Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

"You were like that when I saw you," Doctor Blake said, embarrassed. "But I think they did that in the emergency room when they were treating you. They needed to clean your wounds, but your head and face were covered with some kind of paint -"

With a tremendous CRACK the world went black, leaving me choking for oxygen through a sludge of white sticky goop. A splintered five-gallon paint barrel lay splattered around me, and my hands were covered in a thick layer of white paint. "Let's see you use your marks now," Transomnia said, eyes twin red coals.

"Oh, God," I said, hands cradling my bruised, plucked head, hovering over it, afraid to leave it, afraid to touch it. "That bastard got me good, he got me good-"

Savannah came to my side, patting my hand, saying something soft and bracing.

"Leave me alone." I said, eyes squeezed shut. God, what a horrible way to find out how vain I really was. Someone's hand touched my shoulder, and I shook them off. "I don't want anyone to see me like this. Just-please. Leave me alone."

Philip said a few quiet words, and I let my face fall into my hands. After some time the door closed, and when I looked up, I was alone.

I fell back against the bed. I stared at the ceiling. And then, I cried.

"If I wanted to maim you for life, you'd be lying there wearing a bloody pair of meat flippers. And I can have you again. You're my bitch, anytime I want-bitch. And next time I will get creative. So never cross me again. Ever. Ev -er."

I lay there in the hospital bed, drifting in and out.

At first all I could think of was how close to death I'd come. Not just with Transomnia-with all the monsters I had just insulted, taunted or spurned. The Bear King. The Marquis. The 'Lady' Saffron. Even little Cinnamon could have torn my throat out.

What was scarier is that any one of them could have done far worse-made me a werewolf, or vampire, or God forbid, a vampire's slave. Transomnia had proved that my tattoos and all the power I drew from them would not stop a determined opponent. I shuddered. He'd let me off relatively easily, when he could have raped and drained me and made me his mindless thrall. Compared to what he could have done, he'd been a cream puff.

And nothing he had done required any vampire powers. Sure, tossing the paint bucket had been quite a feat, but any big bruiser could have done it. But a big bruiser with a tire iron would have just left me dead or close to it. What was really scary about Transomnia was not his powers, or his strength, but his mind. His… creativity.

And then my fingers started tingling and I started thinking about his threat to creatively amputate them. At first it made me even more scared. I didn't dare cross him. Then it made me mad. How dare he cross me? And then I got scared again. The loop continued until I drifted off into a haze of anger and fear, hearing Transomnia's warning, "Never cross me again, ev-er," play over and over in my mind like a broken record-until my mind itself put a stop to it.

"Never again," I said firmly, sitting up in the bed. "Ev-er."

Davidson was sitting in his usual seat, and lifted up. "That sounded promising."

"What day is it?" I asked.

"Monday," Davidson replied. "Around noon. Savannah's crashed in the waiting area."

"Of course," I said. "Even she can't burn the candle at both ends forever."

"I thought vampires 'died' during the day," Davidson said, holding his fingers up in scare quotes. "I never met a real daywalker before."

"Fishing for information from the vampire's girlfriend?" I asked. "Wrong pond. We split after she started drinking blood."

"I was just asking," Davidson said. "We don't get a lot of vampires in the black helicopter division."

"What does your division handle then? Aliens?"

"Maybe," Davidson said. "Fishing for information from the man in black?"

"Touche," I said.

"No, it's not a problem, I've got my flashy thing right here," he said, fishing in his coat pocket. "I can tell you anything you want and then just erase-oh, drat. Left my flashy thing in my other coat."

"You can flash me anytime," I said halfheartedly.

He laughed. "Sounds like our Dakota. You up for a few visitors?"

"Visitors?" I said, suddenly horrified, hands going to my head. Under my fingers my face felt worse than yesterday, and I was pained to feel the tender bald spot which had been the start of my deathhawk, much less the ragged tufts on my crown where they'd run out of paint-encrusted hair to whack off. Oh, no. Oh, hell, no. "You can't let anyone in here with me looking like this!"

"Dakota," Davidson said gently. "We haven't been letting them in here at all. Until you woke up we didn't know anything about your assailant other than 'a guy in a black coat.' Now we know his name and that he's a vampire, but you were too distraught to give a statement. Not even Miss Winters knows what this Transomnia looks like, though she is checking. So for all I know he's waiting to take another crack at you, sitting in that crowd-"

"Crowd?" I asked. "What crowd?"

"There are a lot of people here to see you, Dakota. A lot of people. You need to see them sometime," Davidson said, in that ohso-calm voice that let you know he'd back your play, but you'd be disappointed in yourself for not stepping up.

Finally I gave in. "Oh, all right. But not in here. Clean me up and take me to them."

"I don't think-" Davidson said, looking back at the hall. "You've just had knee surgery. You shouldn't be walking-"

"Get me a fucking wheelchair, then," I said. "Just don't let anybody in here, not with me laying in bed looking like a… like a damn victim."

Davidson abruptly turned and stepped out the door. After a minute he returned, stepped into the bathroom for a hot wet towel, and sat down next to me. His expression was tender as he patted down my forehead; his hands were delicate and dextrous. I closed my eyes as the cloth wiped my cheeks, smiling once when his thumb brushed a bit of grit from beneath my eye. When I opened my eyes Philip was holding up a comb.

"Mind if I use mine?" he asked. "I'm clean."

"I don't have enough hair left to give a shit," I said softly.

"You still look beautiful," Philip said, running the comb over the crown of my head.

"Liar," I replied, as he straightened out the remainder of my hawk.

"But I do it so well," he responded. My hair no longer fell in my eyes, so I'd ignored it; but when he was done, the hair that was left climbed straight back, and I felt much better.

"Philip," I said. "I… I want to learn to defend myself."

"Defend yourself?" Philip asked. "But you-"

"It's just bravado," I admitted, near tears. "I play it big and bad… but it's all talk. Just talk. I need to learn to back it up-"

"Whoa, whoa," Philip said. "What exactly are we talking about? You mean, as in, to fight? To fire a gun?"

"I mean, whatever it takes," I said. "Just this… never again. I mean, ev-er."

"Dakota," Philip said. He sounded worried. "Even trained agents get mugged. Me-heap-bad-man-in-black tried to fight off a mugger and got pistol-whipped, lost the briefcase I was supposed to be protecting and ended up in the hospital, just like you."

I stared at him. I knew what he was getting at-with all his training, with all his equipment, he'd still got caught off guard and ended up in the hospital, just like me. Even if I'd had training, there always was a chance that Transomnia could still have caught me off guard-and so no amount of training would guarantee that this wouldn't happen again.

Philip had a point. It was a good point, but I didn't want to get it, refused to follow it through. In the end, it didn't matter. I couldn't go through this again, not without knowing I'd done everything I could to keep myself safe.