Lili St Crow - Reckoning

Suckers. My breath came fast and light, sudden knowledge blooming inside me. I didn’t have the taste of danger candy to warn me, I just had intuition now.

Great.

Gran’s owl let out a soft who, who? Wings snapping, it braked, hard . I skidded to a stop, and the bird turned in a tight circle over me. Part of me was on the ground, ribs flaring and squeezing down as I breathed, and before I knew it I’d reached up and the warm satin hilts of the malaika were in my hands. The duffel was going to weigh me down, but I didn’t have time to drop it.

Because the black-paper cutouts of suckers boiled out of the darkness.

There were so many of them. Two females closing in fast, their irises turning black as the hunting-aura closed over them in a blot of cold fire, both wearing dark jumpsuits, one blonde and one dark-haired but both with ponytails that bounced smartly as they pulled up short. The rest were males.

None of them looked a day over sixteen, but the hate on their young-old faces twisted them up like dripping, nasty tubers. I dropped into first-guard, the aspect rising over me like a cobra’s hood.

I was fully-bloomed and deadly to them. But they had numbers. Which meant I had to think fast. But my thinker was busted. There was just nothing left to do, nowhere to go, and nothing to depend on to save me.

If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting . I swallowed, hard, and then did either the stupidest or smartest thing I could.

I gathered myself, took a deep breath, and screamed as I launched myself at the ones in front of me. If I could break through their ring I could lead them on a chase, and when it came down to that I’d rather be running full speed when the nasty hits me.

I almost made it, too.

For a longtime there was a whining sound, a bumping and buffeting. I drifted in and out of consciousness inside something cold and metallic. I couldn’t move—my wrists were held down, and my ankles.

Restraints , I realized through a fog. My left hand burned dully through a chemical haze, like I was drugged or something. And I’m in a box .

My eyelids fluttered shut. Thank God I don’t have to pee , I thought hazily, before the dark swallowed me again. After a long while I was vaguely aware of a bump and a screech, and I figured out I was on a plane. That was all I knew. Then the dream came out of nowhere, and this time I was tied down and I had to watch.

The concrete hallway stretched into infinity. I saw him, walking in his particular way, each boot landing softly as he edged along, and the scream caught in my throat. Because it was my father, and he was moving toward that door covered in chipped paint under the glare of the fluorescents, and he was going to die. I knew this and I couldn’t warn him, static fuzzing through the image and my teeth tingling as my jaw changed, crackling —

—and Christophe grabbed my father’s shoulder and dragged him back, away from the slowly opening door. The sound went through me, a hollow boom as the door hit the wall and concrete dust puffed out .

BANG .

“You shouldn’t be here,” Christophe hissed, his eyes burning blue. “Are you mad, or simply an idiot?”

Dad shook him off. “What the fuck—”

Christophe shook his sleek dark head, the aspect laying on him in a crackle of static electricity. His fangs were out and snow clung to his knees, clumping on his boots. “Get out of here. Go.”

“You’re him. The man on the phone.” Quick as a wink, Dad had the gun raised. “She told me—”

“Elizabeth told you somewhat of me, yes. But I’m not what you think.” Christophe shoved him, hard. “Get out of here . He will rise soon, and you’re worse than helpless here. Go home!”

“I don’t have a home,” Dad spat back. “They took my home when they killed her, goddammit! All I’ve got . . .” But he stopped there, eyeing Christophe suspiciously. Maybe he’d been about to say something about me? I longed to know. “What are you doing here?”

The door at the end of the hall quivered hungrily . Run! I wanted to yell . Both of you, quit arguing and RUN!

“Paying my debt to Elizabeth Lefevre.” Christophe’s smile wasn’t nice at all. In fact, it was chilling. “You’re all that remains of her. A stupid, silly human.”

Dad regarded him narrowly, his blue eyes at least as cold as Christophe’s. “Then let’s go down there and kick some sucker ass.”

“You’re worse than useless. Come on.” Christophe moved forward, as if to grab Dad and drag him out by force. I silently cheered, static buzzing through me as the vision held .

I’d wanted to know, of course. I’d wanted to know what happened to Dad. And not-wanted at the same time. I’d already seen what happened when vampires killed. The pictures of the blasted oak tree in front of the yellow house we used to live in, something not even human-shaped anymore hanging in the branches, still whirled through my nightmares .

Dad pulled the trigger. A burst of white noise rammed through the image, and my scream lodged in my throat like a rock. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t cry out. I was a fly trapped in amber, howling on the inside while Christophe’s body jerked, bright red blood flying .

Dad’s bootheel scraped as he turned and took off down the hall. He was a big man, but he was light on his feet. He vanished through the door as Christophe struggled back up to his feet, face twisted with pain and eyes burning .

“NO!” Christophe yelled, and another burst of static roiled through the image. I held on, my mental grasp slipping as the vision fought me .

No. I want to see. Stubbornness rose inside me . I have to see!

Christophe pushed himself up. Gunfire popped and crackled behind the door, yelling and a rising glassy roar. Christophe’s hands turned into fists. He stood there for a long ten seconds, head cocked as blond highlights slipped through his hair, the aspect flaring and retreating, indecisive. Snow fell from his knees, hitting the floor without melting, and his face was a mask .

Then he turned and walked away, while my father’s dying screams echoed from behind the door that was even now closing like a Venus flytrap on its prey .

I sat straight up, clawing at thin cold air. Metal clashed. My wrist was jerked back as I tried to roll off the hard surface, and I ended up halfway on the floor, my arm stretched above me like I was performing an enthusiastic wave.

What the hell?

A dim stone cube of a room greeted me. An iron door, a shelflike metal toilet, no windows. Light leaked in around the door, through the barred rectangle of an observation slit. Electric light, nice and golden, but not nearly enough of it.

The clashing metal was a short chain attached to the wall and hooked up, probably to keep me from falling off the bed. If I unhooked it, I could just reach the toilet.

Which I did. Hey, you’ve got to be practical when you’re chained to a wall. At least it flushed.

I smelled faintly of cinnamon rolls, and my skin was still sticky from Dallas citysweat. My mouth tasted like zombie dust, but all in all I felt oddly good.

I shuddered, stretched the chain and my arm as far as they would go, and couldn’t peer out the slit in the door.

Dammit .

I was in sock feet, my T-shirt, and jeans. My hair was unbraided, a wild curling mass.

There went all my gear. Again. Dad was always going on about caches and gear, and about how replacing shit was the cost of seriously being on the run. Looked like he was right.