Lilith Saintcrow - Taken

She nodded. Her shoulders peeled away from the door, and he let go, finger by finger.

“You sure she’s okay?” The bear-man was still alert, every hair quivering. She could smell the readiness on him, and a queer coldness that managed to be soothing. The coldness was like a snowy night, peace laying over every edge with a blanket of soft white.

“I’m all right,” she repeated, more loudly, for his benefit. Zach’s mouth firmed, and she dropped her eyes. It didn’t seem polite to keep staring. A flush rose to her cheeks, and a fresh swell of low sound rolled through the room, like whispers.

“Christ, she’s raw. Come in and have a drink, Carcajou. Just keep her calm. I’ve got a whole barful of Tribe here, they won’t take kindly to a shaman losing her cool.”

Losing my cool? I lost that a few days ago when Lucy bled to death. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back, either. Jesus. “I’m okay,” she repeated, numbly. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“They can smell it on you.” Zach half turned, glanced across the bar. Everyone had gone still, even the women at the pool tables. “Just like I can. How much is she worth, Cullen?”

“Quite a lot, actually, but only if she’s dead.” The bear-man shrugged. “Some interested party is dangling a prize for a hit. Then something went wrong a few nights ago. Some sort of rumor about downtown and a Puppet ripped to shreds—”

“A Puppet?” Zach perked up. “I thought…”

“Where have you been living? Probably on the rough, if that’s your only shaman.” Cullen backed up a few steps, and Zach moved, too. It was as if they were dancing, neither one of them really giving ground. She followed in Zach’s wake, trying not to feel clumsy.

“We’re new in town.” Danger lay under Zach’s words, like he was daring the man to comment further.

“I guess so.” Cullen laughed, and turned on his heel, presenting them with his broad back. The tension snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. Zach took a seat at the bar like he belonged there, and Sophie hitched herself up awkwardly on the one next to him. The clacking of pool balls and low murmur of conversation resumed. The bear-man poured them both a shot of Johnny Walker Red and settled behind the bar, one eyebrow hitched expectantly.

Zach tossed his shot back, cracked the glass against the counter like an expert, and brought out the newspaper he’d been carrying around and fiddling with all day. “Look at this.” He spread it out on the counter, and Sophie leaned over, not daring to touch her own shot glass. There was… My God, that’s from my wedding picture. The one hanging in the hall. She remembered that day, the taste of the cake and the heavy yards and yards of white satin, the way the veil blinded her—and how Mark had dug his fingers into her arm right before she threw the bouquet, because she hadn’t been paying attention to him.

She’d had finger-shaped bruises for two weeks afterward. And on the honeymoon, he’d been so charming and repentant, until the night she’d accidentally slammed a door and he’d bitten her—

That’s in the Past, and it’s an Unpleasant Thing. Don’t dwell on it, Sophie.

She focused on the columns of text, and felt the world slide a few more degrees over into unreality. Wait a second . “But I’m not dead,” she heard herself say.

“I know that, and you know that.” Zach’s fingers touched the damp, smudged newsprint, sliding over the curve of her cheek and leaving a black mark. “But they found a body that someone’s identified as yours. That means cover-up.”

“Christ.” Cullen set another shot glass out, poured himself a jolt of Walker. “Is it open war on our shamans now?”

“Since when do the Tribes fear upir so much?” Zach sounded honestly puzzled, and dangerously calm.

“You forget most of us aren’t Carcajou. If they band together they can make it difficult for us. And here…well, the upir have worked their way into high society. They own the town. We keep a low profile for fifty miles in every direction. This is like a hunting preserve, and the head bloodsucker is a piece of work. Name’s Armitage.”

What? “Armitage?” Disbelief tinted her tone. “But—”

“Harold Armitage.” Cullen shrugged. “Big name in town, I guess. You want some club soda or something, shaman?”

“No.” She shook her head, curls falling in her face. “I—Jesus, I know his wife . Harold’s a stockbroker. Old money, they do the country-club Christmas each year.” She realized how idiotic that sounded. “You’re saying he’s a vampire?”

“He’s upir . Has been for the past forty years. He hands out the Change in return for favors, and for other services rendered.” Cullen gave her a narrow look, and she leaned back, the bar stool creaking as her weight shifted.

“Accept something to drink, Soph. It’s polite.” Zach gave her a tight smile.

Great. Yeah. Sure. Fine. She picked up the shot glass, downed the whiskey, and coughed as it stung her throat and exploded in her stomach. The gauzy faces hanging over the world sharpened briefly—some of them were clustering around Cullen, whispering in his ears. He tilted his head briefly, and one solidified, its lips moving.

Oh, God. I’m going crazy, no matter what Zach says. Her eyes watered, she blinked furiously, and Zach’s smile turned absolutely genuine. He even winked at her.

“So they have a body, and they’re calling it hers. When exactly was she triggered?” Cullen laid his hands carefully on the counter. Broad, blunt hands—if she looked closely, would they turn into paws?

“Couple days ago. We found her during an upir attack. We thought it was rabid since it was hunting in the middle of a bunch of bright lights and crowded prey. It took a friend of hers outside and ripped her throat open.” The smile was gone as if it had never existed. “Then, just as we got our shaman out of town, seven young suckers broke into our nightly den. And there were more of them at her apartment last night. They fired the building.”

“ Upir using fire?” Cullen’s eyebrows drew together. He uncapped the bottle, and Sophie hoped he wasn’t going to offer her more. He didn’t, just poured himself another shot. “Just who is she, anyway?” He leaned down, his mouth moving a little as he stared at the newspaper.

“She’s our shaman.” Zach watched the bear-man read the article.

“She’s Harris’s ex-wife?” Cullen glanced up. “Holy shit . I heard that there was a sacrifice gone wrong, and someone was paying big money, and then we started to hear about upir chasing down a shaman. But—”

“A sacrifice?” Zach wanted to know, but she had a different question.

Sophie grabbed the edge of the counter. The world was still spinning off course. “How do you hear all this?”

“Oh, you know. The air talks, we listen.”

“No. I don’t know.” Sophie shut her mouth, took a deep breath. Zach’s knee bumped hers. A wave of heat slid up her neck, filled her cheeks. “I don’t know at all.” I know nuh-thing, a mad voice from childhood reruns of Hogan’s Heroes crowed in her head. Lucy had done a great Sergeant Schultz impression. It had cracked them both up to no end.

Tears crowded her eyes, blurred the whole bar. She blinked furiously, forcing them back.

“Well.” Cullen didn’t take offense. “You’ll find out soon. When you’re ready, the air will talk to you.”

You know, that really isn’t comforting at all. “Like the faces?” she hazarded. “The ghost faces?”