Touch of Evil

by C. T. Adams

  “Cool, lady! Another one like that and we’ll wax it for you!”

  I smiled. “No, just make sure it stays in one piece.”

  Ramon wasn’t in the store. Starla, the receptionist, handed me an envelope along with Ramon’s sincere apologies that he couldn’t be here to see me. He had a very important meeting to attend. Yeah, right. I opened the envelope. Inside was the Summons and Complaint and Order of Restitution. There was also a check for ten grand, payable to me. It almost made it worth the trip. Edna was fine for the fifteen seconds I was inside. I could have saved the twenty. The boys were all whispering and looking at me with the strangest expression as I came out. They backed away slowly as I approached. Weird, but oh well.

  Ramon and Celeste live in a trendy foothills neighborhood, where the ticky-tacky houses all have identical rooflines and colors, while trying without success to appear unique and individual.

  Luck was with me! Celeste was in the front yard, trimming hedges as I puttered slowly up asphalt so new it was still a smooth sheet of vivid black. I wondered if I would sink into the tarred depth of it when I stepped out of the truck.

  While I wouldn’t have chosen her outfit in my wildest nightmares, it was classic Celeste. Her flowing, knee-length tunic was in earth tones with geometric patterns and finger-paintings of ancient cave art. It mostly covered a pair of matching capri pants. Silk slippers and a matching cap completed the surreal image. The pants were her grudging acknowledgment to physical labor.

  I tucked the papers into my back pocket and sauntered up casually. When her back was to me briefly, I stepped onto the neighbor’s property. The hedge was neck-high between us.

  “Hi, Celeste!” I said cheerily. She stiffened at the noise and reached a hand into the hedge. Damned if she didn’t come out with an elephant. It was heavy lead crystal. Rainbows patterned on her tunic and bare arm. But when she turned and saw me, she dropped it to the grass with a thud.

  “Oh, my God! Kate! How wonderful to see you, darling!” She gave me a long, searching look. Whatever she’d expected to see wasn’t there. Her smile faded, her body stiffened slightly. She cast a panicked glance towards the house, but decided it was just too far a distance to run for it. I watched the whole process take place in a matter of a second. Impressive, but not enough. I knew now that she had information about what was going on with me, and I intended to get it.

  I smiled, but kept my eyes squarely on hers. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

  A cunning expression flickered across her face. She made the decision to lie, to pretend that it was only the situation with Ramon. “It’s not fair, Kate. I found this house. I love this house and he’s punishing me forever for one moment of weakness.”

  I decided to play along for a bit, make her comfortable and see if anything slipped. I could use intimidation with the best of them, but sometimes an indirect approach works better.

  “You’re rationalizing to the wrong person, Celeste. I’m Catholic, but it’s one of the big ten thou-shalt-nots in pretty much every religion.” I pushed a little harder, wanting to make her emotional enough to drop her guard. “Was it worth it, Celeste? Was it worth throwing away everything you have? Everything you worked for?”

  She looked at me for as long as she could. But then her eyes dropped to the ground and tears glittered brightly. I almost didn’t hear her response. It was a whisper that was nearly lost in the growing wind. “No. I’ve betrayed everything—everyone I care about . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Celeste. I really am.” I took the papers out of my pocket and set them onto the neatly manicured hedge in front of her. “But you have to make a decision, who do you want to be? What do you want your life to stand for?”

  She looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine. She opened her mouth to speak . . . and I felt a surge of the power of the hive. As I watched her knees buckled, her eyes glazing over as she collapsed to the ground, spittle trailing from the corner of her mouth.

  I started around the edge of the hedge to help her, but movement at the edge of my vision stopped me. A handsome young man glared at me through the French doors for the upstairs balcony. He opened his mouth to hiss, giving me a clear glimpse of pointed fangs. With one smooth movement, he leapt from the balcony and landed on the grass in a crouch.

  “Shit!”

  I didn’t run. I did draw one of my knives. With the knife in my right hand, keys in my left, I backed slowly, carefully across the lawn to where my truck was waiting. He followed me, keeping the distance of the width of the perfectly tended lawn between us. When he reached Celeste, he picked her up and hissed at me again.

  I tried to appear casual as I opened Edna’s driver’s door, but my heart was racing a mile a minute. I swore and berated myself for most of the slow, slow drive home. I should’ve known Celeste wasn’t strong enough to go against the hive. Hell, she was weaker than either Dylan or Morris. Damn, damn, damn.

  Still, the more I thought about it, the more I thought I knew what was happening. The problem was that the players had been wrong.

  I was dealing with more than one queen, which shouldn’t be possible. That was like one foot consciously refusing to move after the first one stepped. But Pete had said the same thing, and I couldn’t ignore the blindingly obvious clues anymore.

  I started analyzing what I knew as I carefully made my way home, both knives drawn and visible. No one tried to sneak into the parking garage after me. No one was waiting in the shadows, no matter how many times I spun around and scanned them. Part of me was almost disappointed when I made it to the apartment unmolested.

  But by the time I got there, I had some of it figured out. Tossing the keys onto the kitchen counter, I strode over the stereo, slid in an AC/DC CD and turned the volume way up. I could only hope keeping them out of my head worked in reverse as well. I couldn’t afford for them to know what I was planning.

  So far as I could determine, Amanda, Matthew Quinn, the nurse at the hospital, and the bozo in the pickup truck at the airport were working for Monica. That left Dylan, who obviously was fighting her, and the vamps chasing me on the mall who collapsed. What about Morris? Where did he fit? And who held Celeste’s chain? Between all of these thoughts and the pounding bass beat from the speakers, I was getting the mother of all headaches. And I really, really needed to find my neck brace.

  Where in the hell is it? I wanted to scream with frustration as I tore afghans and sheets from the closet shelf one-handed. I was saving my bad shoulder for important things—like staying alive. Every second seemed an eternity. But I was not leaving here again without my neck guard and my knives in case I had to fight. Monica should have challenged me. Any Thrall should have to attack one at a time. Of course, if you have one hundred of them come at you one at a time, one after another, you’re going to go down. My bet was that the purpose of sending four of them was to overpower my mind and will so that I wouldn’t fight at all.

  My strategy, for what it was worth, was to avoid groups of the Thrall. If cornered, I would challenge Monica to a duel. She’d have to fight me herself or face the wrath of the other queens. Of course, that didn’t seem to mean much at this point. But I didn’t know how hard they were trying.

  I was hoping that she wouldn’t be able to withstand their collective power if they were really pushing themselves. Not a great plan, but it was the best I could think of. It had worked last time. But last time I’d been wearing my neck guard.

  “ARRGH! Where is it?” This time I did shout it out loud to the air. I was losing control. Not good. I took a long deep breath. I stared at the mess I’d made of the contents of my walk-in closet. Calm. Take deep breaths. Try to remember .. .

  My concentration was interrupted by the sound of Tom’s voice accompanied by knocking on the apartment door.

  “Kate, are you home?”

  I didn’t really want to get into a discussion with him right now. It had been a bad day. But he didn’t deserve to get shut out either. I went downstairs and o
pened the door a crack.

  “Tom, nothing personal, but now really isn’t a good time to talk. If you need the key, I’ll get it off my ring.”

  He sighed and pushed against the door lightly. Against my better judgment, I let him. I backed up and he walked in past me. “Kate, I know what’s going on. Your brother came by while I was bringing over some more boxes. He explained everything. That you’re working to protect a girl from the Thrall, and that Dylan is married now. He’s worried about you, and now so am I. He says he heard Dylan calling your priest, and—”

  Oh, that was just super! Joe explained things to Tom. There went any hope of a normal relationship! And no wonder Mike Wants to talk to me. Father Mike is firmly of the opinion that Dylan is just “misguided.”

  My voice raised to get over the sound of Bon Scott’s singing. “I know he’s worried, Tom. But he doesn’t need to be. I’m fine. I just stopped by to get my neck guard and more knives before I get started searching for the girl.”

  “Wait, you know?” Tom finally stopped to actually look at me. What he saw made him wide-eyed. He took slow steps around to the back of me.

  “What in the hell happened to you?” I supposed I should be a little concerned that his voice held at weird mix of fear and horror.

  “Long story.” I started back up the stairs. Guest or no, I was running out of time. The plants were moving into deep shadows as the sun started down the west side of the building. The tiger lily blossoms had already begun to slowly fold in on themselves to prepare for the night.

  “Kate.” His voice cracked with fear. It was dry as dust and was pained enough to make me turn around. “The back of your jacket looks like it was shredded by claws. You’re bleeding all over the floor.”

  I stopped in my tracks, frozen. Then I turned around and looked down. Tiny spots of red were making CSI-style splatter patterns on the floor. My gaze swept the room and I realized the bleeding was growing worse, not better. I didn’t remember the vamp doing anything that would’ve shredded my back—which meant he’d used mind control on me. The fact that he’d succeeded scared me shitless. A baby Host had clouded my mind and nearly taken out my back. I’d always believed I earned my Not Prey status. Had Larry simply gone into shock when I broke his tooth? I wasn’t that good with a knife. He just hadn’t been able to fight. Lord protect me! Without the shield, Monica would have me for lunch!

  Tom saw me shiver and strode past me to the kitchen. I saw him sniff the air a bit, and then open a cabinet in the center island. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey he seemed to know was there and grabbed a pair of cut crystal glasses. He walked back and placing a glass in my hand, and then poured a generous portion for each of us. I didn’t complain, even though it was my whiskey. I needed something to calm me down enough to think clearly.

  He raised his glass and touched it to mine. “Slainte! Here’s health to your enemy’s enemies and the hope and blessings of the three on you!”

  The toast made me wonder what his background was, because it’s a very old, very Irish toast. But it lit a memory, and I let out a whoop. “The hope chest!” I set the glass down on the counter so fast that liquid spilled from the glass onto the tile surface. I took the stairs at a dead run. Flinging clothing and shoes aside I made my way to the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. With trembling fingers, I undid the latch. When I flung back the lid, there it was, right on top.

  I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders as I ran my hands over the slick acrylic. It felt cool, rock solid and comforting. I immediately started pulling off layers of clothing until I was down to my bra, tossing everything on top of the pile spread over my bed.

  “Tom?” I called down. “I may need some help up here.”

  “On my way.” There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his voice. It was rock solid and business-like.

  “Wow.” Tom stared at the mess I’d made of my room from the top of the stairs. “I guess you had a hard time finding this thing?”

  “Just help me into it. It might be the only thing that saves my life today.”

  He frowned and picked up the guard. I held my hair out of the way. He touched my back and I flinched and let out a harsh hiss of air. The cuts must be deeper than I had thought.

  “I want to clean and bandage those claw marks first. Nothing gets infected like human nail scratches.”

  I held my hair up again and nearly shrieked when he touched my back.

  “Jeez Louise, Kate! What have you been up to?” He bent my right arm backward. The elbow felt a bit swollen, but it was nothing compared to the shoulder. I guess driving hadn’t done it any good.

  “Are your fingers tingling? I’m not an orthopedist, but that rotator cuff doesn’t look too hot.”

  “It’s fine,” I replied stubbornly. Actually, it was fine, since it was so swollen it was numb. Tomorrow would be ugly, though. I wiggled my fingers for him, surprised at the effort it took to make it look effortless.

  “Uh-huh. And I suppose that this doesn’t hurt a bit?” He bent my left arm at the elbow with one hand and with the other pressed down on my palm. Shooting pain made me cry out. I yanked my arm away.

  I turned furious eyes to him. “What the hell was that for?”

  “You try to use a knife with that hand and it may be the last thing you ever do with it. I can’t let you go out and risk ruining yourself like this.”

  I’d heard that before, from the surgeon who repaired me after my final match. The arm’s not perfect, mind you, but there’s nothing like someone telling me I can’t do something to ensure that I will.

  “Don’t lecture me, Tom. And don’t get all warm and fuzzy on me. Now is not the time.”

  I saw his eyes go cold, and realized that he wasn’t always a happy-go-lucky nice guy. “Fine. I’ll clean you up, and don’t worry—you bleeding all over the carpet doesn’t really get my engine going.” He turned abruptly and stalked into the bathroom. I heard him banging cabinet doors harshly and almost went to help, but I knew that part of what he was doing was releasing some stress. I understand that. He returned in a few moments with a wet washcloth, a tube of antibiotic ointment and a box of bandages.

  He was as good as his word. Warm and fuzzy never came into play. My breath hissed between my teeth from the sting of the washcloth as he roughly scrubbed it against the opened skin.

  “Hmph. It’s not as bad as I thought from the amount of blood. None of them are deep at all.” Tom made the observations as though to a colleague while he smeared ointment onto the wounds.

  “Most of the blood was his.”

  I could sense him smile. “Attagirl.” He stood and went back into the bathroom for more bandages. It took quite a few of them to cover it all. When he was finished, I checked my mobility by twisting at the waist and bending over. I could feel them pull with the movement, but not enough that it would inhibit me in a fight. They did sting like an S.O.B., though.

  “You’ll need something to cover up that neck guard. If they see it, they’ll take it. Maybe a turtleneck sweater?”

  I shook my head. “Too heavy. I have to wear a coat.” I went upstairs and dug through the clothing on the floor. The arm was starting to ache now, but I couldn’t afford to let Tom see the struggle just to look natural. I finally found a flimsy cotton dickie to cover the guard, and then found a T-shirt over the top of it. It would only look like I was wearing a turtleneck.

  Tom retrieved his drink from the counter and took a long pull of the harsh amber liquid that emptied the glass. He rested his hands on the file, head down. “I want to help.”

  “Tom, that’s a bad idea and you know it.”

  “You shouldn’t be facing them alone.” He met my eyes in the glass of the mirror. His face was flushed; his jaw thrust stubbornly forward.

  “I’m not that easy to kill. If I was, they’d have gotten me last time.” Brave words. But not a lie, and he could tell. He settled the neck guard over my shoulders and snapped the lock with an annoyed shake of his head.

 
I ignored him and went back upstairs. I put on the dickie and the T-shirt and then began rummaging through the pile of clothes on the bed once more. Down at the bottom was my Colorado Rockies jacket. It’s purple, white, and gray, but at least it’s leather. With the biker jacket trashed it was the heaviest thing I had. Unfortunately, it’s lined, so I was going to be miserably uncomfortable. I’d have to drink water every hour to make sure I didn’t wind up with heat prostration. I pulled it on, zipping it closed over the sweater. The elasticized sleeves made it possible to get to the knives at my wrist, but it was slower than I would’ve liked. The biker jacket had zippers I could open that made drawing the knives much quicker. The rays of sunlight streaming in the west window were already making me sweat. I pulled my hair out of the braid and ran a quick comb through it in the bathroom. The wavy hair falling around my shoulders would give further concealment, and allowed some air movement to my neck. I drew the knives in front of the mirror, one at a time. Then I tried pulling both at the same time.

  Tom gave me a long hard stare. His eyes never left me as he watched me draw and redraw the knives. He was staring at me like he’d never seen me before. I walked out of the bath and drew again. The shoulder ached. Slow, too slow—but the best I was going to get.

  Tom didn’t say anything for a long time. When he finally spoke his voice was harsh and strained. “I hate this. I absolutely hate this. I’ll go move furniture. If you get hurt, have the ambulance take you to St. E’s and make sure that Joe calls me.” There was a long pause before he continued. “But if they get you, or you die, so help me God I will kill Dylan Shea with my bare hands.”

  I didn’t doubt it a bit.

  11

  We left within minutes, after I gave Tom my building key—and after multiple promises that I would be careful and I would keep him advised. It was sort of nice to have someone worried about me. But it was also scary.