Lilith Saintcrow: Redemption Alley

When it had been shoved through Navoshtay Niv Arkady’s chest by a half-crazed hellbreed female crouched on a burning car. Just another day in the life of a hunter.

I wish shit like that wasn’t so routine.

“No, it’s silver now, but nowhere near fully charged. You want it?” She looked almost pathetically hopeful, but her eyes didn’t stop at me. Instead, her gaze touched my face, flinched away, and found Theron, who leaned against the wall between us, running his long fingers through his hair.

I stowed the ammo and made sure the guns were easy in their holsters, ran my fingers over the knifehilts. “Not unless I’m sure it won’t snuff out and leave me in the dark. Come on, Theron. I’ll drive.” If you can peel yourself away.

“Give me a second, Jill.” Quiet and courteous, not like the unpredictable smartass I knew. Still, everyone minds their manners at Galina’s.

Even Perry.

Stop thinking about that. “Fine.” I headed for the front of the shop, brushing past the Sanctuary. The scar throbbed wetly. I couldn’t resist one bad-tempered little goose. “Stay inside, Galina. We’d hate to lose you.”

I didn’t miss her muttered reply, which contained at least one term highly unsuitable for a lady’s use. We all mind our manners at Galina’s—but sometimes it’s fun hearing her cuss like the rest of us.

Outside, it was a solid ninety in the shade. I stamped across the street toward my Impala and stopped, suddenly, right in the middle of the ribbon of concrete, heat waves shimmering up on either end of the block.

The sensation of being watched spilled gooseflesh down my back. You don’t live long as a hunter by ignoring that feeling. I turned a full three-sixty in the middle of the road, scanning the buildings, roofs, the sidewalks, contemplating all the angles.

Who would be watching me? And in the middle of the day, no less, when the sun’s power is at its highest.

I concentrated, still as a cat watching a mousehole. Come on. Stick your nose out, whoever you are. Come and get me.

The wind quieted, ripples dying in the cauldron of the day. Inside the scurfhole, wherever it was, it would be hot too. They would be piled in on top of each other in a lump of contagious slime, dozing through the danger of daylight. Shedding heat while they breathed sickness on each other.

I need more flash grenades. Three just isn’t going to do it. It was one of those random thoughts that floats across your mind right before all hell breaks loose.

Something punched me hard in the chest. I staggered, the wind knocked out of me, and folded down as the hammerblows continued. It didn’t hurt until I tried to roll over and pain crested in a fierce wave, driving iron spikes into muscle and bone. Little twisting jitters of sparkling agony slammed through me, each one so individual I could name it.

The world went dark, heaved, turned over, and rammed me back into myself with a shock like lightning striking. Only it wasn’t lightning. It was the scar on my wrist exploding with furious power as my punctured heart struggled to beat, bullets tearing through my body, shattering, spilling, blood steaming on the road and chips of concrete flicking up.

Someone was shooting me. Doing a handy job of it, too.

More pain, a river of it, a new brand of pain. By brand I mean shape and type, and burning hurting godpleasemakeitstop —

Half-choked screaming. The walls of Galina’s shop tolling deep notes of distress. The coughing roar of a Were having a fit, and it sounded like Saul—but he was somewhere else, wasn’t he?

Saul? My lips tried to shape the word, a bubble of something hot broke on them, ran down my chin. Alone and unprotected in the middle of acres of burning road, except I was being dragged by one arm, shoulder popping out of joint with a short thop! that would have been funny if it wasn’t mine. The scar burned, working inward toward the bone, burrowing in with sick delight. My heart exploded again, body convulsing as weightlessness swallowed me whole.

The scar had actually shocked me, just like a defibrillator. Sparks crackled from the charms lacing my hair.

“Don’t you dare, Jill!” Galina screamed. The sound was a bright ribbon through dark water closing over my head as I thrashed, moaning sounds spilling from my lips along with the bright red. “ Don’t you dare die on me! ”

Scratching, scrabbling sounds. I opened my eyes and gasped as another lightning-shock, this one different from the first, slammed through me. The flayed, exploded meat of my heart was a live coal buried in my chest, systems struggling to deal with the sudden trauma and loss of blood pressure.

WHAM! This time it was Galina, the power had her distinctive flavor of incense and growing green things. Slamming into my heart, making it beat through the damage as cells regrew, each one a scream of pain.

I coughed, choked, and yelled, striking out, dislocated arm flopping uselessly. The blow was deflected, and my chest was an egg of red-hot pain. Tearing, horrible, agonizing heat coalesced, snapped into a lump in the upper left quadrant of my ribs; the scar chortled to itself as electricity popped, and I arched, mouth full of blood and eyes bulging, a scream locked behind the clotted stone in my throat.

Heartbeat. I had a heartbeat again.

“— fucking dare die on me, Jill Kismet, I’ve seen two hunters go in my time and I won’t lose you, now breathe! ” Galina’s voice was deep and irresistible, she leaned on my chest, thumping me a good one, then clamping my nose shut and blowing into my mouth, trying to inflate my lungs but doing a good job of drowning me in my own claret.

I spat blood, a good chunk of it geysering out through nose and lips both. Galina let out a yelp, choked midway by the volume, and I stopped myself from instinctively striking out again. The walls thundered, wavering like seaweed. If I hit a Sanc in her own house, it would get pretty damn uncomfortable pretty goddamn quickly, and I was uncomfy enough already.

The trouble with almost dying is that it makes you weak as shock sets in and the body struggles to function. I curled over on my side, spitting to clear my mouth of blood and lungfluid, the deep drilling ache in my chest intensifying with each labored pulse. My dislocated shoulder throbbed, a bass note drowned out by a whole orchestra of nasty sweating pain. I twitched, several times, nerves firing without any real reason except holy shit, we’re still here? Still working?

“Good girl,” Galina whispered. “That’s my good girl.” Patting my back as I retched, coughing and choking to clear passageways violated by lead and fluid.

The ridiculous little bell she had on the shop door tinkled. “Gone.” It was Theron’s voice. “Tell me she’s okay.”

“Just fine.” The Sanctuary, wonder of wonders, sounded nervous. “Or as fine as you can get when you’ve lost all your blood.”

I haven’t lost all of it, dammit. It still hurts, there must be some left. But I felt weaker and more unsteady than I liked. Agony receded, becoming just garden-variety pain.

That I could deal with.

Get up, milaya. Mikhail’s voice, memory sloshing inside my skull. Or I will hit you again.

He never said anything he didn’t mean. I struggled to get up, to fight.

“Relax, killer. Take it easy.” Hands on my aching shoulders, so familiar. A deep rumbling sound—a Were, purring to ease another’s distress.

Saul? No, he’s miles away. What?

Lassitude poured over me, a sucking swamp of lethargy so huge it threatened to close my eyes and drag me down. “Whafuck?” I slurred, my tongue too thick, not working properly.