Night Owls

11

CHAZ REALLY DIDN’T like it. The three of them stood in the back room, the last customers gone, the lights in the front of the store switched off. Justin had caught a nap on the tattered old couch that served as the break area, but it didn’t look like the rest had done him much good. He sat, his forearms on his knees and hands dangling, as he watched Val and Chaz argue. From the resigned look on his face, Chaz got the sense he’d seen his parents argue like this on a regular basis.

“Aw, c’mon Val. Him?” It was the third time Chaz had asked that question. He stood leaning against the wall with his arms folded, scowling at her.

“What’s wrong with Cavale?”

“That dude’s a bell tower and a sniper rifle waiting to happen.”

Val pressed her fingers to her temples. “That’s not fair. He’s . . . eccentric, but—”

“‘Eccentric’ is what the neighbors call serial killers after the bodies are found. He’s a barrel of crazy.”

Chaz and Cavale had a mutual dislike for one another. The first time they’d met—the first second—each had decided the other was fundamentally flawed. Cavale thought Chaz was a shiftless prick; Chaz had several variations on “batshit crazy” he liked to drag out whenever Cavale’s name was mentioned.

Most of the time, Val tried not to bring one up in front of the other. Chaz could count on one hand how many times they’d been face-to-face over the last couple of years. It worked out better that way.

“Look, you don’t have to come with,” she said. “Justin and I will be fine.”

Chaz’ scowl deepened. “No. I’m coming. I’m not letting him poke about in Justin’s head unsupervised.”

Justin straightened up, eyes wide. “Poke about in my . . . ? Val?”

The glare she gave Chaz could have melted stone. “He’s not going to do anything to you unless you give him permission, and it’s certainly not going to involve actual poking.”

Chaz snorted. “Remind her she said that when he starts looking for blood to put on his altar.”

“Chaz? A moment?” Holding the door open, Val jerked her head toward the darkened, empty store.

Oops. Too far. He heaved a theatrical sigh as he unfolded himself and trudged past her. When they got out of Justin’s earshot, halfway down the romance section, he jumped in before Val could speak. “Look. I know you’re trying to help him. But this is just asking for trouble. There has to be another way to do this that doesn’t involve”—he opened his mouth to call Cavale another name, but stopped himself when Val raised a brow—“him.”

“I’m open to suggestions. How many warlocks do you have on speed dial?” Val waited, watching Chaz’ face in the dim light as his argument fell apart. “That’s about what I thought. We have less than two days now, and Cavale’s our best hope. Are you going to fight me on this, or can we move along?”

He almost dropped it. His shoulders slumped; his gaze hit the floor. Then he spoke, his voice just barely audible: “You could still put in a call to Boston.”

The palm of her hand made a flat crack as it hit the shelf beside her. Down the row, several paperbacks tumbled to the ground. “You want to repeat that?”

Chaz flinched, but he lifted his eyes to hers. “They could send help. Or protect him.”

She took several slow breaths, the way she did when she was trying to keep herself from yelling. “I can’t even believe you’d suggest that after the last time.”

A few years back, Val had sought the help of one of the colonies in Boston when an overzealous monster hunter had come passing through Edgewood and twigged onto her true nature. One of the women the Stregoi had sent down had taken a liking to Chaz and tried claiming him as part of the fee. Stealing another vampire’s thrall by offering them a sweeter offer was considered rude. Commanding someone else’s and mucking about with their free will was expressly forbidden.

A shudder coursed its way through Chaz as he remembered, but sometimes, you had to sack up. This was one of those times, even if Val didn’t want to see it. It’s my job to make her see it. “Two people are dead, Val. And if Cavale can’t get this thing out of Justin, who knows what the Jackals will do if they find out it’s in his head. That’s a little more important than your pride.”

He’d left out the part about his own freedom. Provoking her anger would work better if he didn’t drag guilt into the mix.

Unfortunately for Chaz’ argument, those three awful days were inextricably linked to her feelings on the Boston colonies. “I’ve got this under control.” She laid a hand on his right arm. “Give me another day. If it’s not fixed by the time we close tomorrow night, I’ll call them. Okay?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He looked at her hand for a long moment. Beneath her palm, covered by his sleeve, were the fading twin scars from the Stregoi woman’s fangs. It was no accident Val had touched him there, and they both knew it. “All right. Fine. One day.” He pulled away from her and moved toward the back room. “Let’s go pay the nutjob a visit and get this over with.”

CHAZ SOMETIMES JOKED about Cavale living in the creepy old house on a hill, but the truth was, it was the best Cavale could afford. He was barely twenty-five, but he’d raised enough cash for a down payment in less than six months, acting as a sort of supernatural odd jobs man. Gotta hand it to him, Chaz thought as they turned onto Cavale’s street, he owns his own place. I still live in the same shitty apartment I got after college.

During the day, Cavale’s official, taxpaying job was as a tarot reader at a shop that sold everything from healing crystals to ritual robes. At night, though . . . If you needed it done, Cavale could take care of it: evicting poltergeists, cleansing psychically tainted houses, finding out why Uncle George had been slamming that door in the dead of night ever since he died. Or whether it was really Uncle George doing it at all.

Chaz and Val had met him a couple of years back, when the succubi had hired him to come ward their house. They’d brought him in to Night Owls, and Val had liked him from the start. He was often somber and, Chaz suspected, lonely, but Chaz had to admit he was a bright kid, too. Bright enough, in fact, that if she hadn’t had one already, Chaz had a sneaking feeling Val might have tried enticing Cavale to be her Renfield.

It was likely part of the reason he disliked Cavale so vehemently, but he’d never say that aloud.

As Chaz pulled into the driveway, Justin—who had been curled up in the backseat trying to catch another nap on the short ride to Crow’s Neck—sucked in a nervous breath. “If no one’s home, maybe we should come back tomorrow.”

“He’s home.” Val turned around and offered her best reassuring smile. “I called before we left.”

Justin smiled back. It just made him look like he was about to vomit. Chaz couldn’t really begrudge him his apprehension—first he’d contracted an unexplained mental malady on the heels of his mentor’s brutal murder, and now he was being whisked off in the dead of night to a decrepit house in a bad neighborhood so someone he’d never met could attempt a cure. Chaz’ remarks from earlier probably weren’t helping. I’ll apologize later.

Chaz killed the engine and they all got out. Justin stuck close behind them, nearly climbing into Chaz’ jacket. As they ascended the porch steps, a sliver of light sliced down the edge of the window closest to the door. Peeking out through the curtains.

The rattle of locks being undone followed—doorknob, dead bolt, chain—and the front door swung open, bathing them all in warm golden light. A long, trim figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the glow from inside. Chaz muttered something about theatrics, earning an elbow to the side from Val.

Cavale held his pose as they stepped onto the porch, probably to annoy Chaz even further. He folded his arms as he eyed Justin. “So I hear you have something hitching a ride in your head, huh?”

Justin looked to Val before he shrugged. “I, um. I guess?”

Cavale nodded, a sheaf of pale brown hair falling into his eyes. He must have been growing it out recently; the last time Chaz had seen him it had looked almost scruffy. Now it fell more naturally, just shy of ponytail length. “Well, we’ll get you sorted.” He smiled at Val and Chaz. “Why don’t you guys come on in? I’ve got a pot of coffee on.”

Chaz didn’t respond. He walked in past Cavale and waited for Justin to join him. The two of them peered around, Chaz with mild disdain, Justin goggling at the bunches of herbs hung up to dry along the walls and the runes painted around every entryway. He reached up to touch one of the symbols but stopped at a shake of the head from Chaz.

Val smiled as she stepped inside. “Justin was worried we’d woken you up.”

“Do these look like my pjs?” He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a black button-down shirt. About the only concession to an evening at home were his sock-clad feet.

Chaz couldn’t resist. “They do look a little slept in.”

A lazy smile quirked at his lips as he gave Chaz a once-over. “At least they’re from this decade.”

“Enough.” Val stepped between them. “Can you two please zip up so we can get back to the problem at hand?”

They both had the grace to look embarrassed. Cavale swept an arm toward the back of the house. “You’re right. I’ve got some things set up in the kitchen, if you want to get started.” He glanced at Chaz. “Truce?”

He was tempted to drag the moment out, make Cavale work for it a bit. The near-instant acquiescing was nothing more than ass-kissing. Val had to know that. Still, if that’s how he wants to play this . . . Chaz stuck out his hand, glancing sideways to be sure Val was watching how utterly reasonable he was being.

But she wasn’t watching him. She stood, sniffing the air, nostrils flaring. When she’d smelled the Jackals last night, she’d looked terrified. It wasn’t terror contorting her features now, though.

It was rage.

Cavale cocked his head at her as she sniffed the air. “Val? What’s wr— VAL!”

But Val had already taken off down the hallway.

SHE BARRELED THROUGH the sitting room and the empty kitchen, ignoring the confused shouts of the men behind her. The scent led her to the back stairway, where she went up the creaky steps three at a time. Her fangs and claws were out before she gained the top. The pain of their emergence barely registered: the whole of her awareness was focused on her prey.

Why would Cavale be harboring him? Did he come here looking for protection but didn’t say why? She shoved the questions aside. They could get sorted later. After she’d had words with the son of a bitch. After she’d inflicted some pain.

Whoever Cavale’s guest was, he had to know she was coming from the racket she was making as she pounded down the upstairs hall. That was okay; Val wanted a fight.

No light came from beneath the guest bedroom door, but that was where the scent of myrrh was strongest. If he thinks he’ll have the advantage, he’s going to be surprised. She stood outside a heartbeat longer, letting the thrill of the hunt wash over her. Whoever was in there wasn’t afraid; Val couldn’t hear any ragged breathing or frantic crashing about.

Three sets of footsteps thundered up the stairs. Chaz and Cavale were calling for her to hold on, slow down, wait.

Val was done waiting. She strode forward and planted her foot halfway up the door. Splinters flew as the old wood shattered. As Val stepped inside, she caught sight of the room’s inhabitant diving off to the right. The figure stayed low, balancing on the balls of his—no, her—feet, ready to move. In this small space, Val could smell the faint odor of girl-sweat.

The Brotherhood’s woman rolled to the right, coming up on her knees. Knowing it was a female drove Val’s anger to new heights. If she was a Sister—a full-fledged, been-through-the-rites Sister . . . It would explain the myrrh. The older sects of the Brotherhood used myrrh for anointing before attacking a Jackals’ nest, but the Sisters used it during the battle itself, laying healing hands on the injured so they could keep fighting.

She could have saved them. Val bared her teeth.

“Come on, then!” the woman shouted as she lurched to her feet.

The words worked like a starter pistol: Val charged forward, a snarl ripping the air as she closed the distance between them. The woman had set her feet apart to brace herself for the collision, but Val caught her by the forearms and drove her backward easily. The woman’s feet left the ground as Val let momentum carry them both along. She’d been hoping for some gibbering—or at least a sputtered, too-late apology—but the woman remained stubbornly silent.

A framed poem hung on the wall, a gift to Cavale from one of the succubi; distantly, Val recognized the spiky handwriting. There was a flat, dull crack as the Sister’s head smacked into it, spiderwebbing the glass. The woman grunted—sound at last! The smell of her blood filled Val’s nostrils.

Good. Let her bleed like she should have last night. Images of the destroyed library and the dark smears of the Clearwaters’ blood flashed in Val’s mind. “You let them die!” she shouted. “You let them, you—” She took her right hand off the Sister’s arm and closed her clawed fingers around her throat.

Even lifted up and pinned against the wall, Val was taller than the Sister. She leaned down before she started to squeeze, wanting to look in the woman’s eyes, wanting to see remorse in them, or guilt, sorrow, anything. They were all there—fear, too, even though Val still couldn’t smell it on her. But there was something missing. It took Val a moment to place it: the Sisters she’d met had had a wisdom to their gaze, a serenity gained through their training.

This woman was simply afraid. Val pulled back an inch or two, her grip already loosening. No crow’s-feet, no laugh lines, hardly even a crease to her brow. The woman’s skin was smooth except for a smattering of acne on her chin.

She’s just a kid.

Bright pain bloomed in her stomach.

Before she could drop the girl, light flooded the room. Two sets of hands took hold of Val, hauling her back: Cavale on her right, Chaz on her left. She was too stunned to resist when Chaz snaked his left arm up under her own; she felt pressure on the back of her neck as he locked his grip into some sort of quarter nelson.

Everyone was shouting except Chaz, who whispered in her ear: “I’m asking you nicely not to yank my arms out of their sockets while we sort this out. Deal?”

Val looked at the mousy girl leaning against the wall. Not nearly old enough to be a full Sister, not by at least a decade. “Just a kid,” she murmured, slumping against Chaz. “Just a fucking kid.”

In her peripheral vision Cavale nodded at Chaz, then crossed the room to fuss over the girl. She had dark hair that fell to about her chin. The ends were ragged, like she’d cut them herself with a dull pair of scissors. She kept darting glances at Val while Cavale’s fingers fluttered over the back of her head and came back bloody.

“Elly? You okay?” He sounded shaken, and with good cause. Val could have torn out her throat and had time to lick her fingers clean before they’d arrived in the room.

The girl crooked a smile. “I’m fine. Just a cut.” She swatted him away. “Cavale, get off. I’m okay. She’s not.” In the hand she gestured with was a wicked metal spike. Streaks of Val’s blood still were dripping from it.

That was when Justin, apparently realizing the violence was over, came around in front of Val. His eyes widened as he stared at her middle. Val glanced down, remembering the flare of pain before they’d yanked her off the girl. The spike had left a silver-dollar-sized hole in her white cotton shirt; the fabric was slowly turning red as blood seeped from the wound. Val marveled at it for a moment. It should have closed by now.

Unless . . .

That spike must be silver. This thing’s going to take forever to close.

She thought I was a Jackal.

“Jesus Christ!” Justin whipped his cell phone out of his pocket. “What’s the address here? She needs an ambulance. Chaz, let her go. It can’t be good to stretch the wound.”

Cavale, Chaz, and Val shouted “No!” together, their voices echoing off the walls in the tiny room.

Cavale crossed over to Justin—who stood gaping at them all like they’d lost their minds—and snatched the phone from him before he could finish dialing. “Val’s going to be okay.”

Justin blinked. “Your friend stabbed her. In the stomach. If she punctured anything, it’ll go septic or something.” He held out his hand. “Give me my phone.”

“Justin.” Val offered him a tight-lipped smile despite the dull throbbing in her gut. Now that the fight was over, her body was letting her know that, By the way, this fucking hurts. She shrugged in Chaz’ grasp, testing his hold. He got the message and let her go so she could spread her arms—ta-da. “I’m okay. No need for nine-one-one.”

Justin’s mouth opened and closed, fishlike, as his glance darted around the room. When at last it came back to Val, he did a double take. “Val? Your, uh. Teeth. And, um.” His gaze drifted down, first to her still-seeping wound, then to her hands. Her gnarled, claw-tipped fingers. “Your . . . You have . . . What . . . ?” He looked like he might pass out.

Val sighed. This wasn’t how she’d wanted confession time to go. “It’s fine, Justin. Really. We’ll explain.” He nodded dimly, his lips trying to form questions. He’d gone paler than Val imagined she must be right now.

Chaz stepped around so he could get a look at the wound. He grunted in annoyance. Cavale held the phone out of Justin’s reach, not that he was trying for it anymore.

The girl—Elly—stopped watching Justin and followed Chaz’ gaze. Her mouth twisted and her brow furrowed, like she was doing a crossword puzzle and trying to remember a word. After a moment, understanding dawned. “What are you?” she asked, though the way her eyes focused on Val’s lips—or, more specifically, the tips of her fangs peeking out from under them—said she’d figured it out.

Val looked at Justin for a long moment before she addressed Elly. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to have this talk just yet. The professor would have had something to say about that, involving barn doors and escaped horses. “You used the wrong kind of stake, kid. Silver hurts like a bitch, but it won’t kill me.”

“You’re a vampire, then.” She might as well have said, “You’re a mailman, then,” for the lack of surprise in her tone.

“Guilty as charged.” They exchanged cautious smiles. I might like this girl, after all.

There was a thud as Justin tried sitting on the bed and missed.