Biting Bad

BEAT THE DRUM



Mallory dropped cash on the table and followed me through the crowd of patrons to the front of the restaurant. As we walked, I pulled on my coat and stuffed my gloves into my pocket.



Saul stood at the front window with the aproned members of his kitchen staff, peering into the darkness. He didn't take his eyes from the glass until I stood beside him.



"What in God's name was that?" he asked.



"I'm not sure. But I'm going to check it out. Stay in here and lock the door behind me until I'm sure what it is."



"I'm not going to stay in here while you go traipsing into trouble."



"I've traipsed into worse," I told him. "I'll be fine. I'm immortal, but you're not." I put a hand on his arm and raised my pleading gaze to his. "Let me take this one, okay?"



Saul looked at me, judging for a moment, before stepping aside and letting me through.



But I wasn't the only one who aimed for the door. Mallory was right behind me.



I put out a hand. "Where are you going?"



"With you," she said, petulantly as any teenager. "I have certain skills, as we've seen."



I glanced around, realizing we weren't exactly in the right place to have a discussion about her skills - or whether she should be showing them off.



"You're not supposed to be using your particular skills," I murmured, "and I don't want to initiate a war with the Pack because I let you do it." We had enough intraspecies animosity in Chicago.



Mallory leaned in. "And I'm not going to stand around while you walk out into trouble."



"We don't know it's trouble yet."



"You know," she countered. "Your magic's all over the place. You know something about what's out there. Something you haven't said yet."



I hadn't mentioned the weapons, because I couldn't confirm anything in here. Not for sure. I looked at her for a moment, weighing my options: using her as backup and risking Gabriel's ire versus leaving her inside and risking her ire.



"If nothing else," she said, "I'll need a ride back to the bar. I've got an hour until Catcher is supposed to pick me up. He and Gabe aren't going to want me waiting here without you if there's trouble out there."



Unfortunately, she was right. They'd both have my ass in a sling if she got hurt on my watch. "Fine. You can come. But you don't move an inch unless I tell you to."



She gave me a salute, and we slipped out the door. When we were free of it, Saul pulled it shut and clicked the lock again.



I scanned the street, looking for the source of the noise. But other than the worried faces of humans peeking through doorways and windows, looking for the source of the percussions, I couldn't see anything. There was smoke in the air, so the trouble was nearby, but not in my line of sight. Whatever it was, it grew closer; the rhythmic sound grew louder, and the sensation of steel grew stronger.



Sirens began to whine as two CPD cruisers sped past the restaurant, lights flashing.



"What is it?" Mallory asked.



"I'm not sure. But I think they have weapons." Weapons and a total lack of visibility meant I needed backup. I could be brave when necessary, but I tried very hard not to be stupid.



I took out my phone and dialed up the Cadogan House Operations Room, where Cadogan's guards (and I) investigated and strategized.



Luc answered on the first ring. "Sentinel? What's the good word?"



"I'm in Wicker Park at Saul's. We just heard two really loud bangs. I can't see anything, but I can smell smoke. And I think they've got weapons. Can you get eyes on it?"



I heard a click and then the sound of frantic typing in the background. I'd been switched to speakerphone, and the noise of computers and research was audible.



"We're checking the scanners, Sentinel. You there alone?"



"I'm with Mallory. And I'm thinking I need to get her out of here."



"No argument there, Sentinel."



"Merit, it's Lindsey." Lindsey was another House guard - Luc's girlfriend and my House bestie. "CPD scanners are talking about explosions. It sounds like they suspect Molotov cocktails blew propane tanks or something."



"Who's throwing Molotov cocktails in Wicker Park?" I asked. Mallory's eyes grew wide.



Cadogan House didn't answer. I could hear the static drone of scanner feed in the background, but I couldn't distinguish the words. They must have been listening.



And still, the sound of drumming grew louder, mimicking the acceleration of my heart.



"Guys, I'm going to need something here pretty soon."



"The CPD's reporting riots," Luc said. "There's a fire a few blocks west of you, and a cabal of rioters moving east."



That explained the noise. "I think they're chanting with drums or something. I can hear them moving. What was the target?"



"Looking," Luc said. "Oh damn."



"What?"



"They hit Bryant Industries."



I frowned. "I don't know what that is."



"It's the company that distributes Blood4You in Chicago. Each distributor is independently owned. They call theirs 'Bryant Industries' to keep a low profile."



In order to assimilate, most American vampires avoided drinking from humans or vampires and, instead, relied on bagged blood called "Blood4You."



What were the odds of rioters in this day and age accidentally bombing a Blood4You distribution center?



"The rioters are anti-vamp," I guessed, stomach tightening with nerves.



"That's quite possible," Luc agreed. "And, Sentinel, they're moving your way. I think now would be a good time to make a polite exit and get Mallory out of there. Little Red is closer than the House. Maybe stay there until we're sure the coast is clear?"



I glanced back at the door. "Luc, I can't just leave Saul here unprotected, not if the rioters are coming this way. What if they try to hit the restaurant?"



"They're anti-vampire, Merit. They probably don't pose a specific risk to Saul's unless they find out you're there. If they think he's harboring vamps, they might hit it on purpose. You're a danger to him if you stay."



That possibility stung, sending a sick feeling through my chest. To them, because of my biology, I was the enemy. And that meant I posed a danger to everyone around me.



"Luc - ," I began, but he cut me off.



"You can't protect Saul, Merit. Get to your car and go."



Crap. "Luc, call my grandfather. He's still got friends in the CPD. Maybe he can get a cruiser on the building."



"Good thought," he said. "I'll call him as soon as you promise to get your ass to Little Red."



"On it," I promised. I hung up the phone but took a moment to send a warning message to Jonah. It was simple and to the point: RIOTS IN WICKER PARK. BLOOD4YOU HIT. KEEP WATCH.



My phone beeped immediately, and I assumed Jonah had already responded. Instead, I found an infuriating alert that my message hadn't gone through.



I slipped the phone back into my pocket. I'd have to deal with technology later and hope Jonah got the message.



I glanced at Mallory. She looked nervous, but her eyes were clear, and her magic seemed appropriately banked.



"How much did you hear?"



"Enough to know we should hurry."



I nodded and had to speak up to be heard over the increasing sound of drumming and chanting. "My car's only two blocks away, but my katana is in the car. They might be out for supernaturals, so we're going to pretend that we're just two girls out for a night on the town. We're going to walk to the car, get in, and drive as quickly as we can to the bar."



"And if they recognize you?"



My father, Joshua Merit - Merit was actually my last name - was a Chicago real estate mogul, and media outlets in the city thought it newsworthy that I'd been made a vampire. My photo had been in the papers, so I wasn't exactly anonymous.



"We hope they don't," I said. And there was no chance in hell I'd go down without a fight. And I'd make it a good one.



-



I gave Saul a heads-up and promised that help was on the way. He didn't look entirely convinced . . . until I told him the riots were anti-vampire and I was part of their target audience.



"I don't want you or your place to get hurt because of us," I said. Saul nodded, a little guiltily, and shut and locked the door again.



I knew I wasn't human, that I was separated from them by genetics, fangs, and bloodlust. This was a poignant reminder of that separation, of the differences between us.



I looked at Mallory, who nodded and plastered a smile on her face. "You said we were party girls out for a night on the town. So let's, like, totally get out of here. For reals."



"Are there valley girls in Chicago?"



"Tonight," she said, "there are."



We started toward the car, avoiding Division, darting from the restaurant into the alley across the street, then running through darkness to the other end, where we peered out to survey the source of the noise.



There were dozens of humans, maybe forty or fifty altogether, and they moved up the middle of Division in a cluster. In a mob. They ranged in age from young enough to be carded to their mid-forties, and they were obviously passionate about their cause, which they shouted loudly and often.



"Clean Chicago!" they yelled in unison. "No more fangs! Clean Chicago! No more fangs!"



They repeated the words like a mantra of hatred, yelled at people on the street, waved bats and hockey sticks in the air and against one another, and smashed car windows and streetlights as they moved.



These were modern-day villagers with torches, and I was Dr. Frankenstein's monster.



"What a bunch of assholes," Mallory muttered.



"No argument," I said. "And we need to get out of here before they get any closer." Escape in mind, I scanned the street for the Volvo. It sat safely up the block, no missing mirrors or windows, but we'd have to sidestep the rioters to get to it.



"Party girls," I reminded her. Mallory nodded, and I slipped my arm into hers. I stuck on my most human expression, and we walked arm in arm toward the car, just two girls returning from a night on the town.



I worked not to wince at every tinkle of breaking glass and volley of anti-vampire cursing lobbed behind us, and kept my eyes on the prize. But that didn't stop my heart from racing. There were more humans here than I could handle alone, especially without a weapon other than the blue-haired girl next to me, who was utterly off-limits.



Sirens sounded around us as the rioters destroyed store windows and set off alarms. As we reached the end of the block - only a few dozen more feet to go - we ducked around the corner, hearts pounding as the rioters drew closer.



Unfortunately, that only riled up my inner predator, which was more than willing to take its chances with humans. Bitchy, whiny humans.



"So, funny story," Mallory said, her back flat against the wall of the building, her arm tight around mine. "Once upon a time, I tried to have dinner with my best friend, and the apocalypse happened."



"No kidding," I murmured in agreement, wincing as sounds of violence punctured the night around us.



"Merit," she said. "Look."



I followed the direction of her gaze to the other side of the street, where two young guys had been stopped by rioters who'd split off from the main group.



The kids carried the awkward bearing of adolescence. One was hauntingly thin; the other was more heavyset. They wore ill-fitting clothes that didn't look warm enough for the cold night, but that was hardly the primary concern.



The rioters, who had six or seven inches and a lot of muscle over them, stood over the guys menacingly. The taller of the bullies had a pincushionesque haircut and a chain with a giant dollar-sign pendant in gleaming gold. His friend, who was four inches shorter, wore a satin jacket with a dragon embroidered on the back and a Cubs cap.



I considered that an insult to the Cubs.



The more heavyset kid must have said something the rioters didn't like, as they both reached out and shoved the guys' shoulders, sending them stumbling back a few steps.



"Merit, we need to help them."



I'd have liked to help them, but first and foremost I had to help her. I could feel the magic beginning to simmer around her, bubbles of it beginning to reach the surface. Soon enough, that magic would reach a full boil, and I might not be able to stop the transition.



"Mallory, I've got to get you out of here before something happens."



She gave me a flat look. "Before I go postal?"



"Frankly, yes."



"Caroline Evelyn Merit. I am not going to go postal."



So she said. But her track record wasn't the greatest. We'd managed to create an alliance with shifters, but it was fragile. I didn't want to be the one to knock it off-kilter.



I looked longingly back at the car.



"I'm not unsympathetic," I said, "but I have responsibilities, and right now you're the main one."



"Shut it," she said. "You love acting like a vampire hard-ass."



Without warning, she let out an earsplitting whistle. "Hey, assholes! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"



All four gazes turned to us.



"Mallory Delancey Carmichael," I muttered, swallowing down a sudden bolt of fear. I might have been a vampire, but the rioters had inches and pounds on me, too. And a lot more hatred.



The guy with the pointy hair glared at us, lip curled. "You got a problem, bitch?"



The harshness of the word cut right through the fear. I gave him an Ethan Sullivan - worthy eyebrow arching.



"What did he just say?"



"Oh, no he didn't," Mallory whispered. "Go kick his ass."



Easy for her to say, since I wasn't supposed to let her do anything. But it was too late to back down now; she'd set the wheels in motion.



Resigned to my fate, I shook out my shoulders, blew out a breath to calm my nerves, and put on my best suit of vampire moxie. "Keep an eye on the main group, and let me know if they get too close for us to get to the car. We can't take on an entire mob, not alone."



Mallory nodded.



I rolled my hips into a saunter that kept their gazes on me as I approached them.



"Um. Did you call me a bitch?"



Haircut and Dragon looked at each other and snorted, then bumped fists like they'd scored points by using a one-syllable word.



"I did," Haircut said. "What are you gonna do about it?"



I ignored the question and looked at the kids. "These guys hassling you?"



"They like vampires," Dragon said, as if that explained and justified their attitudes.



Frankly, the kids didn't look like they cared either way about vampires. They just looked scared, and eager to get the hell out of Wicker Park.



"We just, you know, think people should get a fair shake," said the more heavyset kid, nervously scratching his arm as he did it.



I couldn't imagine the moxie it had taken to get out those words in the face of two bullies, and I wanted to reach out and hug him for the bravery. But that was not what I was here for.



"Fuck you," said Haircut.



"Yeah," Dragon agreed.



But the kid had spoken his peace; he had found his courage. He wasn't about to back down, either.



"You're an asshole, you know that?" He tugged at the front of his jacket. "You think beating the shit out of me makes you brave? It doesn't. It makes you an idiot. So beat me up if you want to, if that's gonna make you feel better. But at the end of the day, I know who I am. And you don't know shit."



Haircut might not have known shit, but he knew when he was pissed off. He reached out to grab the kid by the collar . . . but he wasn't fast enough for me.



In the split second before his fingers grasped fabric, I reached out and snagged his hand. He froze in shock - that someone had thought to defy him, and that I'd done it so easily.



"Here's the ironic thing," I said. "I'm a vampire. And these guys" - I gestured to the kids - "are on my side. You, as it turns out, are not."



I gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. Not enough to break bones, but enough to let him know I was really and truly different, and I was very serious.



"Bitch," he muttered, but he didn't move his gaze from his wrist. Beads of sweat had begun to dot his brow. "Do something, Joe!"



Joe, otherwise known as Dragon, lifted up his shirt, showing off bony hip bones and a matte black handgun stuffed into the waistband of his pants.



"Oh shit," said the second kid, the quieter one. "We don't want any trouble. We're just walking home."



My blood ran cold. How had I missed his weapon, the telltale vibration of the gun? Not that the reason mattered now. The only thing that mattered was getting the kids out of here safe and sound.



Bluff, I told myself, even as my heart beat so loud I could hear it pounding in my ears.



"Here's how we're going to play this," I said, gathering up as much bravado as I could muster. "I'm going to let this guy go, and you're going to lower your shirt over that gun again. And you guys are going to walk away."



Joe laughed. "You think I'm afraid of you?"



Alpha predator, I reminded myself. Top of the food chain.



I let my eyes silver and my fangs descend, and I looked back at Joe with hunger in my eyes. Since dinner had been interrupted, I didn't need to fake it.



His eyes grew wide with fear, but only for an instant. He was a guy in his twenties with a gun at the ready, and he was better at bravado than I was. His eyes grew cold, hinting at hatred.



"You okay over there?" Mallory asked. But being a good girl - tonight anyway - she didn't move from her designated spot.



Maybe, I thought, I could use her in this little game of ours. She'd started it, after all.



"Your little friend is calling you," Haircut said. But since he was still on the ground, his wrist bent in my hand, I didn't pay him much mind. It was Joe and the gun that worried me.



"You think I'm scary," I said. "Granted, I'm pretty strong. But I have nothing on her."



"She don't look that strong," Joe said.



I grimaced. "I guess you don't know what she is."



All four of them looked back at her, obviously not intimidated by the petite chick with blue hair. If only they knew the truth . . . Of course, I couldn't actually let them know the truth, so I fudged a little more.



"She's a death reaper."



"Bullshit," Joe said.



"Nah," said the guy who'd stood up to the bully, watching me closely. "She's - she's right. That girl is a death . . ."



"Reaper," I filled in, since he was obviously following my lead. I really did like this kid. "Death reaper. Talks to the dead, reanimates them if necessary, points out the evil men and women who don't deserve to live."



"And then what?" the quiet kid asked.



I answered with a gesture, a finger drawn across my neck like a blade.



"That is some serious bullshit," Joe said again, but he didn't sound nearly so convinced this time. "Girls can't really do that."



"That girl can," I said. I leaned forward and lowered my voice just a bit. "Have you ever been walking down the street at night, and you think you hear footsteps behind you? Maybe you walk a little bit longer while your heart beats like a timpani drum in your chest. You think you're imagining it, so you keep walking. But the footsteps start up again. Step by step by step. And you stop, and you turn around, and there's nothing there. No sign of anything in the street. Just lights and shadows. But you know, sure as you know anything, that you weren't out there alone."



They were frozen, eyes on me but glazed, as if they were remembering their own experiences. I pressed on.



"Or maybe you're home alone, and you talk to someone in the next room, because you saw their shadow pass. When they don't answer, you go look . . . and the room is empty. It had been empty the entire time. But in your spine, you can feel it. You know you weren't alone. And when you try to go to sleep, when you close your eyes, you can feel them - you can feel her - at the foot of your bed, watching you sleep."



Slowly, for maximum effect, I slid my gaze to Mallory. "She is the stuff nightmares are made of. She haunts the minds of the living and the dead, and she sees evil where it lurks. And now she knows who you are."



Because in this fictional telling of mine, Mallory was a Grim Reaper/Santa Claus mashup. That wasn't anywhere close to the truth, of course, but it was enough to change Joe's mind. He dropped the shirt over his gun again.



"You can't do this," Haircut said weakly, but the fight had gone out of him.



"I can, and I did," I reminded him. "I'm going to let you go, and I'll give you a ten-second head start. Because we like the chase," I added with a delectable whisper. "But remember - even if you don't see her, you'll feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and you'll know she's there."



I let go of Haircut's wrist. He jumped up and ran down the street, away from the rioters. Joe followed him without looking back.



For a moment, the kids and I stood there in silence.



"That stuff all true?" the talker tremulously asked.



I looked back at him. "Yes and no. The truth is much less scary, and much more scary at the same time. What's your name?"



"Aaron." He gestured toward his quieter friend. "That's Sam."



I nodded. "You said good stuff, Aaron. Honest stuff. You're one of the good ones. Don't ever let anyone tell you different, okay?"



Aaron nodded shyly.



"Merit!" Mallory said in a squeaking whisper from her corner, eyes darting to a threat I couldn't yet see. "They're coming. We need to go! Now!"



I closed my eyes to clear my head from adrenaline and silvering, then looked back at the boys when I was sure they were normal again. "You should get going. I gave the guys a scare, but I'm sure I didn't change their minds about vampires or the people who support them."



"Our car's right there," said Sam, his nervous gaze still on my mouth. I supposed the hint of fang had made an impression, and not one he was likely to forget any time soon.



"Then go," I said, and they took off. The boys ran up the block, then climbed into the smallest car I'd ever seen - clown cars would have marveled - and zoomed up the block with an engine that sounded like a vacuum cleaner.



My good deed done, I ran back to Mallory and peeked around the corner into the street.



It didn't look good.



The rioters had reached us, the world's worst parade.



I tried to put on a happy face, but there wasn't much point in it.



"Shall we haul ass?"



"Let's do it."



We popped back into the street and ran full out until we got to the car.



"Unlock it," Mallory said, jiggling the door handle on her side. As if that ever sped up the process.



"Working on it," I said, fumbling to get the keys into the door lock. But adrenaline and anticipation made me clumsy. We were so close. So close to zooming safely away, and to my getting Mallory safely home again without a magical incident.



But not close enough.



"Hey, ladies!" said a male voice behind us.



I glanced back. He was probably twenty-five, with pale skin, blond hair, and a skinny and mean demeanor. He carried a bowie knife in one hand and a hockey stick in the other.



We tried to ignore him, but he wouldn't be ignored.



"Hey, I'm talking to you! You good girls with us in our fight for human rights?"



His prejudices were so irrational he didn't even realize he was attempting to add supernaturals to his posse.



Mallory's eyes narrowed. Clearly, she itched to slap the stupid out of him.



"Human rights!" shouted two more humans nearby. "Down with fangs! Chicago doesn't need them, and Chicago sure as fuck doesn't want them!"



The guy looked at Mallory. "How about you, Blue? You on our side? Justice and truth and no more fucking vampires? Who needs 'em, right?"



His voice was teasing, his words flirty . . . and quite the wrong things to say. He reached out and put a wiry hand on the Volvo.



Mallory's eyes narrowed at the threat, and the air prickled around her. Her magic was rising.



"No more fucking vampires," I pleasantly agreed, then smiled at the guy, who was making himself at home on the hood of the car. Keeping my gaze on him, I made a blind effort with the key.



"You live around here?"



"Used to. Moved away." Finally, the key found home, and the lock clicked open. "Sorry, but we need to get going, so . . ."



He looked at me for a moment, eyes narrowing as he realized he'd been handily rejected. And because he couldn't fathom the possibility that anyone would reject him, he immediately decided there was something wrong with us.



He tapped the blade of the knife against the hood. "You like fangs? You think that's hot?"



"I think you should get off my car so my friend and I can leave."



He flipped the knife in his hand so its point was facing me, and he leaned in closer. "I think you need to learn some respect."



Mallory's hands began to shake, her body vibrating with energy. She crossed her arms, tucking in her hands. She gnawed on her lip, banked anger in her expression, all of it directed at the guy who was hassling me.



She wanted to kick his ass.



She wasn't the only one.



"I know plenty about respect," I said. "But really, we need to go."



"Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you know what we just did?" He gestured back toward the column of smoke rising behind us. "We brought a building down. They think they're powerful? The vampires? Fuck them. Fuck them. Clean Chicago!" he yelled out, raising his arms to gather more of the rioters around him - and around us. They came with their weapons and began to surround us, drumming them on the Volvo to the beat of their own hate-filled symphony.



"You ready to go now?" asked the hateful one, the man who'd started the drama.



He slammed his hockey stick down on the hood, leaving a two-foot-long dent in her otherwise unmarred steel.



"What the hell!" I said, my own emotions breaking through the faux-human barrier I'd erected. I squeezed my hands into fists to keep from throttling him, from attacking humans in the middle of a street surrounded by witnesses, and no matter the justification. "That's my car!"



"Yeah? What the fuck are you going to do about it?" He hit the windshield, a crack spreading from side to side.



"Maybe it's not her you need to worry about."



We both looked at Mallory, who'd spoken those ominous words. She'd pulled off her knitted cap, and the tendrils of blue hair that had escaped her braid floated around her face in the cloud of magic. That cloud wasn't visible, but I could feel it, as though I were standing inches away from high-voltage wires.



"You got something to say about it, blue hair?"



"Mallory," I warned, but she was staring at him, giving him a look you might have expected from a genius to the man who'd just asked the world's stupidest question.



"As a matter of fact," she said, "I do."



She blinked . . . and so did a streetlight across the street. It flashed and crackled with light, loudly enough to make even the fearless rioters flinch. Another second of staring, and the light exploded - sending a shower of green and orange sparks into the air. Chaos erupted, and we took full advantage.



I tossed her the keys. "Get in the car!" I yelled out, and as she unlocked her door and climbed in, I used my door like a blunt object, slamming it against the guy's knees until he crumpled to the ground.



My predatory senses now on full alert, I heard the whip of a bat behind me and ducked just in time. But it was already moving, and it smashed right through the driver's side window.



"Damn it, I just washed the road salt off this thing," I gritted out, grabbing the middle of the bat and thrusting it backward into the gut of the woman who'd tried to take my head off.



The woman grunted and fell to her knees. I dropped the bat, climbed into the car, started it up, and gunned it. Most of the mob dropped away to avoid getting run over; some were braver and made a run at us, one final attempt at violence. I put the accelerator to the floor to gain speed and hightailed it down Division past another set of screaming police cruisers.



We'd gotten away. But what were we heading into?