Zombie's Bite

  "You have got to be kidding me," Dory whispered, watching from a tree as a vamp-filled canoe paddled through the liquid jungle below her.

  "Shi-" Dreads began, before Dory clapped a hand over his mouth.

  She'd had to bring him along or risk him informing her prey that she was coming. He was also the only one who knew where their destination was. Some factory the bokors had set up in the swamp, because apparently they didn't have noses. Or maybe, after a while, you just didn't smell this place anymore.

  She wished her nose would get on with that. Because between rotting fish, decomposing plants, more than a hint of sulphur, and the waves of ganja every time her companion moved, she was all but scent blind. Which is how the posse had almost managed to slip up on her.

  And it was a posse. The one in front was in the classic pose of a Hound, face forward, eyes closed, navigating by nose rather than the eyes he probably thought of as secondary. The one in back was less into it, glancing around nervously, but with a sharp gaze that said this wasn't a pleasure trip.

  Not that Dory had thought that, anyway. Master vamps -- dressed in suits, no less -- didn't often hang out in odorous bogs.

  Unless they had a really good reason.

  A really good reason like a dead family member.

  In her hotel room.

  Fuck.

  She was going to rip some bokor's intestines out through his goddamned throat.

  "Maybe they're just here for the . . . uh . . . ambiance?" Dreads whispered, when the vamps had passed by, and she'd released his motor mouth.

  She turned to look at him. He had a small book in his hand. "What is that?"

  "Thesaurus. I'm improving myself. Thinking about going back to school."

  She looked at him some more.

  He frowned.

  "Ambiance," he said, checking the book. "The character and atmosphere of a --"

  "I know what it is!"

  "Well, excuse me. Some of us didn't have a chance at a fancy education."

  "Neither did I!"

  "Really?" He looked interested. "Then how come you talk like that? All educated and shit?"

  "I've lived a long time," Dory said, looking through her bag.

  "How long? Do dhampirs live as long as vamps? I mean, you're not . . . ninety or something . . . are you?" he looked slightly alarmed.

  "Four hundred and ninety would be closer."

  "Shit! No shit? Shit!" he said, staring at her, and looking fairly appalled. "And I was thinking you were kinda . . . cute."

  "Shut. Up."

  And he did, for about half a second. "What's that?" he asked, just as a shot rang out.

  Dory felt it part her hair as she dove down the tree, jerking Dreads along with her. Before stuffing his lanky ass in a hollow between a bunch of cypress trunks. For once, he didn't have anything to say. He just looked at her, throat working, as she put a finger to her lips.

  And then did it again, more forcefully, until he nodded, clutching his book.

  After she was certain he'd done the math, she climbed back up the trunk, bag in hand.

  And sure enough, the vamps were back.

  "The hell?" The blond Hound was holding a gun, in the pose of a man who had just snatched it away from his companion, a redhead with a buzz cut.

  "I told you," the smaller man said, glancing around. "I saw something."

  "Of course you saw something! This whole place is moving! That's no reason to --"

  "No, I saw something. Something human --"

  "So you're planning to shoot every human you see? People live out here! And we were specifically told --"

  "Yeah. Weird people. Scary people," the other guy muttered.

  The blond looked disgusted. "You're afraid of humans now?"

  "I'm not afraid of anything," his companion bristled. "Except . . . ."

  "Except?"

  The redhead glanced around again. "What the boss said . . . that can't be right, can it? It must have been something else --"

  "Something else that took Allen without a fight?" the blond asked, shoving the other man's gun into his waistband. "You saw that room as well as I did. Lamps still on the tables, curtains still at the window, crappy T.V. still on its crappy stand --"

  "That's what I'm saying. What could do that?"

  "You know what. We were told what. And you need to keep it together or --"

  "I have it together! I just --"

  "Just what?"

  The redhead scowled. "Dhampir." He said it the same way everyone did, with a disgusted curl of his lip. "That can't be right."

  "Well, probably not now," his companion said sourly. "That shot must have alerted half the swamp that we're --"

  He cut off as a speedboat raced up, sending water in a huge arc on one side, high enough to almost drench Dory's hiding place when it stopped on a dime.

  "What the hell was that?" A vamp with a mop of dark, curly hair leaned over the side, addressing the blond.

  Who glared at the redhead for a second before swallowing. And then looked up to answer his . . . head of house? It wasn't really a guess. Curly's power signature was like a miniature sun, utterly eclipsing that of the other two. And causing Dory to bite her lip.

  First level master.

  Had to be.

  And pissed, judging by the way said power fluctuated, giving away the anger his face and voice were keeping on a tight leash.

  Wonderful, she thought, digging through her bag. Just wonderful. This job was getting better all the damned time.

  "I'm sorry, sir. There was an accidental discharge --"

  "It wasn't accidental," the redhead said, because apparently he was stupid.

  "Not accidental?" Curly repeated quietly.

  "No, sir. I saw something --"

  "And discharged your weapon to what? Ensure that it saw you, too?"

  The voice didn't change, but power flared, hot enough to cause the blond to flinch. He wisely stayed silent. The redhead on the other hand, apparently had a death wish.

  "I'm sorry, sir. But I thought I had her --"

  "Your job is not to think. Your job is to follow orders. Which you seem incapable of doing --"

  "Sir --"

  "-- or of listening when I am talking to you!" Curly snatched the idiot out of the canoe with one hand. And left him dangling over the water for a long moment, with the expression of a man who would dearly like to throw him in.

  Ultimately, he decided to throw him into the speedboat, instead. "Take him back to shore," he told someone curtly. "We can't afford any more mistakes."

  "Yes, sir." An impressive 'fro poked up from the driver's seat, as the master started climbing over the side of the boat. "Sir? Where are you --"

  "I'll deal with this myself. Take him back to shore and stay there until we have her."

  "Yes, sir." The fro did not look happy. "But, perhaps . . . ."

  "Perhaps what, Liam?"

  "Perhaps it would be better if I went in David's place?"

  The master looked up from where he was seating himself in the swaying canoe, which the blond was helping to steady with an oar. "Why?"

  Liam looked unhappy some more. But he didn't back down. "With my nose, I could possibly be of more use here, while it seems a waste to have someone with your expertise not directing --"

  "Don't patronize me," the brunet said sourly. "And Heinrich's nose is quite adequate, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yes, sir. But if you find her --"

  "Not if."

  "I meant to say, when you find her . . . wouldn't it be better if someone else was at risk --"

  "At risk?" The brunet's face flushed.

  "Sir." The dark eyes were steady. "She is dhampir --"

  "And we are eight masters! Or am I counting wrong?"

  "No, sir."

  "She is one woman. One very foolish, very dead, woman. Nothing more!"

  "Yes, sir." Liam's expression didn't change, but he didn't push it.

  A moment later, the speedbo
at took off with its disgraced cargo, and Dory used the cover of the noise to climb back down to where her own pain-in-the-ass was waiting. For once, he didn't say anything. Just watched her as she took a small carrying case out of her bag, and started working a pod loose from its enveloping Styrofoam.

  She did it quietly, because the two in the canoe hadn't moved on. They were just sitting there, discussing what the other guy had seen. They didn't necessarily believe him, but they were going to check it out anyway.

  Because whoever these guys were, they weren't amateurs.

  And they were out for blood. Her blood. And why didn't she think they were going to wait around while she explained about fake bounties and living zombies and how none of this was really her fault?

  Because vamps were so great at listening to dhampirs. She only knew one who might, and he wasn't here. Just a bunch who thought she'd killed their man, because they'd been meant to think that, and if she didn't come up with evidence to the contrary pretty damned quick, her hide was going to end up tacked to Curly's wall.

  What are you doing? Dreads mouthed, because apparently he couldn't stop talking even now. Dory shot him her best glare, which seemed to work, because his mouth snapped shut. But his eyes followed her every move as she prepared to lose some more money on this deal.

  And held out a little silver ball on the palm of her hand.

  God, she hated this part.

  After a second, the pod cracked open, sending out tiny tendrils that looked like slug slime and felt worse oozing over her flesh. Fortunately, it didn't take long. After a minute, the nasty tongue-like protrusions slipped back inside and the pod closed. And then abruptly took off in defiance of gravity, zooming off her palm and through the trees on a crazy, zig zag course that made no sense at all.

  To the eyes.

  "There!" One of the vamps cried, responding to the wide arc of her scent being left behind by the fleeing pod. And a second later the canoe was all but levitating itself, shooting like a bullet through the dark water.

  Dory waited for a second, then two, then grabbed Dreads by the front of his t-shirt when she was sure they were out of range. "You've got to get out of here."

  "No shit!" The words burst out after being repressed for so long. "I thought I was gonna have a heart attack! Nobody said anything about being shot at! Nobody said --"

  "Being shot at is the least of your problems."

  "My problems? My problems? How is any of this my --"

  "Because they didn't just follow my scent here, they followed yours," Dory said, keeping her grip on the tie dye when the guy tried to pull away. "You can try telling them I kidnapped you --"

  "You did kidnap me!"

  "-- and forced you to come along, and maybe they'll listen. Or maybe they'll rip your throat out, because they're a man down, and you just spent the afternoon with the person they think killed him."

  "Killed . . . they . . . what?" he stared at her. "Who's been killed? The only ones I saw were some zombies, and they were already --"

  "The vamp -- the one that I showed you a picture of?"

  He nodded.

  "He was part of their clan. Probably sent to investigate the stuff your bosses have been selling. Only I didn't know that. Because your bosses' suppliers hired me to take him out for them, telling me some cock and bull story about him levelling a couple villages in Mexico --"

  "What does that have to do with me?"

  "-- and I followed him here. But before I could do anything, he showed up at my motel and offed himself."

  "What?"

  Dory nodded. "Slit his throat, then staked himself. Blood was everywhere. Too much to clean up, and anyway, it wouldn't have mattered --"

  "He offed himself? You mean . . . why?"

  "At a guess? Because your bokors told him to," Dory said, pulling him down to their boat. It was a small one, but it had a motor. Dreads should be able to keep ahead of the vamps, assuming she could keep them busy. "Those pills you're selling?" she added, because he was still talking. "The ones that concentrate magic?"

  "What about 'em?"

  "Well, vamps have magic, too." She pushed him in. "But it's different from the human kind. It's life magic -- the kind they steal from bad little boys like you."

  He blinked. "So?"

  "So what happens to a body when all of its magic -- and therefore its life -- is suddenly quarantined? Locked up by being redirected to something stupid, like enhanced vision or whatever?"

  He blinked some more. "I . . . don't know. I don't know much about vamps."

  "Well, I do. And a dead body minus its animating life magic is pretty much just a dead body, isn't it? Like the kind your bokors control?"

  He stared at her, open mouthed, because he wasn't stupid, after all. "You think -- you mean -- they're trying to --"

  "Gain control of a master."

  Dory couldn't blame him for looking at her like she was crazy. Because bokors didn't have that kind of power. They controlled dead bodies, true, but they controlled empty ones. A dead human was just a vessel to be filled with a necromancer's power, a puppet with no way to resist because nobody was home anymore. A vamp, on the other hand, while technically dead, was very much not empty.

  And they tended to react - violently -- to anyone who forgot that.

  True, there were stories about especially strong bokors briefly seizing control of baby vamps. Or of seeing through their eyes, to spy on a vamp family by using one of its own members. That sort of thing was why hunt-the-necromancer had once been a fashionable pastime. But controlling a third level badass?

  No way in hell.

  Yet she knew what she'd seen. And she'd been crazy vamp's very next stop, after talking to a bokor who said he wouldn't be back. And who sold dangerous, illegal pills that just might be able to give him control of a master, at least for a little while.

  Like long enough for him to drive a stake through his own heart.

  "But . . . but what for?" Dreads was asking. "Why would they --"

  "I don't know. That's what you're going to find out for me."

  He shook his head violently, sending the dreads flying. "No way. No way. I am out of this. I thought . . . it was supposed to be harmless, all right? Like selling weed. Nobody said anything --"

  "Maybe not, but you're in it now."

  "Like hell I am! I told you --"

  "And I'm telling you. You have two choices: do what I ask and get yourself out of this mess, and maybe even pick up some reward bucks. Or ignore me and run -- and see how far you get. If you're smart, and lucky, you might even last a couple days before they find you."

  Dreads glared at her through the hanging locks of hair. "I hate you."

  "Shouldn't that be despise?" Dory asked, raising a brow. "Loathe? Abominate --"

  "Give me that!" He snatched the book he'd dropped on the way down the tree out of her hand. And then looked up, biting his lip. "All right. What do I have to do?"

  Chapter Six