Jeaniene Frost - At Grave’s End

Vlad flew at me, mouth open and fangs on display. With that, one of the patrons howled out a word.

“Vampire!”

“Run for your lives,” I yelled, knocking over several people as I avoided Vlad’s tackle. He caught the edge of my jacket and used it as leverage, throwing me across the theater to crash into the wall. It was a spectacular toss and knocked the wind out of me, causing me to gasp even as I ducked from his fist.

“We’re playing it that way, huh? Good. I like it rough.”

I returned the gesture, slamming him so hard into the nearby wall that it caved inward. Insulation and concrete showered those who hadn’t made it out of the theater yet. Then when Vlad sprang forward, I head-butted him hard enough to split the top of my hairline. It rocked him back, though, allowing me to ram two blades into his chest. Blood poured from my scalp, causing more screams as the houselights went up and the two of us were clearly illuminated.

Vlad ignored the knives in his chest and yanked me closer, licking the flowing red stream from my forehead.

“Doesn’t hurt now,” he murmured.

“Overactor,” I snapped.

A gunshot went off, causing both of us to turn in amazement toward the back of the theater. Sure enough, there was a guy, popcorn all over him, sighting down a barrel at us for another shot. Tate, who was also in the theater, knocked him so hard in the head that I hoped there wouldn’t be permanent damage. The shooter dropped to the floor.

“Americans,” Vlad muttered over the fresh screams from the remaining patrons. “Every other person in this country’s armed. Good thing that his aim was as poor as his judgment.”

“Come on, let’s finish this. Flashy ending, isn’t that your favorite?”

“Oh, Cat, you’re going to make me do something I’ve never done before.” He laughed, kicking me hard enough to break my ankles before flinging me into the fake velvet seats. They crumpled beneath me even as I sprang to my feet, wincing but still erect. I leapt up as he charged me, causing him to crash into empty air instead of my body.

“And what is that? Be humble?”

Vlad rolled, yanking the knives from his chest like they were splinters. His eyes flicked to the last of the fleeing bystanders as they trampled one another to get to the exit.

“Nothing can force me to do that.”

The empty seats around him suddenly exploded into flames. I blinked, taken aback. Tate looked shocked, too. Vlad’s lips curled, and he waved his hands in the direction of the fire. Like candles being doused, the blaze subsided.

“You’re pyrokinetic,” I breathed. “Impressive.”

“As are you.” At last the theater was empty of everyone still conscious.

“Young man, the projector room?” Vlad prodded Tate.

Tate leapt onto the tiny window, jerking the camera through the opening. It served to block the view of someone dumb enough to stand there and gawk down at us.

“Here, your ankles.” Vlad lost his offensive posture and walked toward me. “If you’d permit?”

He held out his hand and glanced at my knives. I knew what he meant. Refusing would be both rude and stupid, since limping after him would hardly look imposing. With a nod, I sliced a neat line in his hand, then held it to my mouth and swallowed.

Vlad watched me with that same faint smile. “You don’t like the taste of blood, do you?”

“No. Well…no.”

He must have read the rest of my response in my mind, because he let out a derisive chuckle. “Acquired a taste for Bones’s, have you? Really, he has more intelligence than I’d credited him, binding himself to you. It sorely hinders his competition.”

“He doesn’t have any competition,” I answered at once, glancing at Tate.

“That’s where you’re mistaken. I wasn’t talking about your scorned suitor there.” Vlad gave a dismissive nod to Tate, who bristled. “I meant me. That’s what you’re going to make me do-envy Bones, a man I have little regard for. How galling.”

His self-deprecating tone made me smile. Now Tate really glowered.

“You’ll get over it, Vlad. Give it two weeks, you’ll be sorry you even met me.”

“Perhaps. Shall we take our final bows now?”

I stamped my feet to make sure my ankles were back to normal, then gestured toward the exit.

“After you.”

“…in front of the Palace Twenty on Montrose Avenue, where terrified spectators are telling an incredible tale. Hugh, can you pan to the right to show the firefighters?…Witnesses report gunshots, flames, and possible occult-related activities during this otherwise quiet Christmas evening…You, yes, you, miss, can you tell us what occurred inside?”

“He flew!” a shaking blond girl gasped, grabbing the microphone away from the reporter. “I think he had wings or something…and then she shot him, and the theater started to burn, oh God, I thought I was gonna die!”

“Okay, clearly we have a distraught observer, let’s see who else we can talk to.”

The newswoman tried to keep it professional, but then an impromptu tug-of-war occurred over the microphone as the blonde refused to let go.

“Miss, let me have that back, I’m sure you’ll want to speak to the authorities-”

“There she is,” she shrieked, pointing at me. “That’s her. She’s the one who shot that thing. She’ll tell you I’m not crazy!”

The reporter surged forward and the cameraman pointed that large black lens right at me. I gave it one full glance before hurrying into the van under heavy escort. This was live coverage, broadcast nationwide.Hi, Patra. See? I’m on the opposite coast from where the informant is supposed to meet you, and you’d NEVERexpect Bones to be away from my side on a job during Christmas, would you?

“FBI, no one’s allowed past this point,” Tate barked, shoving the reporter to the side. He pushed the camera down, cutting off any additional views of me or my entourage. After all, one quick look was all we needed. Any more and Patra might notice that Bones wasn’t shadowing me.

Our hysterical witness kept up a steady stream of shrieking until she was dragged to the side by the local police. Either this would work or it wouldn’t, we’d soon find out. Cooper, playing the informant, was supposed to be meeting Patra’s contact within an hour. With luck, Patra would believe Bones and I were both here in Los Angeles.

Tate appeared in the doorway of the van and slammed it closed. Vlad was seated next to me, and Tick Tock and Zero were also inside. Tate gave the command to leave to Doc, our driver for tonight, and sat across from me.

“All right, Cat. If anyone pokes around there, they’ll see the usual cleanup crew and all the brass. There’d be no reason to think Bones wasn’t with you. I’ll be glad to get out of here, no point in painting a target on your head.”

“It went pretty well,” I commented, bouncing as the van sped away. We’d change cars two times and then fly the rest of the way. Bones was adamant about that. “I hope his goes off without a hitch.”

Tate compressed his mouth and said nothing.

“When will you call the Master?” Zero asked.

It always unnerved me when he called him that. Zero seldom addressed Bones otherwise, no matter how often Bones had urged him to. His milky gray eyes were trained on me expectantly.

“I won’t. He’ll call me when it’s over, maybe in about two hours, maybe more.”

My stomach twisted with worry. It was all I could do not to snatch up my cell and ruin everything with a fervent, useless plea for him to be careful.

“We’ll be halfway to Mencheres’s house by then.” Vlad stretched his legs. “A good thing, too. I’m hungry.”

“We’ll all be better when we reach Mencheres in Colorado,” I said. “Vlad, you’ll get your dinner, Tate, you can see Annette, and I’ll see Bones sometime before midnight. At least we’ll have a few minutes of Christmas together. Maybe.”