Blood Trade

  I had brought shoes with a grabby sole, loose pants, and an oversized tee, and I quickly stripped, putting my leathers into the bag with the boots.

  While I changed, I also checked the stability of the zip line, which was attached to the highest point on the roof—the fake fourth-story wall. I had taken a mountain-climbing class a year or so after high school, and the line was wrapped around the entire wall instead of attached with gear into the mortar, which was smart. The height on this side allowed the line a slight angle across the chasm of the hedge to the building on the other side, where it was secured, out of sight.

  I didn’t think I would have done anything different had I set it all up myself, and I wondered who had arranged the gear, Rick or Bruiser. I was betting on Bruiser, not the boy from the Deep South.

  By the time I could hear the others climbing to the roof, I was shivering in the cold, dressed and wearing sneakers, all my gear stored in three different bags, watching the sky brighten prior to sunrise.

  Bruiser appeared first, Soul right behind him, and I looked over the MOC’s primo. He was dressed all in leather in his Enforcer clothes, but unlike mine, his duds had been custom made and fit him like a glove. Leather pants, leather boots, and a leather coat over what had to be a silk shirt. Bristling with weapons. His dark hair slicked back.

  “Nice gear,” I said grudgingly, as he looked me over.

  The morning breeze spun by, blowing my clothes against my limbs. His smile widened, making him look lean, mean, and dangerous. “Beautiful woman,” he said.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, but felt a flush spread through me, just as Rick stepped from the fire escape. He was carrying standard cop weapons, except for the earpieces and the small wire trailing to his jacket pocket, the sound of tinny music coming from it, a pair of nice vamp-killers strapped to his thighs, and the feral greenish glow of his eyes. All that was nonstandard issue. He had pulled his hair back in a queue, and I was reminded of the way Leo Pellissier wore his hair. Rick stalked across the flat roof, moving like a cat, his eyes on Bruiser.

  I stepped between them. “If you can’t keep it together, you can go back to the street,” I said to Rick.

  “I’ll keep it together. As long as he keeps his hands off you.”

  Anger pumped through me, part embarrassment, part something else that I didn’t take the time to identify. “Just so you know. Jealousy is not a turn-on.” I swiveled on a heel and stepped into the zip-line harness, ignoring the two men.

  From behind me, Brute snarled as if he were an attack dog defending his master. He was showing his teeth, which left me confused until Beast pressed in on my brain again and sent me a mental picture of her scratching the wolf’s nose. I/we snarled back, and I growled, “Nice doggie.”

  His growl deepened at the insult and his ruff stood up. And while I was itching for a fight, it wasn’t with a wolf. I’d rather hit Rick. Or Bruiser. Or both. But Beast didn’t want to let it go and sent her claws deeper into my brain. “So far I/we have broken your nose two times, little doggie,” she said through me, her voice low. “Scratched you. Are you stupid, dog?”

  Brute tensed, but quieted when Soul put a hand into his fur and scratched. Pea scolded the wolf with a burst of chitter. Rick stepped between us. Bruiser chuckled, the sound goading. The wolf turned angry eyes to the primo. For a moment more we tottered on the edge of violence. I pushed back on Beast, knowing this wasn’t helping to create a team. I took a calming breath. “Sorry. It’s the full moon. My Beast is . . . difficult. Come on, Soul. I’ll get you into the harness.”

  “I have never done this before,” she said, leaving her team. As she walked, a sense of peace spread outward, and I knew we were being manipulated by her personal magics, but I let it happen anyway. We needed to be calm. We needed a sense of coherence. Or her percentages might become real and half of us could die.

  Wolf should die, Beast thought at me. Thief of meat. Stupid pack hunter.

  “No problem,” I said to Soul. But it was. Her dress made it difficult to get her into the harness in such a way that she could release the harness and fall without catching the clothing on the gear and maybe hanging her.

  Finally we were in position, me in front with a zip-line steering trolley, her behind me in an abbreviated mountain-climbing harness, attached to the line with sturdy carabiners. I showed her how to release it so she could fall. Her scent changed as I spoke, and she tied the end of a scarf to a loop on my pants. Her magics began to rise.

  When we were ready, I leaned down to see Eli staring up at me. He raised a thumb and melted into the shadows. The explosive devices were in place.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this. Soul, let the harness take your weight, and put your feet against the roof wall to hold you still.” When she was secure, I pulled on gloves, eased down on the line, and hooked my carabiner to the zip-line trolley.

  “We have to be close,” she said, her voice shaky, “for the death spell to start. I need to put my legs around you and hold you to me.”

  I nodded, and Soul wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me in close. It was a lot closer than my Beast liked. Her idea of personal space was something like miles away, unless it was a kit or a mate.

  She said, “Are you ready? This may feel . . . odd.”

  I nodded, and Soul took a deep breath and said, “The die is cast.”

  Which made no sense at all. For a moment.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Thank You,” the Corpse Croaked

  The scent of the grave surrounded me first, followed almost instantly by the visual transformation. Soul rotted before my eyes. Her body fluids melted into my clothes, her face sagged, the fluids and blood pooling with gravity while her eyes dried out. I looked at my hand and saw the same level of decomp. Ick. Eww. I was gross.

  “Hurry,” she said, the croak sounding like the dead. The stench of her breath made my eyes water, and I pushed off the false wall with a thrust of my legs, out into the air and over the buzzing magics of the augmented hedge of thorns.

  While the purpose of zip-lining is to gain speed on a downward-sloped line, one can adjust speed with the gloved hand behind the trolley and one’s body position. In our case, the line was too gently sloped and I expected that I’d have to pull us along with my hands. That was before my body reacted to being embraced by a ten-day-old corpse. My shove off the wall was too hard, and I had to brake, one gloved hand on the line, dragging behind the corpse’s carabiner, my other hand atop the trolley, holding us stable. I was so busy working on the braking that I almost missed the energies passing over us as we reached the small hole over the top of the hedge.

  When I felt the faint burst of magics, I adjusted our position carefully. The opening was only five feet below us, but the distance to the house roof was three feet more, making it a difficult leap and landing. Ankle breaking. And nowhere to roll afterward, just drop, hit, and stop. Hard.

  I set one of Soul’s hands behind her carabiner to hold her steady, and she made sure her scarf was still attached. I said, “I’m ready to go. And just for the record, no offense intended, as I am very grateful that you got us here safely, but we really stink.”

  “Thank you,” the corpse croaked, unwrapping her legs from me.

  “Yeah. Dropping now.” I unhooked myself, held still until my body stopped rocking, bent my knees slightly to take the landing, and fell. Adrenaline spurted through me. My stomach followed a split-second later. Vertigo hit as I passed through the hedge opening. The scarf spiraled down with me.

  The roof slammed me like . . . well, like falling off a zip line onto a roof. The jar whipped up from my toes, through my body, and out the top of my head. My teeth clacked together. I dropped to my knees, one foot on either side of the ridgeline, feeling the strain in my ankles and knees. My feet slid in opposite directions. I caught myself with my gloved hands, the rough roof beneath them grating. I stank of the grave, the stench so strong I wanted to gag. Beast, who had helped with the landin
g, withdrew.

  The first thing I did was untie the scarf and set it to the side. When I was sure I could stand, I inspected myself. I was whole again, albeit still a bit stinky. I held up my hands for my gear, and the corpse above me dropped them one at a time. I positioned each bag on the roof and let them slide into the crevice of the rear chimney.

  When they were secure, I held up my arms for Soul, having no idea if I would be able to catch her as she fell, even with Beast helping, or if I would drop her to the ridge, injuring her badly. I braced myself and nodded to her.

  I wasn’t sure what I was seeing as she fell. Her body blurred, elongated, stretched, and narrowed. And she landed on her own two feet. Or maybe her own four feet. The most I did was steady her balance as she reformed into her usual gorgeous self, the corpse gone. Even the awful smell was gone. So was the scarf I had put aside.

  She smoothed down her dress and looked up at me, her face innocent. “What?”

  I felt something push at the boundaries of my mind, and Beast rushed against it, slamming both front paws down on the mental intrusion. The compulsion fell away, and Soul opened her eyes wide. “What was that?”

  “You tell me your secrets, and I’ll tell you mine,” I grated out. I was usually lying when I said that, but this time I was actually willing to trade. I had known she wasn’t human, but I had no idea what Soul was.

  “I—” she stopped. I waited. “Perhaps we’ll talk sometime.”

  “Yeah. Perhaps.” I dropped my arms and she wavered on the roof, but now that I knew that looking human was all for show, I didn’t help to balance her. “Let me get changed, and we’ll set the charges.”

  Drawing on Beast again, I half walked, half slid down the roof to the chimney, opened the bag holding my clothes, and stripped off the outer clothes I’d worn when I’d been afraid I’d become Beast in midair. I knew I was in plain sight of the men and wolf on the roof, and I had planned for this, so I wasn’t naked but in boy shorts and sports bra. I didn’t look up. And I didn’t let myself blush. This was a rescue job, not a pole dance.

  I dressed in my leathers, which wasn’t easy, having to work stooped so my head didn’t get taken off by the softly sizzling ward just above me. I sat in the crevice of the chimney to pull on my boots and strap the Velcro over the ties. Still sitting, I opened the second go-bag and worked my way into the weapon harness. Nothing was going to be a smooth draw, not with the shirt bunched up where I couldn’t reach it without falling or getting scalped, but I felt immeasurably better once I was armed.

  From the last bag, I pulled three explosive devices—each of them composed of C4 and det cord wrapped with tape, and the three ends sealed together with a long-delay detonator. C4, also called plastic-bonded explosives or PBX, was a malleable explosive that required a strong charge to set it off. I unspooled the detonator cord from around the block of explosive material and stood to peek over the edge of the chimney into the dark center. I half expected a huge, hairy spidey vamp to leap out at me, but the opening was clear all the way down. I nodded to the guys on the roof and lowered the chunk of C4. Eli had told me more than I ever wanted to know about the explosives, but the only thing I needed to know to make this work was how many of the devices to put down the chimney and how low to drop it. And he couldn’t tell me any of that. It was either do the math or eyeball it based on experience, neither which I had. But I had flown by the seat of my pants all my life, so why stop now?

  I studied the mortar holding the bricks of the chimney flue together and decided that this was the original brick, which meant it was old, porous, and unstable, so it should come down easily. Not that I was taking a chance. I dropped the first block of C4 all the way down to just above where a faint light could be seen from the open fireplace. If there was an old-fashioned vent, it was long gone. I secured the cord to the top of the chimney cap by taping it with long lengths of duct tape. I unspooled another block of C4, let it down the chimney, and secured it about where I assumed the ceiling below me was. I wrapped it into the same tape as the first det cord and cut off the last device. One might work. Two surely would. Three would be overkill and might kill the witches below me.

  Regular detonation cord is really just a long, thin explosive. When set off, it detonates—explodes—at a rate of about twenty-four thousand feet per second, so Soul and I were using a long-period-delay detonator, or LPD. Even so, we needed to be on the other side of the roof long before it went off. I pointed to the far chimney, and Soul scampered across to it. I put the go-bags around my neck and moved more slowly, unwrapping det cord as I went. Once over the ridgeline, I slid down the roof to the chimney and wedged myself in with Soul.

  “They’ll be waiting for us. We’ve made enough noise to wake the dead,” Soul murmured.

  “The undead, you mean,” I said dryly. Soul tinkled with laughter and I laughed with her, pulling hard hats from the explosives go-bag. I handed Soul hers and shoved my own on. I stuck my fingers in my ears, opened my mouth, and nodded to the guys on the roof at the same time.

  Four seconds later, Eli’s C4 at ground level went off. I felt the concussions through my teeth. Above us, the hedge ward wavered and rippled, its energies interrupted by the explosions. I ducked my head and pressed my detonator, then re-covered my ears. Three long seconds went by, and the LPD det cord activated.

  The blast took off the chimney. And the entire front of the old house. Debris shot into the air and fell, showering us. Bricks fell, some still intact. It was a miracle we weren’t brained by the falling debris. As it was, stuff peppered our hard hats.

  Above us, one man zipped in and dropped, unburned by the wavering ward. Bruiser whipped past me and rammed an ax head into the roof. Using the handle, he swung over the roof edge and into the attic. Rick followed him and used a rope that was tied to the zip line to do the same thing. Brute landed, having leaped the whole distance. Beast was impressed and, not to be outdone, shoved me after him.

  I pulled on my gloves and said, “Let’s move.”

  I clattered over the ridgeline and skidded toward the hole in the roof, my boots sliding on the old roof tiles. The hole came at me fast. It was big enough for me to swing through. Big enough for me to fall through. If I misjudged, I’d be chopped up by the hedge and hit ground far below on what had to be a pile of rubble. I twisted fast in a one-eighty turn and dropped toward the attic. Grabbed a roof joist. It gave. I’m falling. My stomach slapped against my throat. The joist caught, yanking at my shoulder as I swung into the attic and landed.

  The floor of the attic—loosened by the C4—fell through into the room below. I barely caught myself on my hands and hauled myself up, my breath fast, a heated sweat starting. Below, in the house, I could hear the sounds of fighting.

  Soul landed beside me with that flowing, blurring motion that was in no way human. She didn’t bother with the innocent look this time, no longer caring that she had proven herself some kind of shape-shifting supernat. She gestured for me to lead the way. I didn’t argue, but this time I tested the joist before dropping my weight on it.

  I landed on the floor just as the first rays of the sun burst across the horizon. Pinkish light filled the sky, brightening everything. Including the fight in the center of the house. In a single eye blink and inhalation, I took in the scene and found pattern in the madness. The stench was awful—death and a miasma of dust and rot. And two monstrous things were fighting Bruiser. One looked like a wasp with human legs and arms; the other like a spider. Spidey vamp, for real. And Bruiser was standing over Rick, who wasn’t moving at all. Crap.

  Bruiser’s swords moved so fast I couldn’t follow, cutting, cutting, a whirlwind of steel, the center of the double-edged blades silver plated and catching the pink glow. It seemed important for half a second until one thing whirled and lashed out at me.

  I leaped to the side, into a ray of light. The spidey-revenant-vamp-thing didn’t follow. I drew my M4 and braced it against my shoulder. Aimed at what looked like a stinger, two-pron
ged and wicked sharp. I fired. And fired again. The stinger was gone, leaving a drooling stump and a wash of greenish goo. All I could think of was the old movie Ghost Busters until, off balance, the thing reeled to me and I got my first good look. This was no Casper.

  The carapace that seemed to grow out of its back looked like a huge hornet—not human at all, though it had only vestigial wings. It had a human jaw and vamp canines. Its eyes were multifaceted. Its shoulders, torso, and legs were human, though furred and striped like a hornet. And on its chest hung a pocket watch. I didn’t bother aiming for anything that might kill it. I aimed at the amulet and fired. The vamp jerked to the side as if it knew what I aimed at. I fired. And fired. Hitting the creature, knocking off chunks, but seemingly doing little damage. It came at me. Rushing on its human legs.

  Backpedaling fast, I fired again. This time I hit the amulet. The spidey vamp stumbled. I had one shell left and braced my feet. Took careful aim at the amulet hanging on the thing. Fired my last shot.

  The silver fléchettes smashed the amulet. The creature fell. But it was still twitching. I pulled my vamp-killer and started hacking at the neck. Its flesh was hard, with a carapace just under skin. But I kept at it until the head separated from the rest of the misshapen thing and rolled a short distance, hit a brick from the fireplace, and stopped in a ray of pinkish light. An eye seemed to be looking up to me, as the head started to sizzle and burn. The stink of rotten, burning meat filled the air.

  The body was still in shadow. I leaned down and gathered up the remains of the amulet. Stuffed it into a pocket. And pulled the spidey vamp across a black arc painted on the floor and into the sunlight. It weighed a ton. The body started to smoke. Good riddance.

  Reloading from my handy-dandy belated birthday present was a whiz. It was only six rounds, but it was a lot faster than pulling them from an ammo bag. I was breathing hard as I readied the weapon and took in the room.