Both Ways

by Ileandra Young

  Then Quinn drops into view, her gun levelled at my head.

  Her lips move. I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears, but I can read the words easily enough.

  “You’re done, Karson. You’re so, so done.”

  * * *

  My mind is wandering again. Not that there’s much else for me to do in this cell beyond staring at the backs of my eyelids, pondering the new additions to my record.

  Assault. Grievous bodily harm.

  There’s slander too, but Mikkleson will no doubt pursue that separately.

  And there’s the little matter of my SPEAR license.

  I can’t remember deciding to attack Mikkleson. Not sure I did. Can’t even remember exactly what I did, just the panic in his eyes. There’s blood on my top and face. Most has dried now, and the skin on my cheeks and jaw pulls in odd directions. More on my bandaged hand, which throbs in time to the thudding in my head.

  My mind drifts back to Quinn, to her furious face as she glared at me over the barrel of her gun.

  Her words faded in and out, so did everything else, but one thing stood out above all other sounds.

  You’re done, Karson. You’re so, so done. You’re not just grounded, you’re dismissed, hear me?

  I do remember screaming. Maybe that’s why my throat hurts so much. My shoulders too, aching from my frantic lunge across the hallway.

  You’re dismissed. When the general hears about your conduct, it’s over. Given the evidence, I doubt they’ll even bother with a hearing. Prison, Karson.

  Something wet rolls down my cheek, through the dried tracks of blood.

  When I wipe it, my hands come away with crumbly pink smears.

  No.

  I’m not crying. I’m not.

  Pacing again. Up and down, up and down, left right, left right, left right in front of the bed.

  The walls blur and I wipe my face again.

  Left right, left right, left right.

  I reach the far corner of the cell and rest my forehead on the wall with my eyes closed. I focus on my breathing, working to bring that back under control while my hands shudder and shake. More wetness on my cheek. It slides down my jaw and off the end of my chin, splattering the cold grey floor.

  I’m not crying. I’m not crying. I’m not—

  A whimper bursts out of me, loud and frantic in the silence. It’s followed by another, and another, and then I’m sobbing, slapping my palms on the wall while tears rack my body.

  No idea how long I’ve been crying when the weariness of it takes me to my knees.

  I’m still like that several minutes later when the door opens, and soft footsteps approach the cell.

  I can feel someone staring.

  “Why are you in supernatural containment?”

  My eyes pop open. “Jack?”

  He’s close, forehead resting on the bars, eyes filled with concern. “When they said you’d been arrested, I figured you’d be upstairs, but they’re treating you like a werewolf or vampire. What’s going on?”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Um…” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I talked to one of the officers upstairs, Tina or something? She’s a cute little thing and very friendly—”

  I raise my hand. “Forget I asked.”

  “Sorry, I know we were—”

  “We were what?”

  He smiles, all teeth and wrinkled eye corners. “We didn’t start well, sure, but I know you felt it too. The spark between us back at the restaurant.”

  “I’m gay.” I scoot my legs round to sit more comfortably on the floor.

  He stares. “What?”

  “Gay. A bean flicker? Rug muncher? Todger dodger? Lesbo?”

  His blank look intensifies.

  “I like girls, Jack.”

  “No, no, I get that, I just—” He rubs the sides of his mouth. “So you’re not into guys? At all?”

  “Nope.”

  “Even a little bit?”

  “Never have been.”

  “So when we kissed in the car park—”

  “No.” I raise a hand. “When you assaulted me, I used my fists instead of words. Sorry about that, but the training kicks into high gear in the presence of a threat.”

  “I’m a threat?”

  “No.”

  He looks hurt. “But Teresa said—”

  “Never mind what she said. Mum lives in Egypt on this one.”

  “What?”

  “Denial, Jack. She refuses to accept the fact I’m not your traditional little homemaker, to the point that she’s still setting me up on dates.”

  “Oh. Right.” Jack tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. “So we won’t be—”

  “No.”

  “Ever?”

  “No.”

  “Right. Of course. Shame.”

  I prop my chin on my fist. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I heard about what happened at City Hall. Then my bodyguard put me on high alert in the office, saying you’d gone rogue.”

  “Marco?”

  His eyes widen. “So you really were there.”

  “Yep. Hiding in the ceiling. Heard your little chat with Vixen too, you creep.”

  “Wait, Vixen? Who?”

  “Sorry, did I confuse you? I meant Amelia Smythe.”

  “From the board?” Jack rubs his mouth again. He’s looking back and forth as if searching for help but there’s nobody else down here. Not even the pack of cards on the table from before. “Why do you call her Vixen? What are you talking about?”

  I sigh. “Give it up, okay? I know.”

  “Know what?”

  So he wants to play the game?

  “Know that she’s been funnelling money into Clear Blood for the last few years and that she’s guiding your research and development. Looks like she learned about your little junkie habit too. Is that why you wear all that make-up? Hiding bites, scars, and bruises?”

  Jack hurries up to the bars. “Keep your voice down, please.”

  “What I don’t know is what she’s getting out of it. Marco clearly reports to her, so she must be getting information from the Foundation, but the rest? Her nest, maybe? Come on, tell me, it’s not like I can use the intel any more. What’s she buying? Fake FIDs for her soldiers? Or maybe you’re sending her blood on the side when she can’t get hold of enough humans.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Clearly you’re upset but—”

  “I’m a hell of a lot more than upset.”

  “Okay, you’re angry, but let me help.”

  “Pippa adores you. Wonder if she’d feel the same knowing she works for a two-faced crook.” My vision blurs again and I spin away to face the bed.

  I won’t cry. Not in front of this prick.

  “Danika…”

  “Get out.”

  “But I can help you. I have connections—I know the type of person you are. I can vouch for you. Maybe I can—”

  “I said, get out.”

  His steps retreat. Then return. “You won’t tell anybody about…y’know? Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I don’t want people to get the wrong idea, especially while the election is on and—”

  “Get out, Jack. Get out. Get out, get out, get out.”

  Running footsteps. The door slams.

  Alone. Again.

  The tears fall faster than ever.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Early evening. Must be, by now. Someone brought food a while ago, but I’ve seen more appetizing slicks of puke on the paving slabs outside. It comes with another bottle of water and a plastic knife, fork, and spoon wrapped in a slightly damp napkin.

  I drink the water and tuck the plastic utensils into the back of my waistband. Nothing like the comfort of my gun or stiletto, but better than nothing.

  Tina’s back, sitting against my cell with her back to the bars. Each time I sniff or whimper, she graciously faces forward a
nd keeps talking.

  She chatters about everything and nothing, her boyfriend, their attempts for a baby, the trials and tribulations of house buying, even the latest series on TV, some fantasy show about a woman with three pet dragons. Nonsense. Even civilians know dragons were wiped out by the Romans.

  When she stops, silence falls again, but for the echo of my own sniffles.

  What would Mum say now? After all this time? She’ll probably be pleased to see me out of the job. Now I’d be free to join a sewing class, be an attractive young woman, and find myself the perfect gentleman boyfriend.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I look up. Hadn’t realized I’d laughed aloud. “Just thinking about my family.”

  “Have you spoken with them yet?”

  “No.”

  She frowns. “They don’t know you’re here? Does anyone?” When I shake my head, she stands and tugs a mobile from her pocket. “You’re not a supernatural. You can make a call if you want. Is there anyone you want to speak to? Solicitor?”

  I trudge up to the bars. Who the hell would I call at a time like this? I have a solicitor, of course, SPEAR gave me one, but the last thing I want right now is to speak to my mother. Although…

  Tina hands over the phone and steps away to give me space as I dial.

  It rings three times.

  “Phillipa Karson, who’s calling, please?”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  For several seconds I can’t speak.

  “Hello? Are you there? I can hear you breathing.” My sister grows increasingly agitated. “Are you being gross? Do I need to call the police?”

  “Pip?”

  “Danika?”

  I don’t bother to wipe the tears this time. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

  “What have you done now?”

  The question drags a laugh out of me. “Why do you assume I’ve done something?”

  “Haven’t you always?”

  “Well, I have been arrested and charged with GBH, if that’s what you mean.” I raise my hands as if to calm her squeal of alarm. “I’m fine, but I might have broken Mikkleson’s arm. And nose. And jaw.”

  “Mikkleson? As in the mayor?”

  “Busy day. Anyway, he’s a bad guy. I was doing my job. Kinda.”

  Pippa gasps. “I hate your job.” Her voice is rough, almost a shout, so unlike her that I stare at the phone in alarm.

  “Pip—”

  “I hate it, Dani, so much. All those monsters out there and most of them aren’t even edane. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t cope. I don’t want you to miss…” She sniffs. “Why are you always getting in trouble?”

  Can’t help but smile at that. “I’m good at it. Anyway, trouble usually means I’m doing something right.” I open my mouth to tell her more, to explain that I’m suspended and probably up for dismissal, but I can’t do it.

  Somehow, saying it out loud will make it real.

  “Where are you?” Pippa saves me from the pause by breaking in again.

  “Supernatural holding unit at the police station. I’ll be here a while too, so will you feed Norma for me and give her some fuss?”

  “Who?”

  I touch my forehead. “Norman’s a girl, who knew?”

  “I thought you did. I thought you were being weird, like when you named the hamster Fangs.”

  “I was nine.”

  “Your point?” Her laughter fades to a sigh. “Mum’ll go crazy, you realize? Can’t believe you called me instead of her.”

  “Why the hell would I waste my one phone call speaking to her?”

  “She’s only a pain because she loves you.”

  My eyes sting again. “I know. Keep her inside, will you? Away from all those edane restaurants and bars she likes so much. There’s a bounty on me, and I’m not sure how safe it is for you guys right now.”

  “Dani…” Sniffing. A rough honk as she blows her nose. “What about you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Promise?”

  I tighten my grip on the phone. “Promise, Pip. On my locs, okay? On my locs and hope to trim.”

  Another snuffling nose blow. “You haven’t said that since we were kids.”

  “I mean it. Anything happens to me, I’ll cut off every one.”

  “I don’t want you to cut your hair.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Good. Call me when you’re out.”

  The line dies and I hold the phone to my chest with my eyes closed.

  * * *

  Tina finds me that way, clearing her throat to catch my attention. “Everything okay?”

  “It will be.” Though as I hand the phone back, part of me acknowledges I’m not sure that thought is true.

  “I need to go now. Will you be okay?”

  “Sure. Can’t get into any more trouble now.” I smile.

  She doesn’t. “I-I’m really sorry. I know what being a SPEAR means to you and—”

  “I’m fine. Really. Thanks for being so kind.”

  “Least I can do for the agent who saved my life. And if there’s anything else I can do…”

  I nod, hoping this time that my smile is more convincing. Probably not, but she does nod and walk out, leaving me once again with no company but the screaming in my head.

  * * *

  I’d be bored but I’m too wired.

  No one has been down since Tina, and though that can’t be more than an hour ago, the minutes drag.

  I find myself thinking about Rayne.

  The sun must have set by now. That means she’ll be up and about.

  Where? What is she doing? Thinking? Feeling? Does she know how sorry I am?

  A rustle by the door draws my attention.

  Rayne stands there, staring, pale eyes hot and intense. “Danika?”

  I sit up on the bed. “Is that really you?”

  She smiles. “Hi.”

  I’m up in an instant, running to the bars. I hit them hard, but the pain is nothing to the joy at seeing Rayne safe.

  She grips my hands, squeezes my fingers. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m sorry. I should never have left. You needed me. I promised to help but I ran and now you’re here and—”

  I jerk my hands free and grab her chin. When the words stop, I kiss her, hard, long, and desperate. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was awful to you, I said horrible things.”

  “It’s okay.”

  My fingers run up through her hair, tousling it. Still soft and silky, though now it smells less like her vaguely lemony scent and more like ash and dirty water. “Where have you been?”

  “I…” She looks away. Clears her throat. “I’m not really sure. I wandered around a lot last night, but I could feel the sun coming. It was going to catch me, so I…”

  “What? What did you do?”

  The points of her fangs are tiny right now, the barest hint of sharpness against the rest of her teeth. “I burrowed into the silt at the bottom of the river. Not great, but better than burning to death.”

  “So these clothes…?”

  “I borrowed them.”

  The way she says borrowed makes me think of the way folklore speaks of dark fae borrowing human children.

  I clear my throat.

  She winces. “I stole them.”

  Clearly I’m a bad influence on this woman.

  Then again, the neck of her top scoops low and reveals cleavage I never knew she had. Dark jeans nip close at a high waist and hug her slender legs all the way down into tall black boots. She wears a jacket too, long and denim.

  In fact, she looks like me.

  “Is…do I look bad?”

  “No. Hell, no. You look amazing.”

  She beams and my heart skips.

  I pull again and she follows my grip, closer and closer to the bars, until her cheeks press against the metal.

  “There’s blood on you. Did someone hurt you? Why are your knuckles bruised? There’
s a graze on your forehead too, how did you—”

  “Mikkleson came to see me while I was being interviewed. I may have lost my temper.”

  Rayne leans closer, brushing her nose up and down the side of my cheek. The gesture is vaguely feline and sends a quiver of something electric up and down my spine to end with a fizzing shock in my groin.

  “You smell awful,” she continues, “but all I can think is how glad I am you’re safe. I dreamed about you.”

  Her skin on mine is doing weird things to my concentration. Like, obliterating it. “Hmm?”

  “While I was out for the day. I dreamed of you in trouble, men all around, shooting, shooting, shooting. You couldn’t get away. I tried to help, but I was trapped in place, I couldn’t move. You were dying and I was helpless to stop it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Her nose moves across my cheek and to my mouth. An instant later she tilts her head and whispers against my lips, “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

  I kiss her again. Can’t help it. I crush my lips to hers and taste her sweet, sweet taste, elated and confused all at once. How has she done this to me? And so fast? And why am I running with it?

  Rayne pulls back, grinning wide.

  I pull myself back together with a shake of the head. “Vampires don’t dream.”

  “I did.”

  “So you weren’t dead?”

  She shrugs.

  I’ve learned more about vampires from spending two days with Rayne than I managed throughout the entire span of my SPEAR training. If vampires can dream during the day, we’ve got it so wrong.

  I lean it for another kiss, but Rayne is halfway across the room.

  “Damn it, don’t do that, I can’t—”

  She puts a finger to her lips. “Someone’s out there.”

  “Probably another copper come to gawk. How did you get in, anyway?”

  Another one of those meltingly hot grins. “Vampire.”

  Of course.

  “And I came to get you out. We need to stop Vixen.”

  That name brings back the last few hours like a punch to the tits.

  “Can’t help you.”

  She walks back to me. “What are you saying?”

  I bite my lip. Again my eyes prickle, but this time anger keeps the tears at bay. “Quinn suspended me. Probably because of what I did to Mikkleson, but mostly because she’s a hateful, up her own arse bitch-face.”