Unfortunately, they also had guns. Guns pointed directly at him.
Joseph never saw Six move. One moment she stood beside him—and in the next she vaulted off the hood of a car, managing a one-two blow with nothing but her feet—practically walking on heads—catching the last creature in the face with her fists as she came down, whirling through the air like a dancer. She was beautiful, a blur, almost as fast as the vampires themselves—and Joseph wondered if it was just their surprise that was letting her go so far, or if she was truly that good.
He flung out his hands and a low rumble rose from his throat, splitting tones like the deep hum of a long mountain horn. The vampires went still. Six grabbed their guns and backed away. She did something with her hands; two of the guns fell into sundry parts, the third she tucked into the back of her pants alongside Chenglei's weapon. Six glanced at him, a question in her eyes, her breath puffing white in the cold air.
Joseph did not answer. Not with his voice, not with his mind. He edged forward, staring at the vampires, matching gazes as his voice coiled hard around them, channeling his will. The vampires were empty on the inside, but with enough spark left that it was hard to bind three at a time. So hard, Joseph did not notice the tickle at the back of his skull until it was almost too late.
Six saved him. He felt her move against his back, heard flesh smack, something crack—a hiss—and then she danced into sight with a vampire hopping and lunging, skin white as ice, hollow and brazen. Joseph's voice remained strong, but it was an effort—nor did he try to extend his control to the fourth vampire. He did not dare. He reached over his shoulder, beneath the neck of his shirt. Touched steel. Listened to the hiss of a sharp edge as he pulled the long dagger free. He felt like his heart was going to fly out of his chest. He had never been attacked like this. No one in his family had, not for years.
Joseph cut off heads, chanting as he killed. The vampires could not fight him, but he felt no remorse. Cold blood, in this case, made no difference. Not when he knew the alternative. Their flesh was brittle, crumbling into clumps of thick ash. No bulky evidence. The remaining sparks of their souls fled.
Six still fought. She did not shoot the guns in her possession; she merely used her fists and feet, never staying in one place long enough to be touched. But her opponent was a vampire—fast—and she was only human. Joseph saw her make a mistake—one pause, a second too long—and he changed the chant, trying to save her life.
Too late. The vampire grabbed her. But Joseph felt no pull, no internal strike to Six's life. Instead, the creature stared at the scratch on her cheek, and touched it with its tongue, delicate, savoring the taste. She struggled, face twisted with disgust.
Joseph pressed harder with his words and the vampire holding her finally froze. Six wriggled free, slamming her fist so hard into the creature's chest, its sternum snapped The vampire, paralyzed, could not even flinch.
Six backed off. Joseph did not try to touch her. He glanced up and down the street. There were people on the sidewalk, staring. Cars had stopped in the road. Beyond them all, a rain of sparks and fire flooded the night, a series of hard bangs rocking the air. Joseph could feel the explosions in his chest. The sensation felt right at home with his pounding heart.
Joseph did his best. He altered the chant once again, isolating everyone he could see, turning his will on them, spreading a compulsion to leave, forget, to remember only as a dream. He glanced at Six and found her watching him, then the people, who obeyed without questions, turning and walking away. Cars started moving again.
He still held the long dagger in his hand. Six glanced from it to the vampire, frowning. She touched her cheek. Her eyelid twitched.
"I need answers," she said, and Joseph sensed she was not entirely speaking of her old investigation.
We both need answers, he told her silently, and Six gave him such a sharp look he wondered if she heard his mental voice. He had wondered earlier, too, at the massage parlor. He had never been able to speak inside another person's mind—not outside the family, at any rate. It required a strong connection.
But even if he did agree with Six, this was not the place to ask questions. Nor did he have the skill to force the vampire back into its human body. That could only be done by choice. Joseph cut off its head. Six was not fast enough to stop him, though he cheated just a little by slowing her down. He thought she might have tackled him, otherwise. Instead, Six watched that wiry body collapse on itself and blow away in the wind. The ashes mixed with street trash. She turned on him, furious. "Why did you do that? I told you I needed answers. I could have questioned it."
Joseph kicked at the clothes left behind on the sidewalk. "Too much time involved. We need to leave. This place is too exposed."
"Not your decision. I am calling in my team." Six reached for the wire beneath her shirt, then hesitated, looking at him. "You disabled it, didn't you? There was also a tracking device. They would have already been here by now if it was working."
Joseph shrugged, sheathed the dagger, and walked to the abandoned car, which was blocking traffic and generating some very loud honks. Joseph wondered how much the drivers had seen, if any of them had taken pictures with mobile phones. Not that it mattered. Cameras never did well with him.
The car doors were still open. He hesitated, thinking about his apartment with its nice safety features—like walls and doors—and then strode around the sleek hood and slid into the driver's seat. Six leaned into the passenger side and gestured.
"Get out," she ordered. "You are ruining evidence."
"Just a little," he admitted. The keys were still in the ignition. Joseph started the car.
Six stared. "What are you doing?"
"Parking this thing. If I leave it here, the police will come."
"In case you have forgotten," she said coldly, "I am the police. In fact, I have far more authority than the police, and I am better trained."
"So arrest me," Joseph said. "Take me in. Try to explain everything you've seen. Accuse me of terrible crimes. That won't help you catch your terrorists." Nor would it save her life. He stared at the scratch on her cheek. The skin was flushed, slightly swollen.
Six slid into the car. She sat for a moment, staring at him, dark eyes sharp. "You just killed people."
"I suppose," Joseph said warily, recalling the feel of steel cutting through flesh, the crackle of papery skin. "It's complicated, though. I'd hoped you would know that by now."
Six's jaw tightened. No other warning. She grabbed his throat before he could blink, and squeezed so hard he choked. He grappled with her hands, but her fingers were like iron. He struck at her face; she grabbed his wrist and pinched. Fire ran up his arm; he would have cried out if he had a voice.
Her expression never changed. "You need your vocal cords to control me. I could just rip them out. With my fingers. I could do some other things to your body. Nothing pleasant."
Joseph had no doubt of that. Six was stronger than he had imagined.
I understand, he said, using his mind to speak to her. He was not entirely certain the message would go through—he still thought those earlier moments might be flukes—but a furrow formed between Six's eyes and she licked her lips. Joseph remembered kissing her. Felt like a lifetime past. He wondered if he would ever get another chance.
"I heard you," she said softly. "How?"
It's a skill like any other, he told her, feeling inside his chest an unfamiliar sense of panic and warmth. You know how to do things I don't. I know how to do things you don't.