Chapter 2
Inside my apartment, I double-locked the front door and checked the windows. It was a habit to make sure I was alone in the house. My windows were barred, but that was enough metal for me. As much as I didn’t want vampires to materialize into my home, I wanted them to be able to dematerialize back out of it.
My place was in a bad part of town. I was earning enough for something better, but the illusion of safety nauseated me. I wanted to be on guard because I had to be. I couldn’t become comfortable. It had been in a well-off neighborhood, in a lovely family home, where I’d lost my mother and had nearly lost my sister. No, thank you. I preferred to slum it.
I stripped my weapons and put them in the gun safe at the bottom of my cupboard. Then I peeled off the holster and thigh sheath and hung them up next to my leather jacket.
I showered. I had to get the acidic smell of that mist off me, and get rid of any blood that might have gotten on my skin. I killed for a living, but the idea of blood still made me sick.
The face looking back at me from the mirror was haunted. My black hair framed a too-white face. I had the classic vampire complexion. My face was smooth and flawless, but a long scar ran from my jaw down my neck and ended at the base of my collarbone. I traced it with my finger.
By the time sunlight began to fall through my bedroom window, I was ready to leave again. My hair was dry and tied up in a bun, and I was wearing grey slacks and an aqua shirt. The blue made my eyes stand out. When I was dressed in my leathers, they looked like ice. When I dressed like a normal person, there was some depth to them.
I didn’t take my bike. Instead, I took the bus to the other side of Westham, where there were flower boxes under the windows and other reminders that nocturnal life didn’t dominate everything else.
Zelda opened the door. She was the live-in nurse who helped Aspen. Her white uniform was strained by her solid frame, and her hair was pulled back against her head with no sense of imagination. One thing I could say about Zelda was that she was consistent.
“Adele,” she said, smiling when she saw me, like it was a surprise, even though no one else ever visited this early. “How are you?”
“Fine,” I answered, but Zelda shook her head.
“You should sleep more.”
I shrugged. I would if I could.
“Go on through to the kitchen,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”
When I walked into the kitchen, I found the buttery roll-up blinds drawn against the sun. Aspen didn’t need the sun to drain the little bit of energy she had. She had more vampire in her than I did, and her skin didn’t like the touch of sunlight very much. Aspen was sitting at the counter they had lowered for her wheelchair.
“There you are,” she said when she saw me, and smiled. Her pearly white fangs showed, and the combination with her dainty face, ghostly white skin and cascading, honey-colored curls made her look like she had stepped out of a fantasy novel.
My sister and I were total opposites. I had black hair and blue eyes. She had blonde hair and hazel eyes. She was the lucky one who had our mother stare back at her when she looked in the mirror, despite her fangs, which our human mother hadn’t had. I was saddled with the looks of my deadbeat father (minus the teeth), but I didn’t want to be reminded of him every day. I was pretty, but looks could kill in a lot of different ways.
“How are you doing?” I asked, bending down to kiss her on the top of her head. I couldn’t help but notice her legs when I did. They were thin and frail from years of lack of use. Her arm, reaching across the counter for her orange juice, was thin and bony.
“You’ve lost weight again,” I said, frowning. “If you keep at it, one day there’ll be nothing left of you.” I sat down on a chair that was always there for me, and took a piece of toast.
“Already only half left,” she said, and laughed.
Her laugh danced around the kitchen like the sound of wind chimes, but I didn’t join in. I didn’t think her joke was funny. Her laughter faded when she saw my lack of humor, but her eyes, full of golden flecks, held on to the joke.
“Stop fussing over me. Tell me about your night. Did you catch any bad ones?”
I shrugged and bit off a piece of toast. I was hazy about what I did when I talked to my sister. To Aspen, I was a hero, the one who had gotten out unscathed and was now devoting my life to fighting crime, putting bad guys behind bars. I wasn’t going to talk about gruesome death with my handicapped sister – and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that if the police got hold of me, I was probably the one who would end up behind bars. It was bad enough that she had to sit in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. She didn’t have to know the gory details of how I was trying to make up for my failure to protect her.
“You don’t have to keep coming around after your shift, you know,” Aspen said when I wouldn’t answer her. “I know you’re tired. You always insist on the graveyard shift.”
Graveyard shift. Huh. The irony.
“And what am I going to do for a social life, then?” I asked, pulling a face. I didn’t know a lot of people other than Joel, my weapons specialist. The other people I met, I usually ended up killing.
“You should get yourself a boyfriend. It would be good for you to have someone take care of you for a change. I never can.”
Her words hit me like physical punches. “That’s because you don’t have to. You have enough on your plate.”
She snorted. “Like what? I sit around all day.”
“I don’t think I’d be good at dating,” I offered. It was true – men didn’t like it when women were better with guns than they were. They had a set image of what they thought women should be, and leathers and guns weren’t included. Besides, between working and training, when did I have the time? “I’m happy focusing on my job.”
“What about that guy you mentioned at work? Carl? You said he has the same shift as you. You guys ever pair up?”
I rolled my eyes. Carl was a bodybuilder with more interest in his own looks than in the work he did. He killed to impress, not to save. And he wasn’t very good at it, either. Not from where I was standing. “I prefer to work alone.”
“What about Joel?”
“I’m not dating Joel. He’s a great friend, but he’s not going to bring me flowers.”
“That’s because you wouldn’t know what to do with them.” Aspen giggled. “Honestly, Adele. You’re beautiful and interesting. It’s a shame to waste that on work.”
“What, with a scar down my neck?”
She looked down at her now-empty glass. “It’s less conspicuous than a wheelchair.”
She wasn’t making a joke this time. The cold truth hung between us, all the warmth draining out of the room. I curled my hand into a fist.
“If I hadn’t gone out to the store… If I’d been able to stop him—” I started, but she shook her head.
“Don’t, Adele. Don’t do that to yourself.” Her voice was hard, but her eyes welled up. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She let out a shaky breath.
When she opened her eyes again, all trace of tears was gone.
“Let me show you my art,” she said, quickly changing the subject.
I got up and followed her down the hallway into her art room. She was working on a canvas of a woodlands scene. My talented sister could work magic with oils and acrylic. She pointed out things on the canvas, telling me about it, but the atmosphere between us was still heavy. Everything had changed with her reminder about our past.
Finally, I said my goodbyes and left her house feeling worse than when I’d arrived.
My next stop was the Martial Arts Academy on Sterling Street, three blocks over. I had a meeting with the sensei every morning at nine to train in combat and self-defense. He was the only man I’d been able to find who wouldn’t treat me like a woman. He worked me into the ground, not stopping until my muscles screamed, and in han
d-to-hand he always put me on my back if I didn’t defend myself like a man. It was the kind of training I needed. Hard, merciless.
We worked on fitness training first this morning, and he had me in a good sweat. I was fit and battle-ready, but he still wore me out. In hand-to-hand I went all out on him. I had pent-up frustration and anger to spare, and he was the one person who would fight back but still criticize me even when I’d won. He put me on the floor after my failed attempt to pin him, and knocked the wind out of me.
When he stood over me, his eyebrows rose. Standing up, he was shorter than I was, but from this angle he looked larger than life. He kept his head bald, and he made up for his lack of height with muscle bulk and tone.
I looked down and saw that my shirt had ridden up, exposing my stomach. I had a well-toned stomach, but a bruise was wrapped like a decoration around my ribs. It must have happened sometime after I’d ditched my bike.
“You been looking for trouble?” he asked. With my skill set, he knew I wasn’t likely to get mugged.
“Been street fighting again,” I joked. “I needed a little money on the side.”
He grinned to cover up his concern, but it was still visible when we faced off for the next round.
When we were done, I collapsed on the mat, breathing hard and sweating.
“You really went all out today,” I said. My ribs hurt every time I inhaled. I tried to breathe around the pain. Ignoring it worked most of the time.
Sensei sat down next to me, cross-legged, like he was going to meditate. “You want to tell me what those bruises are about?”
I didn’t, really, but there were times people wouldn’t let something go, and I had seen Sensei’s fighting skills. If his personality matched his methods, he wasn’t one to let go.
I shrugged. “Occupational hazard,” I finally answered. “I don’t really have a desk job.”
“I figured that,” he said. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
If he meant my life, then yes. I was in some kind of trouble every day. But that wasn’t something I could just get out of the way. He wouldn’t understand.
“No. I just went about something the wrong way. It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, it looks real complicated. Look, all I know is that you’ll still bleed, no matter how long and hard you train to fight. Watch your back, okay? I don’t want to have to fill this slot with someone else because you didn’t make it through.”
“Nice of you to care.”
I didn’t do caring and affection. Those things were dangerous, disguises that made me feel like there were no enemies to watch my back for. Trust. That was the killer. And trust and love went hand in hand.
“It would be nice for you to try, too,” he said, and got up.
Chaos averted, I told myself. It was easy to keep my cover if people didn’t probe too much. But there was warmth in the emptiness he’d left behind. Not a lot of people gave a shit, which was why I didn’t, either. I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up off the mat, fighting the urge to try to shake off the warmth like a dog.
By noon, I was back home. I found my black chain and looped it in a figure eight over my chest and shoulders. Then I headed out for a run, pushing myself past screaming muscles and aching bones. Half an hour in the dead neighborhood.
When that was done, I hit the shower again. I finished off with a protein shake – nothing like an after-training snack that tastes like cardboard – and crawled into bed. I was aching from the injuries and the training, but the throbbing pain reminded me that I was alive, and I had to stay that way.
My fingers curled around the butt of the Glock under my pillow, and only then did I relax. Usually my enemies were dead by the time I walked away, but I never knew who I had pissed off in the process.
I kept a low profile, but luck favors the prepared.