“That’s called the body mass tolerance arc,” Pete supplied helpfully. “Also, I drink heavily so I may have some natural immunity to other depressants.”
The man came into the living room and crouched down, his yellow eyes as sharp as knives. He raised a hand full of claws to Pete’s face and snapped his fingers. “Human,” he said. “Pay attention.”
Pete focused with great effort on the tall man’s face. The fact that the man had just addressed him as ‘human’ did not entirely escape him, even in this pleasant fog. He looked down at the claws that tipped each of the man’s three fingers and then up again. There had been holes in the backs of the victims head at the theatre. Two little ones, and one big one, where the skull had actually been cracked open. The coroner thought it was some kind of levering pick, maybe something you could use to climb mountains, but now Pete really didn’t think so. “Was it you?” he asked politely.
“It was not. But I am seeking him, and I require your help.” The clawed hand slipped into the stranger’s jacket and came out with something infinitely familiar. A badge, with four stars and a broad loop connecting them, made of some faintly-greenish metal. “I am a man of law, like you. Tell me about the movie theater.”
Pete’s good mood didn’t break away, but with the memory of that horrible place, it did crack a little. “They were all dead,” he said. “Fifty-eight people. Fifty-eight. Someone broke their heads open. Someone took out pieces of their brains and…and squeezed it. They were everywhere, like…like…chewed up erasers off a whole pack of pencils.”
The big man nodded and put his badge away. “What do you know of the man who did it?” he asked.
“We think there were three of them,” Pete said.
The tall man frowned, his brows drawing together. “No,” he said. “There was only one.”
“No, there was three,” Pete argued mildly. “The ticket taker was upstairs playing Hide the Salami with the projectionist when it happened. She remembers selling tickets to three people just after eleven o’clock. She was able to describe them really well, so we’re sure they weren’t dead in the theater.”
The woman and the tall man exchanged glances. “Describe these people,” the man said at last.
“There was a man, a big man, she says,” Pete recalled. “In a long coat. She remembered because it was so hot outside. And there were two girls with him.”
That seemed to hit the tall man right between the eyes. He leaned back, staring. “Two?” he echoed.
“You’re not the only one getting hit by the weather,” the woman remarked.
The tall man cut his eyes at her, an arch twist to his smile. “And yet one should have sufficed, unless there is a extraordinary quality to E’Var that has been inexplicably omitted from his file.”
“What, obsessive girl-collecting?”
“I was thinking more of a physical abnormality.”
“Like what?” the girl asked.
In an effort to impress her with his savvy, Pete piped up, “He means like if the guy has two dicks,” and waggled his eyebrows at her.
There was a long pause while the two of them stared down at Pete. What the hell, he waggled his eyebrows at the man, too.
The man frowned.
“Well, maybe there was a two-fer sale when he picked them up.” The woman shrugged. “Or maybe there’s something wrong with one of them.”
“Then he would kill her before taking his second,” the tall man said reasonably. “The fact remains, he does not require both of them.” He looked back down at Pete. “Describe these females,” he said.
“Girl says they were both kind of punked out, but one of them in particular was easy to recognize. Purple hair. Pierced all over. Which was interesting to us,” he continued serenely, “because the boys found some purple hairs on a booth seat in Blue Ridge a couple days ago when that roadhouse got worked over.”
“I don’t suppose your witness saw which way they went or what kind of car they were driving,” the woman interjected.
Pete laughed. “I wish.”
“Well. So we know it was really him.” The woman glanced at the clock on Pete’s wall. “And that he’s had seven hours now to get away from us. I told you we should have kept going.”
“In what direction?” the man asked evenly, and while the woman was thinking that one over, he stood up and paced around Pete’s living room. “Let us return to your home,” he said finally.
“He’s getting away, Tagen!”
“No,” the man said. One talon on one foot tapped distractedly on the floor. “He is hunting. He is taking his time. And he is taking risks. I must think. I cannot believe he is moving aimlessly. There is something we have not seen…” The man rubbed at the bridge of his nose and growled, his brow furrowed with frustration. “And I cannot think what it could be. Take me home.”
“We’re not going to get this guy, are we?” Pete asked. The thought saddened him, in an off-hand sort of way.
“Anything is possible,” the man replied, and glanced at him. “But I think that you will not, and that is best. He is not of this world. Are you prepared to accept that?”
“Buddy,” Pete said sincerely, “no one is prepared to accept that.” He folded his hands complacently on his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. “Are you going to get him?” he asked.
“I mean to try.”
“That’s all anybody can ask for, pal. Good luck to you.” Pete closed his eyes. He heard footsteps receding from his house, but didn’t bother to watch them go. He drifted along towards an easy sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sue-Eye lay on her side in the motel bed, watching the sun climb up behind the cheap curtains. Kane’s arm was around her waist, the only comfort Sue-Eye had left. She hurt too much to sleep. She could still taste the sweaty, bitter slick of the dead man’s cum. She could still feel the ache of them thrusting in her ass. She saw their blood splash out every time she closed her eyes. She’d fallen on top of one of them. Kane had pushed her down into the hot, dead meat of it and made her thank him, and she’d done it, fighting bile on every word.
Why did he do that? After everything she’d done to help him! Why didn’t he want her yet? Why was it still Raven that got his hand on her back and love bites on the chin when all she did was lie there and fucking bleed?
Sue-Eye rolled over, curling into Kane’s chest miserably. He raised his arm until she settled and then lowered it again, his deep breaths resuming almost at once. It had to mean something. He tortured her because he had to torture someone, some guys were just like that, but he always slept with her afterwards. Maybe it was even a good thing, like the way young boys will skin the knees of little girls on the playground because they know no other way to say they liked them. Maybe.
In the second bed, Raven quietly pushed back the covers and sat up. Kane turned towards her at once, his claws flexing on Sue-Eye’s hip. He watched Raven go into the bathroom and then rolled onto his back, taking his hand from Sue-Eye to scratch sleepily at his stomach. He gave her a nudge and not a gentle one.
“Turn on the cool air,” he said, and stretched hugely as she got up.
No Heat for him today, which meant no fucking. He’d probably spend the whole day playing with his little bottles and his computer and ignoring her.
Sue-Eye switched on the A/C and stood in front of it, hugging herself against the chill it pushed out and staring at the curtains. Another day, gone. Raven wasn’t cramping anymore. She’d probably be off the rag in another day or two, and then what? She might be killed, but that thought couldn’t really climb very high on Sue-Eye’s mental ladder. She was more afraid of being abandoned when Raven’s red tide washed out. She’d have nothing then. No Pack, no nothing. She’d always considered herself a solo, a survivor apart from the rest of humanity, but she realized now she’d never actually been alone in her whole life. There had always been other outcasts for her to hide among, beg from, feed on. Having to start all over from nothing, here in the middle of nowhere, seemed an insurmountable task.