“Or not,” I answered. I flicked my injured hand, watched bright red spray lash the snow, drawing his eye for a split second, which gave me an instant to make a break for it. Sheer luck allowed me to slip from his sudden grab. Launching away, I sprinted through the air to the porch.
My knees wobbled, threatening to pitch me back down, and my brain taunted. He's coming, he's faster, you'll never make it. I threw one glance back at the decimated SUV over my shoulder, saw a swirling blur of black coat around pale flesh, kept pounding the ground, fists clenched and pumping. Three steps awa
y, two, one, my quivering lips moved non-stop:
“Lord Guy Harrick Dreppenstedt, I revoke your welcome to my home! Wesley Alexander Wasp Baranuik Strickland I revoke your welcome to my—” I felt the brush of fingers on my neck and dove, “Home!”
I tucked and rolled. The rag rug skid with me, and I hit the hallway wall in a human ball. My Beretta went skittering out of my pocket down the hall until it hit something and jumped to a stop.
Both revenants hit the open doorway at a full run, the preternatural rush sheering the very air. They struck the spectral barrier with an audible crack, like a shot. It shuddered the door jamb, rocked the cabin like it was made of popsicle sticks. But it held.
Unwelcome, Harry staggered onto his heels, face contorting furiously. He threw back his shoulders in one quick move, shedding his long black coat in an irate jerk. His ghostly pallid chin jut forward and he roared at me, demanding my surrender. I huddled around my bleeding hand, cupped it against my middle and waited to witness the outcome. Un-Invitation in the real world? I'd done a second year paper on the theory of Un-Invitation, but like most preternatural biology, theories went untested for decades.
Harry's lip curled back, revealing the fangs that normally worked gently at my skin. Now they were weapons, cutting blades, killing canines. A sad brand of terror tore a hole in my heart. His eyes, beaming arctic white now with widening pupils eating up the expanse, rattled me more than anything else, more than my inability to catch my breath or the sickening drumming in my head or the sight of the ruined cars in the drive. His eyes were empty of recognition, empty of his fine English dignity and grace, empty of his affection or sex. They had fled to pure primal heat, wanting only to rip me open like a bag of blood. They dehumanized me utterly, and for a moment I hated him for it.
Fingers of his mind control wriggling in the front of my brain shook me out of my self-pity. Then they sought any hold they could master, a subtle pull at my willpower. Quickly, I broke eye contact, dropping my gaze to the threshold, where on hands and knees Wesley waited, slavering for his meal. My brother's lolling head came up and through the pale rainforest of his long knotted hair, his piercing eyes also tried to catch mine.