“I’m telling you, there’s something not right.”
“I know that. I’m not stupid.” Nash waited calmly, his hands on the wheel, as the fed approached. Gods, he drove me crazy.
“Can I see some ID?” the officer asked.
My insides crawled. I could feel the man’s aura, thick, black, and inky. I had no idea what one of them was doing out here in the middle of the highway at a brightly lit checkpoint—an easy way to find victims, maybe?
The officer shone his light on the driver’s license and sheriff’s ID Jones handed him. The man lifted his brows and spoke in the friendly way of a patroller just doing his job. “Sheriff, eh? Official business?”
“Personal. Vacation.”
The flashlight moved to me, and he smirked. “Vacation. I see. Pull over there, sir, and get out of the truck.” He gestured to a pull-off just beyond the glare of the generator lights.
“Nash,” I said frantically as Nash drove the few yards into the darkness. “We can’t stop. This isn’t what it looks like.”
“I know, but I’m not running from trigger-happy feds,” Nash snapped. “Besides, he still has my ID.”
I seethed as Nash set the brake. The officer walked to us without fear, putting Nash’s truck between himself and his fellow officers at the checkpoint. It was pitch-black out here away from the lights, only the glow of Nash’s headlights and the officer’s flashlight to illuminate us.
“If you’ll get out of the truck, sir,” he said. “You too, ma’am.”
I hopped out, searching for some spark of magic within to help me out. The sky was deep, velvet black, the stars stretching across it in a ropy smudge. A Stormwalker without a storm was useless, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. I scowled at the empty sky before the officer shone his flashlight in my face.
“You have documentation on you, ma’am? Green card? Naturalization papers?”
He was either a wise-ass or just ignorant. “My ancestors have been here a hell of a lot longer than yours,” I growled. “Where’s
your
green card?”
“Just give him your driver’s license, Janet.” Nash sounded weary.
I pulled it out and handed it over. Sourly. The officer’s flashlight moved across it. “Cleared for motorcycle operation, eh? You a biker, sweetie?”
“Not tonight.”
The man grinned. “Funny.” He had eyes of darkness, and I smelled the blood on him.
He switched the flashlight back to Nash. “Put your hands on the truck.” Nash, damn him, obeyed.
“You too, ma’am.”
I did it, muttering under my breath. I needed magic. Something. Anything.
The officer patted down Nash; then he reached through the passenger window to the glove compartment and fished out Nash’s nine-millimeter. “You go on vacation armed?”
“I’m an officer of the law,” Nash said. “I never know when I might have to help out.”
The man set the gun on a boulder behind him, out of reach, then moved to me. Hands roved up and down my legs, slid between my buttocks, cupped my crotch.
“Pervert,” I snarled.
Nash came to life. “Watch what you’re doing.”
“Oh, you’ll watch me.” The man took his own pistol out of its holster, cocked it, and shoved it into Nash’s neck. “You’ll watch while I feed off her, knowing that next, I’ll do the same to you.” He laughed, his unnaturally black eyes glittering. “Gods, I love the taste of mundanes in the moonlight.”
Three
“Nightwalker,” I grated.
“You know about Nightwalkers?” The Nightwalker sniffed me, never moving the gun from Nash. “Funny, you don’t smell magical.”
“What the hell is a Nightwalker?” Nash asked me. “And what does he mean,
feed off you
?”
The Nightwalker chuckled. “He doesn’t know? This should be fun.”
Very clever of one of the things to figure out how to work a checkpoint. He’d probably been a federal officer before he’d become a bloodsucker, likely still did his job well if he didn’t make many full kills. He could only partially drain his victims and let them go, unaware of what had happened, and he’d still be able to hide his true nature from his colleagues. But bloodlust lit his eyes, and I had the feeling that this was going to be one of his kills.
I wanted to kick the thing in the balls and get the hell out of there. But Nightwalkers are strong and hard to kill, and I didn’t have a handy wooden stake or sword with me. I would pack better next time. At the moment, I had no way of fighting him except with my fists, which wouldn’t do anything but hurt my fists.
But something strange was happening inside me. I felt a burning sensation in my fingertips, which moved all along my veins, and it wasn’t from Mick’s compulsion spell. The compulsion spell was a dull ache; this was raw and cold and new.
I had a swift vision of my body growling taller, shooting up to tower over the Nightwalker, a bright whiteness glowing around me to light the night. I saw myself raising my hands, heard my mouth issuing commands in a language I didn’t understand. I saw the Nightwalker screaming, his red mouth open, his body twisting in excruciating pain. He was dying but couldn’t die. I was somehow holding him together, making him relive the torment of every victim he’d ever drained, over and over again. It was heady; it was exhilarating. I laughed.
Nash Jones’s voice cut into my brain like a scalpel. “Don’t lose it, Begay.”
I blinked. The vision died, and I was standing with my hands on Nash’s truck, sweating inside my leather coat. The Nightwalker was very much alive and looking at me with a tinge of fear, as though it sensed my vision but wasn’t quite certain it had.
“Whatever you are,” Nash was saying, “leave her alone and let her go. I’ll do what you want.”
What a hero. The Nightwalker would never let me go, because I’d run screaming to his fellow feds, and he’d have to abandon this sweet little setup he’d made. Nash was eyeing the other officers, but they’d surrounded a diesel pickup that had pulled up, its noise drowning out all other night sounds. Nash’s truck was between us and them—the Nightwalker had perfected his methods.
But Nash’s heroism gave me an idea. I didn’t know whether it would work, and if not, I’d have to try to pry a blood-frenzied Nightwalker off of Nash, but it was worth a try.
“Do him first,” I said, making my voice weak and whiny. “Please. Take the edge off. Then I’ll make it fun when you do me.”
The Nightwalker’s smile returned, and I swallowed my disgust. “I think I like you, sweetheart. What did you have in mind?”
“Anything you want. I’ve been told I have stamina.”
Nash was staring at me as though I’d lost my mind, but he kept quiet. Either he thought I
had
lost my mind, or he was trusting that I had a plan.
The Nightwalker touched my cheek, and I stood still and tried not to gag. “Sweet,” he said. “If you please me, Navajo girl, I might just let you stay alive. With me.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
The Nightwalker grabbed Nash by the neck. His mouth opened, baring fangs on both upper and lower jaw, his mouth narrow like a cat’s. Nash struggled, but the Nightwalker yanked Nash’s head to the side and snapped that hideous mouth over his throat.
Nash didn’t go down easy. He fought, and he fought hard, smacking the guy in the head with his fists, which did about as much good as punching a building. I grabbed the Nightwalker’s pistol as the feeding frenzy took him, even though I knew bullets wouldn’t kill him, and stood back as he sucked down Nash’s blood in greedy, wet gulps.
The Nightwalker kept feeding, and my heart pounded in terror. If my hunch was wrong, Nash could die. Words to a dozen spells ran through my head, but none would be powerful enough, especially when I didn’t have a storm to draw on. The gun was pretty much useless. A Nightwalker full of bullets was just an angry Nightwalker.
And then it happened. The Nightwalker jerked, his eyes widening in sudden agony. Nightwalkers, I had the scars to prove, held fast to their victims when they were in blood frenzy, not letting go even when someone ran them through with a stake. This Nightwalker shuddered, snarling, Nash’s blood running from his mouth, but he wouldn’t release. Nash was white, holding on to the truck to keep to his feet.
I dropped the gun, wrapped my arms around the Nightwalker’s middle, and hauled backward. At first it was like trying to move a huge boulder, but then the Nightwalker came away from Nash so suddenly that I fell, the Nightwalker landing on top of me like a wet rag. The Nightwalker keened, a sharp, piercing sound that rose to an inhuman note.
The thing crawled off me, tearing at his lips, his hands sprouting claws that raked into his own face. Nash gasped for breath, his hand clamped to his bloody neck, watching with a stunned look.
The Nightwalker, still screaming, fell apart, collapsed into steaming, stinking pieces of flesh and gore, black blood making a river in the sand. His face went last, his scream dying into a gurgle as his flesh melted into a mess of blood and veins.
Bile bubbled in my throat, and I scrambled to my feet and lunged for the truck. I heard Nash behind me, his soft, “Janet, what the fuck?”
“You killed it,” I panted.
“
I
killed it? How, by standing there letting it suck me dry?”
“Can we talk about it later? We need to get the hell out of here.”
I yanked open the door, but Nash’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Easy, Janet. Take it easy. We drive away slowly and don’t attract attention.”
I ground my teeth, furious that he could be so calm. I knew he was right, but my panic wanted me to dive into the truck, start it up, and peel out of there.
I made myself climb slowly into the passenger seat while Nash retrieved his gun and the Nightwalker’s and got inside. He leaned over me to stow both pistols in the glove compartment, blood still staining his neck.
“You all right?” he asked me.
“Am
I
all right? You’re the one bleeding to death.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Nash sat up, put the truck in gear, and pulled slowly onto the highway, the same as any other vehicle that was approved to proceed. The other patrollers never even looked at us.
Not until we were well down the dark road, dipping and climbing along canyon walls, did I see that Nash’s hands shook as he gripped the wheel, his face gray.
“Shit, Nash, stop and let me drive.”
“No way am I letting you behind the wheel of my brand-new truck. There’s a first aid kit behind the seat. Should have some gauze and antibacterial spray in it.”
I dug around in the rear of the cab, found a pristine white box with a red cross on it, dragged it onto my lap, and opened it. Bandages, antibacterial, aspirin, sterile gauze, tape, and other useful items were stowed inside in neat compartments.
“This isn’t a first aid kit,” I said. “It’s a mobile emergency room.”
Nash didn’t answer. I extracted a wad of gauze and scooted across the seat to wipe the blood from his neck.
I had to reach around him, because the Nightwalker had bitten the left side, and Nash grunted impatiently when I inadvertently blocked his view of the road. There was no place to pull off on this stretch, the highway moving through cuts that left maybe a foot of space on either side of the pavement. Besides, I don’t think either one of us much wanted to stop.
I squirted Nash’s neck with a little antibacterial and pressed more gauze over the wound, fastening it with sterile tape.
Nash returned both hands to the wheel when I sat back and started cleaning up. “What the hell was that thing?” he asked.
“A Nightwalker. In layman’s terms, a vampire. Except it’s real.”
“A vampire.” Nash digested this with a few soft swear words. “And you’re saying I killed it?”
I finished putting the supplies back into the first aid kit and closed the lid. “The Nightwalker is a creature of magic, but you cancel out magic. A null, Coyote called you. The Nightwalker got enough of your magic-negative essence in it, which destroyed it.” That was what I had thought would happen, and I was gut-wrenchingly relieved that I’d been right.
“I felt something change in me,” Nash said. “I was losing blood, I was dying, and then it all stopped. It was as if something freezing cold formed inside me and moved to him through my blood.”
“Interesting.” I’d speculated with Mick over the summer how Nash had become a magic-absorber, and neither of us could figure it out. I’d never met anything like him, that was for sure.
Nash contemplated the road in silence, and I knew this was hard for him. Up until a few months ago, he had been the biggest Unbeliever in all of Hopi County. Then he’d seen dragons, watched Coyote shift from man to animal, fought skinwalkers, seen what had come out of the vortexes, and had me attack him with storm magic.
“I don’t want it to be real,” he said after a time. “I’m trying not to let it be real. It’s not what I grew up believing.”