Smith shivered beside me, and Clive Perry actually took a step back from all of us. He didn’t really feel anything, but I’d learned that his grandmother, like mine, had practiced as a Vaudun priestess, except his had been a bad person and mine hadn’t been. It had made him skittish around me, but not have a problem with Smith.
I searched for the undead. My power never even hesitated at a truly dead body. It was as if my power saw it the same as a table or chair: inert. Then I caught a hint of vampire, like something tugged at the edge of my attention, and I’d learned to direct my power so that it was like a scenting hound. I followed that “feeling,” that energy, and if the pull got stronger, then it was vampires; if not, it could be ghouls, or zombies, or just a place where vampires had been recently. The feeling got stronger, and stronger, and now my power was being pulled.
“This way,” I said. They’d all been with me before on hunts; they knew that once the power found the vampires it was a race. A race to see if we found them before they fled, or found us. We got our guns out and we ran. Running over the brick in the stilettos made me curse under my breath. The men couldn’t go first, because I was the only one who knew where we were going. I moved up on the balls of my feet, so the heels didn’t touch, and I ran, gun pointed at the ground. I loved Nathaniel, but I was going to have to stop letting my stripper boyfriend dress me for work. I had a moment to realize I hadn’t cleaned off the one heel after it went in the vampire’s chest. They’d smell the blood on me; they might even know it was Barney’s blood. I wondered if they’d think I killed him; I wondered if I cared.
A scream sounded, high and piteous, echoing off the buildings. We ran faster, and somehow I knew the “feel” of vampires would be in the same direction as the scream.
I HATE IT when the bad guys are in upper stories because there are only two ways up, elevator or stairs, and either way they know you’re coming and can ambush you. The huge, rickety freight elevator, which was the only elevator in the place, was a metal cage-a kill box, if they had guns. No way.
That left the stairs, which were so narrow, dark, and dank that given a choice I’d not have gone into them. Another scream sounded from above us and there was no choice, so we went up. The steps were so narrow and steep I had to kick the stilettos off, and the moment my bare feet touched the chilled, damp steps, I slipped because of the hose. Shit!
There was just enough room for Smith and Perry to ease past us, while I sat down on the steps and unfastened the hose from the garters. Zerbrowski stood beside me, gun in hand, watching up and down the stairs. He never made one smart-ass flirting remark as I slid the hose down and left them crumpled on the steps. When Zerbrowski missed a chance to make some inappropriate remark, things were serious.
I stood up, my bare feet feeling the grime on the steps, but I didn’t slip as I followed Zerbrowski up. Still, I went up with my gun in a one-handed grip, the other hand on the wall, just in case. I smelled blood, a lot of it. I grabbed his arm and moved up beside him, our bodies almost pressed together by the narrow stone walls. I used two fingers to point not at my eyes, but at the tip of my nose. He knew that meant I’d smelled something, and that something was usually blood. He let me ease around him and go first. Zerbrowski also knew that I was harder to hurt than he was, and let me go forward as if I were the big bruiser of a guy, the meat shield. I was small, but I had become fucking tough thanks to the vampire marks.
Blood was drying on the steps in a thick, darkening pool; at the top of that pool was a uniformed officer I didn’t know on sight. I was glad I didn’t know him, and felt instantly bad about thinking it. His pale eyes stared wide and sightless, his face frozen in death. His throat was savaged on one side so there was no way to check for a pulse; it was gone, torn out.
Shoe prints marked up the sticky blood; Perry and Smith had gotten past this point. I tried not to step in the blood with my bare feet, but couldn’t avoid it all unless I wanted to climb over the dead officer. I wasn’t willing to do that, and the blood was thick and squishy. I forced myself not to think about it, but just to think about getting up the steps to help the others. There was at least one more officer on site, maybe two more, depending on whether he’d been riding with a partner. I concentrated on the living and left the dead for later, but it was hard to ignore the blood sticking to the stone with every step I took. Perry and Smith’s bloody footprints went up, too. There was no way not to track the crime scene up, no way to avoid the blood, no way… Another high-pitched scream sounded and this time I knew it was a girl, and I could hear words: “Don’t hurt them! Don’t hurt anyone else!”
I didn’t look back at Zerbrowski to check, I just started running up the steps. They were so steep, my center of gravity so low, that it was faster to use my free hand to help me run up them. I climbed up the steps like you’d go up a stone hill, so that when I suddenly spilled out the opening into the huge room at the top I was on hands and knees, which was why the gunshot shattered the stone above my head, and not me.
I flinched, but was already turning to find the shot and return fire. I saw the standing figure, gun in hand, and had already sighted and fired at his chest before my mind had caught up to the fact that his other hand held the girl’s arm, while she struggled to get away from him. He fell backward, taking the girl with him. I felt movement in time to see another man launching himself at me, but there wasn’t time to bring my gun around. Another gun exploded in the room and the vampire fell beside me, a hole in his chest, but still reaching for me. I put a bullet in his head without thinking about it. He stopped trying to grab me, mouth open, so his fangs glistened. Zerbrowski was standing in the doorway, gun pointed at the fallen vampire. I wasn’t sure if he’d shot him, or… Smith was kneeling behind a huge industrial-sized metal cog that was to one side of the door. His gun was pointed that way, too. I caught a glimpse of Perry lying on the ground beside him. Smith had him behind cover, which was more than Zerbrowski and I had. Another gunshot made Zerbrowski duck back through the doorway, but I was too far away; I turned and found a boy with a gun in his hand. He was standing there, so straight, so tall, so arrogant, as he took his time and aimed at me. I shot him in the chest before he could finish. He crumpled around the wound and then fell to his side. Another teenager rushed forward to grab the gun from his hand.
I slid to a one-knee shooting stance and shot him, too. Smith was yelling, “They’re kids, Anita, they’re just kids!” He was still behind cover; I wasn’t.
I yelled out, “Touch a gun, you die! Hurt anyone, you die! Are we clear?”
There were sullen murmurs of yes, yeah, and one fucking murderer. Some of them looked scared, eyes wide. There were a few more teenagers in the group, but there were also adults. In fact, we had vampires of all shapes and sizes in the large group. “Hands where we can see them, now!”
They raised their hands up, some ridiculously high, others barely out. “Hands on your head.”
Some of them looked confused by the request. Zerbrowski said, “Hands on your heads, just like you see on TV, come on, you know how to do it.”
I stood up, keeping my gun aimed in their direction, but I was keeping a peripheral eye on the first one I’d shot. The girl was whimpering, trying to get his hand off her arm, but either his hands had seized up in death or he wasn’t quite dead. One silver-plated nine-millimeter bullet in the chest doesn’t always kill a vampire.