Jess Haines - Stalking the Others

Clenching my fingers around one of the vials of Amber Kiss perfume and the box of ammo I’d shoved in my pockets didn’t hurt, though flakes of dried blood and scar tissue from cuts received and healed on my way down from the rooftop rubbed off in the process. I didn’t want to think about what I had become, or what I would be once I saw my quest for revenge to its end.

‘If not for the vampire, you wouldn’t be in this mess ,’ the belt whispered. ‘You should plan to remove him, too.’

“Aside from the fact that he’d kill me if I tried it, Royce didn’t do this to me,” I muttered under my breath. “Don’t push me.”

A woman walking next to me glanced over, arching a silver-studded brow before ignoring me. That was the most attention I’d received from any of the sea of pedestrians all night. Not that I was complaining.

‘He might not have infected you, but he’s the one who brought you back into Chaz’s sights, and he’s also the one who keeps involving you in supernatural business. You wouldn’t have been bitten by vampires—’

“Enough! ”

I nearly shouted the word, and this time I did merit a few stares from early morning strollers, late night revelers sloshing their way home, and a handful of people in power suits on their way to the office. Ducking my head and popping up the collar of my trench coat, I sped up the pace, growling under my breath. I would’ve snarled something nasty back at the belt, especially since it was laughing at me again, but I was attracting too much attention as it was.

In fact, only yards away from me, a black-and-white was cruising past. I couldn’t help but watch over my shoulder as it went by before realizing how conspicuous that must look. I drew out of the press of foot traffic to pretend to consider buying a magazine at a nearby newsstand. My stomach did a turn at the headline on one of the local rags: “NEW YORK’S HOTTEST VAMPIRE-SPONSORING CHARITY CONCERT! ” There was a picture of him on the cover of the latest issue of some financial news magazine, too. I twisted away, scowling. No matter how far I ran, it seemed Alec Royce would follow me everywhere.

Oh, great. When I looked back, the cops had pulled into the alley I had just come from, flicking on their searchlight as they parked.

That was my cue to hightail it. I needed to be less conspicuous if I was going to carry out my plans without ending up dead or in jail before the month was out. Abandoning my feeble ruse, I turned and took to a brisk walk in the opposite direction from Dillon’s apartment building.

I needed to figure out where to go once the sun came up. After the stunt I’d pulled, there was no way I was putting myself back under Royce’s watchful eye. Knowing the vampire, he’d chain me up in the basement or something to keep me from escaping again. Going home was out of the question, as was Sara’s house and my parents’. Arnold might let me crash, but he’d tell Sara, which meant the vampire would know where to find me. I didn’t want that.

Not to mention that I didn’t have any money to get myself to my theoretical daytime hiding spot. In my headlong rush to escape Royce’s building, I hadn’t taken any necessities with me but my hunting equipment. My duffel with my clothes and my purse had been left behind.

Assuming I survived long enough, I needed to work on my ability to plan ahead.

(Days left to full moon: 23)

My options for transportation were not quite as slim as the pickings for places to safely hide until the next full moon.

Fingering the vials of Amber Kiss perfume in my pockets and absently dodging pedestrians, I scanned the streets for some inspiration. I could utilize the belt’s benefits for another half an hour or so and make good time getting across town—but I didn’t like the idea of being caught somewhere in the city without money, food, or shelter, not to mention tired enough to fall over. From experience, I knew all of the “little hurts” that didn’t hurt so much now would make themselves known as soon as the spirit inside the rune-branded leather was banished for the day.

Flickering neon lights dragged my attention to a tattoo parlor across the street. Aside from a regret-filled pang—I’d never again hear my mom telling me not to even think about getting inked—it sparked an idea. Jack the White Hat had an illegal weapons emporium under a tattoo parlor not far from here.

As much as I disliked Jack, he had a decent hideout, weapons, and a safe place to avoid authorities. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms the last time I’d seen him, but I was willing to bet he’d set aside his personal dislike of me if I let him use me the way he’d so obviously intended to from the beginning. While willingly going along with his plans wasn’t a fantastic idea, I felt certain that he would welcome me if he knew I wanted to use his hunters and their resources to track and kill werewolves.

Imbued with a new sense of purpose, I picked up my pace, intending to hoof it the rest of the way.

The cops waiting for me when I rounded the corner had a different plan in mind.

Two boys in blue had double-parked and waited in that I’m-doing-my-best- to-look-casual-and-failing-miserably stance just to one side of a newspaper stand. The one on the left spoke up, his voice smooth and deep, nonthreatening.

“Ms. Waynest? We need to talk.”

I turned and ran.

“Hey! Halt!”

I kept going and didn’t look back. The belt was elated by this sudden action, flooding my limbs with enough energy to make my speed kick up a notch, leaving the cops far behind. Jumping over or darting around obstacles was a breeze, and most everyone moved out of my way, but I was attracting too much attention.

Stairs leading down to the subway appeared on my left. I cut across the street, dodging honking, swerving cars with ease. Strangely, I didn’t feel in the least frightened of being hit by one of those cars—they were zooming by fast enough to send my hair flying and to clip the trailing hem of my jacket—but I was worried about being caught by one of the cops. Priorities, eh?

As soon as I hit the sidewalk on the other side, I bolted down into the darkened stairwell, sending people flat against the rails as I shouldered aside the ones who didn’t immediately get out of my way. Ignoring the curses and threats and even the switchblade one of them pulled on me, I took the stairs two and three at a time until I hit the bottom, jumping over the turnstiles and launching myself down the platform.

There were shouts, but I dismissed them and went to the edge. Some of the people milling around waiting for the next train were staring at me, but most of them didn’t seem to care that I’d drawn the ire of one of the few security guards on the premises. Probably because the majority of them were not pleased to be awake at this hour.

The guard was headed my way with a glare and her hand settled firmly on the butt of a canister of mace attached to her belt. Just my luck to be spotted by a rent-a-cop on the one day I decide to jump the turnstiles instead of paying my fare.

With a surge from the belt, I ignored the shouting security guard and jumped onto the tracks— taking care to avoid the electrified third rail—hightailing it into the tunnel. It was dark and disgustingly grimy, infested with rats and roaches, but there was no rumble of an approaching train or sounds of pursuit that I could detect. My eyes watered from the combined stink of hot metal, grease, and old piss no doubt left behind by the homeless who roamed these tunnels. Once I was sure I was in the clear, I slowed down just enough to take a look around, searching for any doors or stairwells to maintenance rooms that might have street access.