Guess I’ll find out later.
I have the time to lock the doors before Jack’s grip tightens, towing me towards the door of my apartment block.
* * *
Now I remember why people never visit my flat.
The door opens to a sea of my own slobbery: clothes, DVDs, and plates laden with crumbs strewn across the front hall and living area.
Jack lingers in the doorway, a hand over his mouth, unsuccessfully hiding his distaste.
“I don’t usually have guests.” Six different bras, three odd socks, and a blouse make a mismatched heap in my arms as I zoom around the room. I toss the lot into the kitchen, silently promising I’ll clean up later.
“It’s fine—”
“Oh yeah? Mum would have a fit if she knew you’d seen this.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” He smiles again, eyes bright with the double entendre.
A thong and an off-white pair of granny pants slide from my grip. After a moment of thought, I leave them on the sofa, put my hands on my hips, and offer my best attempt at a coy smile. “Secrets? Whatever would my mother say?”
He leans as if to sit, changes his mind, then perches on the arm of the sofa. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His eyebrows lift suggestively. “Though I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I—”
“Danika Kar? Son-son? Karson, Karson, Karson, Kaaaaaaaa!” In a flurry of wings and shedding scales, Norman bursts from my bedroom. He loops my head, tight, frantic circles, before diving, screeching, at my face.
I catch the flustered creature before it can reach my eyes. “Hey. Hey, baby, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
“Dan-dan kaaar,” he wails, nuzzling my cheek with his sharp, pointy beak.
Jack scrambles back so fast, his hip slams the back of my sofa. “Is that a chittarik?”
I bump the little creature up to my shoulder. “His name is Norman.”
“Norman? Like a pet?”
A shrug. “I rescued him from the river six months ago. He’d fallen in and soaked his wings, no way he was getting out. I tried to put him back in the nest, but the other chicks wouldn’t let him stay. I thought they were going to peck his eyes out.”
“Chicks and the mother reject anything that doesn’t smell right.”
I nod and shift Norman to the other shoulder to stop him gnawing my hair. “He bonded with me while I was trying to figure out what to do. After that, I couldn’t let him go.”
“Bonded?”
“He started calling my name every three seconds and following me all over the place. Couldn’t even take a shower unless he was there.”
“It imprinted on you.” Jack inches forward, one hand outstretched. “I didn’t know chittarik did that. In fact, I’ve rarely seen one up close outside the carrier unit. Incredible.” He gets within two feet of me before Norman dives off my shoulder, claws extended, tiny fangs gnashing.
With a yelp, Jack throws himself back. His feet catch in the arms of a bra I missed, and he tumbles over onto his back.
I snatch the furious creature out of the air and jam him, squirming and squawking, under my arm. “Yeah, and he doesn’t like men much. Especially around me. I wouldn’t get much closer if I were you.”
“Karson,” yells Norman, as if to prove the point. “K-kar son-kar!”
Jack scrambles to his feet. “But chittarik are pests.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“They’re a Class B edane mini beast—you can’t keep it here.”
I hold Norman at eye height and pull some silly faces. “No, no, baby. Don’t listen to the mean, mean man. Of course you can stay with me.” He hisses softly and brushes his tail against my cheek.
“Mean man?” Jack clears his throat. Then, the smile is back, all teeth, twinkling eyes, and perfume ad perfection. “Clearly you have this in hand. I…I need to go. Someone needs to tell Terri you’re in one piece.”
“Thanks.” Another saccharine smile, still making kissy faces at Norman.
At the door, he pauses to shake the bra off his heel. “By the way, that chittarik is female. It’s subtle, but the barbs on the end of the tail are shorter on the males.” He shrugs. “Thought you should know.”
The door clicks shut.
I exhale. “You—I kiss Norman’s beak—“are an angel, you know that? I was running out of ways to gross him out.”
The chittarik cocks its head to study me through one beady eye. “Danika Karson?”
“So, you’re a girl, who knew?” Suddenly I’m laughing, roaring, hugging the scaly body tight to my chest. “A girl who doesn’t like men. No wonder we get on so well. Guess you need a new name.”
“Danika Karson.”
“No, that’s taken. What about Normina? Or Gertrude? Or Prudence? Norma?”
“Dan. Son, kar-kar, Danika.”
I put him—no, her—back on my shoulder. “Good. Pleased to meet you, Norma, I’m—”
“Danika Karson?”
“Yeah, okay, smart-arse.”
* * *
I give up on trying to keep Norma inside. Each time I head to the door, she makes such a fuss that I worry about the neighbours. In the end, I head down to street level with her riding on my head, clawing and fussing with my locs.
Most other residents are out for the day, since they work more traditional jobs than mine, but I know one or two are either old and retired or too bum lazy to work. Whichever they are, I need to avoid them while dragging that hefty body bag into the service lift.
Outside, a fat ginger cat peers down at me from the stone wall fronting the block. It hisses as I walk by, arching its back and laying both stubby ears flat to its head.
Norma growls right back, a protective snarl that sends the moody tom dashing for cover.
“That’s my girl.”
She purrs.
My car is where I left it, parked haphazardly against the pavement edge. A bright yellow packet flutters on my windscreen, Parking Notice stamped across the front.
“I’m barely touching the stupid line.”
At the far end of the road, a uniformed traffic warden scurries around the corner.
I grab the ticket, shove it into a pocket on my overalls, and stomp around to the back.
What now?
Is it safe to open? What if I do and Rayne goes up in smoke?
If the bag isn’t light tight, then my only lead is a goner by now anyway. But what if I leave her and something happens? Or if something happens to me and she can’t get out? It would be a really bad day for the poor sucker who eventually opened the boot.
Eyes scrunched shut, shoulders drawn towards my ears, I pop the lock and lift.
No bang. No fire. No smoke.
Yay.
And there’s the body bag, wrapped in blankets, then covered in four layers of bin liners.
Not graceful, not pretty, but functional.
Norma flutters off my head to lead the way back inside as I heft the lumpy load onto my shoulder.
My knees wobble, my back creaks, but I can move. Slowly.
“Hello, Danika. Not off for a run this morning?”
I stifle a groan.
The lady from the apartment below mine stands in the doorway, with a mop head at her feet attached to a length of leather covered in cubic zirconia. A mop head that promptly barks and growls at Norma.
“Stop that, Shirley. Stop it now.” Though stern, her voice is high and shrill, a perfect match for her four foot frame. Couple that with boobs that reach her knees and curly hair dyed a weary shade of purple, and it’s no surprise that the mop-dog ignores her utterly.
More barking, until Norma thuds to the ground and roars at the top of her tiny lungs.
Shirley backs off, whimpering.
“Um…” I fight to steady my buckling knees. “No run this morning, day off.” Now if only I could remember her name.
“What you got there? Looks heavy.”
“Stuff for the flat, bed sheets, rugs—”
“In one bag? You’ll get dust all over your sheets.”
“Oh. Darn. Wish I’d thought of that.”
Mrs. Purple Hair beams and tugs sharply on Shirley’s lead. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you’ve lots to do, saving the world, protecting humankind, going on dates.”
I smile. Try to. “I like to keep busy.”
“Now there’s an app my granddaughter uses. On her phone? You look at pictures and swipe the people you like.” The way she says swipe brings to mind an antique dealer describing pewter cutlery or brass doorknobs. “Must be so much easier these days to find young people like yourself. You know, those kinds of people.”
Oh, dear.
“You mean SPEAR agents?”
She laughs and waves a knobbly, liver-spotted hand. Each nail is painted devil red and shaped to a clawlike point. “No, no, don’t be silly.” She lowers her voice and whispers behind her hand, “I mean the gay people.”
“Ah. Those people.” I nod. “Don’t worry, every new moon we gather by the river for a big meet-and-greet. Everyone brings a swimming costume and we practise diving off the docks and racing the swans. Then we all get dressed, pair off, and stop for fish and chips at this tiny little Greek place outside Misona.”
“How lovely.” Oblivious, she pats my shoulder. “I’m glad you have regular meets with friends. I do hate thinking of you alone in this place, all bored and lonely. You’re such a kind and polite young woman.”
I haven’t the heart to correct her. Especially since, despite her dark ages attitude, this virtual stranger is more accepting of the truth than my own mother who is blind or wilfully ignorant. Or both.
“Thanks.” This time my smile is real and indulgent. “Have a good day, okay?”
“I always do, dear. Come on, Shirley, stop being so shirty.” She yanks at the dog, waves brightly, then totters off.
My knees give another angry wobble, reminding me of the distance still to travel. They hold until, puffing and panting, I reach the service lift…which is out of order.
Of course.
At least I’m only on the third floor.
* * *
Whoever gave that advice about using the stairs over a lift clearly didn’t have a sack of dead flesh to lug around. I do these steps every day, but now, at my door, my whole body is sheathed in sweat.
My knees give out as I reach the front hall, leaving me to kick the door shut and shunt the body bag through like a rolled-up carpet.
There, finally in the living room…bathed in the sunlight streaming through my window.
Closing the curtains dims the room, but light from the kitchen and bedroom still provides a dangerous glow.
Where the hell do I put her?
I crawl through the last of my floor junk to reach the boiler cupboard in the corner. Too small.
Bathroom?
A shudder tickles down my back.
I’d rather not pee with a dead body watching. Same goes for my bedroom.
Kitchen?
With the blinds shut, the darkness is deeper with no direct sunlight on the lower cupboards.
The first holds all my cookware, pots, pans, and dishes, the one beside it, my crockery and a few dry foods.
I pull the shelf running through the centre of the unit, but it doesn’t budge. Norma tries to help by jabbing at the shelf with her beak and complains when I lift her out of harm’s way.
“I’ve got this, girlfriend. Watch and learn.”
“Danika Karson?”
One push-kick later, the shelf is in pieces.
The jagged plywood shards would make a handy set of stakes, but I stack them on top of the fridge and well away from Rayne’s potential line of sight.
Giggles consume me as I twist, turn, and finally wedge the body bag into the space. Maybe it’s shock. Or fatigue. Whatever it is, I can’t stop. Tears spring to my eyes and my ribs ache as the giggles become full-on hysterics. Even the ringing of my landline can’t snap me out of it.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” a gruff voice scolds as I answer.
“Pip?”
“Weren’t you coming over for breakfast?”
Oops.
“I’m sorry but”—the giggles are back, stupid, girly titters I can’t control—“there’s a vampire in my kitchen cupboard.”
“Come again?”
“Fanger. Cupboard. I wrapped her in a body bag and put her next to the saucepans.”
Pippa sighs. “I knew I should have kept you longer after those shots. I’m coming over.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re cracking jokes about cupboard vampires.”
“It’s not a joke. It’s the one who attacked Jack. I was going to log her and let SPEAR take care of it, but then she told me about this bounty on my head. I’m all, No, that’s bull, and she says, Yeah, well check it. And by the way, I’m not registered and neither are any of my hundred nestmates—Pip?”
Rustling down the line. The jangle of keys.
“No, I told you, you can’t come here.”
“There’s a vampire in your house. A vampire, Dani. One that’s already attacked a human.”
I make soothing, shushing noises. “She’s out cold, wrapped in a body bag, and locked in my cupboard. Besides, look outside. She’s not going anywhere until sundown.”
A long pause. “She?”
“Yeah. Female.”
“I see.” Pippa clears her throat. “I’ve never heard you refer to a vampire as anything other than it.”
I flop on to the sofa. “What? No, I—”
“Yes. Werewolves are skilled hunters, trolls are tanks, fae are a pain in the arse, but vampires? They’re dirty-stinking-death-monsters. Never she.”
The laughter is gone now, the warmth it brought replaced by a prickling discomfort across my shoulders. “She—it has information. I can’t afford to let the lead go cold.”
“Of course. And does she have a name?”
Pause. “Rayne.”
Pippa hoots as if she’s scored a goal. “My big sis, finally getting to know a vampire. Is that where you were all night? With Rayne? Shouldn’t she be in a holding cell? How did you get her home?”
“Long story.”
“But—”
“I love you, Pip, really I do, but sod off. Sorry I missed breakfast—I’ll make it up somehow—but for now, please, please, go away.”
“Make it up by telling me about this vampire.”
“There’s nothing to tell—”
“Is she cute?”
“She’s a vampire!”
“So?” Pippa chuckles. “Come on, is she cute? What does she look like? Has she got green eyes, I know that’s your thing—”
“Bye, Pip.”
“Wait, is she tall? Short? Is she blond?”
I hang up.
* * *
A part of me, a strange, rowdy part, wants to check on the body bag stashed in the kitchen cupboards.
No, her eyes aren’t green, but that shade of dusky acorn brown is beautiful and one I’ve never seen before. Not on a vampire or anyone else.
Norma jump-dives onto my shoulder and rubs her beak against my cheek. “Kaaaaaaaarson.”
“Yeah, right? Pip is full of crap.”
In the bathroom, I spin the taps over my bath and add a generous blob of bubbles. After last night, a long soak sounds like bliss.
While it runs, I grab my phone and dial out to the SPEAR switchboard. “Francine Quinn, please.”
She answers on the second ring. “What the hell are you playing at, Karson? These lines aren’t toys.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb you arrogant little—” She grunts. “I’ve got work to do. If you’ve nothing to say, get the hell off my line.”
I place my hand over Norma to stop her growling. “What are you talking about? For once I haven’t done anything.”
“Last night? Ungodly hours of the morning, you decide to
dump-dial me? That might be your idea of a fun prank, but I was in the middle of a very important—” Another grunt. “You have no business calling me at that time of night without good cause.”
“I do have good cause. That’s why I’m calling now. I have a lead on the missing persons and—”
“So? Why are you telling me? I tasked you that case because I thought you could use some initiative. Don’t tell me I need to hand-hold you through it?”
Norma snarls. I silently agree.
“You know what, I can handle this. Sorry to…waste your precious time.”
“Finally learning some respect? Good. Knew this case would do you some good. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Good. Report at the end of the week.”
Click.
I toss the phone on the bed. My fingertips itch and tingle, that familiar longing to wrap them around Quinn’s skinny throat. Instead, I tug the punchbag from the corner of my bedroom and firmly pummel it while the bath runs.
Norma skirts tight circles around my head, occasionally swooping in to scrabble at the leather with her claws.
“Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.”
With each punch and kick I add an insult until sweat drips into my eyes and my muscles hum with fatigue. Somehow, this is more satisfying than sparring with Noel. Here, I can scream as much as I like and visualize Quinn’s face crumpling beneath every impact against the bag.
Another two minutes and I’m done and so is the bath.
Stripping down and sliding into the water is the single most glorious moment of my life. Hot suds wash over me and immediately start to soothe the aches built over the last twelve hours.
I dip low enough to immerse my hair, then pop up again. “Norma?”
She brings me a facecloth, dropping it on my head with a chittering gurgle that sounds almost like laughter.
“Thank you, baby.”
“Danika…” She settles on my head and curls her tail tight around her body, a familiar and comforting weight.
Bliss.
Gentle lapping from the water lulls me, relaxes me, and I lean back, allowing my eyes to close.
Just for a second.
Chapter Seven
Both Ways Page 7