I’d been a very successful lure.
And I still was, I thought bleakly. Images of Sal—and the brutal way I’d killed him—rose in my mind, but I pushed them away. Sal might have been the only friend and confidant I’d really had during the war, but he’d also been the third member of the group who’d kidnapped the children. And when I’d realized that, I’d had little choice but to take action. There were many things in this world I could ignore—many things I had no desire to be part of—but I could not idly stand by and watch children suffer. Not again. Not if I could help it.
It was thanks to Sal—to the information I’d forced out of him before he’d died—that those five kids were now free. Six, if you included Penny, the child I’d rescued from the vampires that had been tracking her in the park.
But that still left eight. And while I had no intention of helping Nuri and her crew, I also had no intention of abandoning those children to their fate.
Which is why I’d been in Carleen tonight.
Sal and his partners had created what the ghosts there called “false rifts”: balls of dirty energy that resembled regular rifts but were—as far as I could tell—nothing more than a means of quick transport from one location to another. I’d gone there tonight to investigate one of them, which is why I was out here alone. Cat and Bear—the two little ghosts who normally accompanied me on such journeys—were back home in our bunker. We’d learned the hard way that ghosts could not enter the rifts and I wasn’t about to place them in any sort danger if I could at all avoid it. They might be déchet, they might be ghosts, but they were also only children.
The graveyard gave way to a long slope that was filled with rock debris and the broken, decaying remnants of trees. Halfway down the hill lay a gigantic crater, its rim strewn with rocks, building rubble, and twisted, sick-looking plants. Weirdly, even though I was standing above it, I couldn’t see into the crater itself. I frowned, my gaze narrowing. It might be the middle of the night, but the vampire DNA in my body had gifted me with—among other things—the ability to see as clearly at night as I could during the day. But the shadows that clustered just below the crater’s edge were thicker than the night itself and they emitted an energy that was dark and dirty.
Rift, an inner voice whispered even as my skin crawled at the thought of getting any closer.
But the figure I was tracking had disappeared, and there was no place other than the crater he or she could have gone. If I wanted to uncover whether that person was one of my targets, then I had to keep following.
I started down the hill. Small stones and fragmented metal scooted out from underfoot with every step, the latter chiming softly as the pieces hit the large rocks in my path. The graveyard ghosts danced lightly to the tune, seemingly unconcerned about either leaving the graveyard or approaching the rift—which in itself suggested that whatever that darkness was, it wasn’t dangerous. Either that or it was one of the few stationary rifts and, as such, posed no immediate threat to either them or me.
I wished I could talk to them. Maybe they could have told me if my target came here regularly, or even who he or she might be. But these ghosts, like those in Carleen, had been human, and that meant I couldn’t directly talk to them as I could to shifter or déchet ghosts. Not without help, anyway. The scientists who’d designed us had made damn sure those destined to become lures could not use their seeker skills to read either their thoughts or their emotions. They may have created us to be their frontline soldiers against the shifters, but they’d also feared us. Mind reading wasn’t the only restriction placed on us when it came to humans—killing them was also out of bounds. Not that I’d ever tested that particular restriction—it had never occurred to me to do so during the war, and there’d been no need in the one hundred and three years after it.
Energy began to burn across my skin as I drew closer to the crater. The ghosts finally hesitated, then retreated. Part of me wished I could do the same.
I stopped at the crater’s rim and stared down into it. The darkness was thick, almost gelatinous, and lapped at the tips of my boots in gentle waves. It was unlike anything I’d ever come across before. Even the shadows that had covered the other false tears had not felt this foul, this . . . alien.
This wasn’t magic. Or, if it was, it wasn’t the sort of magic that had originated from this world. It just didn’t have the right feel. So did that mean it had come from the Others? From wherever they’d come from?
Were they even capable of magic?
I really had no idea. I doubted there was anyone alive who did know, simply because anyone who’d ever come across one of them hadn’t lived to tell the tale.
Except, I thought with a chill, Sal and his partners. They’d not only survived but—thanks to the rift that had hit them just as a wraith was emerging—Sal’s partners now had its DNA running through their bodies.
I stared down at my boots, at the oily, glistening substance that stained the tips of them. Revulsion stirred, and the urge to retreat hit so strongly I actually took a step back. But that wouldn’t give me the answers I needed. Wouldn’t help find the missing children.
And it was that desire more than anything that got me moving in the right direction. One step; two. No stones slid from under my feet this time. Or, if they did, they made no sound. It was still and hushed in this small part of the world—almost as if the night held its breath in expectation. Or horror.
The darkness slithered over my feet and ankles, and oddly felt like water. Thick, foul water that was colder than ice. It pressed my combat pants against my skin as it rose up my legs, and the weapons clipped to my thighs gained an odd, frozen sheen. I crossed mental fingers and hoped like hell this stuff didn’t damage them. I didn’t want to face whatever—whomever—might be waiting at the bottom of this crater without any means of protection.
The farther I moved down the slope—the deeper I got into the darkness—the harder every step became. Sweat trickled down my spine, but its cause wasn’t just the effort of moving forward. This stuff, whatever it was, scared me.
I reached back and pulled free one of the two slender machine rifles strapped to my back. I’d adapted them to fire small wooden stakes rather than bullets, as that was the best way to kill vampires. While there was a chance none of my weapons would work after this muck touched them, I still felt better with the rifle’s weight in my hand.
The darkness washed up my stomach, over my breasts, then up to my neck. I raised my face in an effort to avoid becoming fully immersed for as long as possible. Which was stupid. It was just darkness, not water, no matter how much it felt otherwise. I wouldn’t drown in the stuff.
But could I breathe?
I took one final deep breath, just in case, and then pushed on. The ink washed up my face, then over my head, and it suddenly felt as if there were a ton of weight pressing down on me. Every step became an extreme effort; all too soon my leg muscles were quivering and it took every ounce of determination I had to keep upright, to keep moving.
I pressed on, but I really had no idea whether I was heading in the right direction. Not only did the darkness envelop me, but it also stole all sense of time and direction. God, what if this was a trap? What if all along they’d intended nothing more than to lure me down here to get rid of me? Sal’s partners had to be aware of his death by now, just as they had to be aware that I was the one who’d found and rescued the five kids—after all, those kids had been nothing more than bait in an attempt to trap and kill me. That it hadn’t gone exactly as they’d hoped was due to good luck rather than to bad planning on their part. Or, rather, good luck and a whole lot of help from the adult déchet who haunted my bunker.
And while Sal’s partners might have no idea what I truly looked like—and therefore could neither stop me from entering their businesses in Central nor hunt me down—they were well aware that I lived in the old underground military bunker outside that city. And they’d undoubtedly realize I would not abandon the rest of those ch
ildren.
I had been expecting some sort of retaliatory attack, but against our bunker rather than out here in the middle of nowhere.
If this was a trap, then it was one I’d very stupidly walked right into. But there was nothing I could do about that now. I just had to keep moving.
But the deeper I got, the more crushing the weight of the darkness became. My legs were beginning to bow under the pressure, my spine ached, and my shoulders were hunched forward. It felt as if I was about to topple over at any minute, and it took every ounce of concentration and strength to remain upright. May the goddess Rhea help me if I met anything coming up out of the crater, because I doubted I’d even have the energy to pull the rifle’s trigger.
Then, with little warning, the weight lifted and I was catapulted into fresh air and regular night. I took a deep, shuddering breath and became aware of something else. Or rather someone else.
Because I was no longer alone.
I turned around slowly. At the very bottom of the crater, maybe a dozen or so yards away from where I stood, there was a rift. A real rift, not a false one. It shimmered and sparked against the cover of night, and while the energy it emitted was foul, it nevertheless felt a whole lot cleaner than the thick muck I’d just traversed.
Standing in front of it were four figures—three with their backs to the rift, one standing facing it. The solo person was the dark-cloaked, hooded figure I’d been following; the other three . . .
I shuddered even as I instinctively raised my weapon and fired. The other three were tall and thin, with pale translucent skin through which you could see every muscle, bone, and vein. There was no hair on their bodies and they didn’t really have normal faces—just big amber eyes and squashed noses.
Wraiths.
And they reacted even as I did. Though none of them had anything resembling a mouth, they screamed—it was a high-pitched sound of fury I doubted any human would be capable of hearing, and it made my ears ache. The two figures closest to me—the cowled man and the figure I presumed was the wraith’s leader—leapt sideways, out of the firing line of my weapon. But the other two came straight at me. I kept firing, but the machine rifle’s wooden bullets bounced harmlessly off their translucent skin.
I quickly sheathed the rifle, unclipped the guns from my pants, then turned and fled into the soupy darkness. Just because I could fight didn’t mean I had to or wanted to—especially not when it came to wraiths. And two of them at that.
The darkness enveloped me once more. My pace slowed to a crawl but my heart rate didn’t. I had no idea whether this muck would affect them as it did me, and all I could do was pray to Rhea that it did. I didn’t want to die. Not here, not in this stuff, and certainly not at the hands of a wraith.
I forged on, hurrying as much as the heaviness would allow, my breath little more than shallow rasps of fear and every muscle in my body quivering with effort. While I couldn’t hear any sound of pursuit, I knew they were behind me. Ripples of movement washed across my spine, getting stronger and stronger as they drew closer.
Fear forced fresh energy into my legs. I surged on, desperate to reach the crater’s rim. I might not be any safer there, but I could at least run and fight a whole lot better out in the open.
The ground slipped from under my feet and I went down on one knee. Just for an instant, I caught a glimpse of starlight; then a thick wave of movement hit my spine and knocked me sideways. Stones dug into my side as the air left my lungs in a huge whoosh. Claws appeared out of the black—they were thick and blue and razor sharp, and would have severed my spine had the wind of their movement not hit me first. Luck, it seemed, hadn’t totally abandoned me.
I fired both weapons in a sweeping arc. I had no idea where the wraiths were, because the darkness had closed around those claws and the rippling movement seemed to be coming from several directions now. Something wet splashed across my skin and face—something that stung like acid and smelled like egg. I hoped it was blood, but I knew there were Others who could spit poison. With the way things were playing out tonight, it was probably the latter rather than the former.
I scrubbed a sleeve across my face, but succeeded only in smearing whatever it was. I cursed softly, then thrust upright and scrambled toward the rim of the crater and that brief glimpse of starlight. If I had to fight, then I at least wanted to see my foe.
The ripples of movement didn’t immediately resume and, for an all too brief moment, I thought maybe I’d killed them both. It was a thought that swiftly died as those damn waves started up again.
There was nothing I could do. Nothing except keep running. Wraiths weren’t stupid; now that they knew I had weapons that could actually hurt them, they’d be a lot more cautious.
But, cautious or not, they were still moving through this muck a whole lot faster than I was. I had one chance, and one chance only—I had to get out and put as much distance between them and me as possible.
The heavy darkness began to slide away from my body. I sucked down big gulps of air, trying to ease the burning in my lungs. It didn’t really help. I ran on, my speed increasing as the darkness retreated further, lifting the weight from my shoulders and spine. Then, finally, I was free from its grip and racing over the edge of the crater. I didn’t stop. I didn’t dare. I needed to gain as much distance as I could . . .
Movement to my right. Instinct had me leaping left. Claws snagged the edge of my coat’s sleeve, ripping it from cuff to shoulder but not cutting skin. I twisted away, raised the guns, and fired.
At nothing.
The creature was gone. I had no idea whether speed or magic was involved in that disappearance, and no time to contemplate it. I just kept on running. Stones bounced away from my steps, but this time there were no ghosts to dance in time to the sound.
More movement, this time to my left. I fired again. The shots ripped across the night but found no target. The stony hillside appeared empty even though the foul presence of the wraiths stained the air itself.
If they were so damn fast—or, indeed, capable of hiding their presence through magic—why weren’t they attacking? Had they been ordered not to? Or were they like cats, preferring to play with their prey before closing in for the kill?
If it were the latter, then they were in for a shock, because this little mouse wasn’t about to go down without at least taking one of them with me.
The crest of the hill loomed above. Tombs and crosses reached for the stars like broken fingers reaching for help. But there was no safety to be found there, and the tombs themselves were just a reminder of my fate if I wasn’t very careful.
Stones clattered to my right; I swung a gun that way but didn’t fire. There was nothing there. They were playing with me. Fear pounded through my body, but there was little I could do but ignore it. I’d been in far worse situations than this and survived. I could survive this.
With luck.
I hoped.
The graveyard ghosts gathered near the top of the hill as I drew closer, but their energy was uneasy. Wary. I very much doubted they’d help if I asked for it. There was none of the anger in them that was so evident within the Carleen ghosts, and that probably meant this graveyard—and these ghosts—were pre-war. In which case they’d have no experience with or knowledge of wraiths and no idea just how dangerous they could be.
To my left, one of the creatures appeared out of the night—or, rather, his arm appeared. I ducked under his blow and fired both guns, but in the blink of an eye his limb was gone again. The bullets ricochet off nearby rocks, sending sparks flying into the night.
How in Rhea could I fight—kill—these creatures if I couldn’t see them?
I guess I had to be grateful that I could at least hear them. Sometimes. More than likely when they actually wanted me to.
More sound, this time to my left—claws scrabbling across stone. If that noise was any indication, the wraith was closing in quickly. Perhaps it had decided playtime was over.
I couldn’
t escape them—not in this form. Maybe it was time to try another—
Even as the thought entered my mind, something cannoned into my side and sent me tumbling. I hit the ground with a grunt but kept on rolling, desperate to avoid the attack I could feel coming.
I crunched into a large rock and stopped. The air practically screamed with the force of the creature’s approach; I raised the guns once more and ripped off several shots. Then I scrambled upright, only to be sent flying again. This time I hit face-first and skinned my nose and chin as I slid several feet back down the hill.
I had no time to recover. No time to even think. The creature’s weight landed in the middle of my back, and for too many seconds I couldn’t even breathe, let alone react. Its claws tore at my flesh, splitting the skin along my shoulder and sending bits of flesh splattering across the nearby rocks. It was still playing with me, because those claws could have—should have—severed my spine.
But the blood gushing down my arms and back was warning enough that if I didn’t move—didn’t get up and get away from this creature—I’d be as dead as any of those who watched from the safety of their tombstones.
And there was only one way I had any hope of escaping—I had to call forth the vampire within me.
So I ignored the creature’s crushing weight, ignored the blood and the pain and the gore that gleamed wetly on the ground all around me, and sucked the energy of the night deep into my lungs. It filtered swiftly through every aching inch of me until my whole body vibrated with the weight and power of it. The vampire within rose in a rush—undoubtedly fueled by fear and desperation—and swiftly embraced that darkness, becoming one with it, until it stained my whole being and took over. It ripped away flesh, muscle, and bone until I was nothing more than a cluster of matter. Even my weapons and clothes became part of that energy. In this form, at least, I’d be harder to pin down.