Three Days To Dead (16 page)

I leaned a little closer, still displaying my arm. “That’s what did that.”

Alex leaned back, deflated. His face went slack, pale. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t do that.” I smiled, hoping to keep him calm. “If you get sick, then I’ll get sick, and pretty soon we’ll be barfing all over each other.”

The barest hint of a smile ghosted across his lips. “You don’t talk like her.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

“You’re wearing the necklace I gave her for Christmas last year.”

I touched the silver cross. “I can take it off.”

“No.” He leaned forward, scrubbed his hands across his face, up into his hair, and back down again. Rubbing the words in, getting them to stick. After a moment he stilled, with his chin resting in the palms of his hands.

“Okay, let’s pretend for a minute that you’re not really Chalice,” he said. “And that this isn’t some grief-induced hallucination. Who exactly are you?”

“The truth?”

“Yes.”

This would be interesting. “My name is Evangeline Stone. I have lived in the city my entire life, and for the last four years, I have been employed by a secret unit of the Metro Police Department as a Dreg Bounty Hunter.”

His eyebrows arched comically high. “A what hunter?”

“Dreg Hunter.”

“It that like slang for criminal?”

“It’s a derogatory catchall for the dozen or so species of creatures that secretly live here in the city. Mostly goblins, gremlins, trolls, gargoyles, vampires,
and weres. My boss is called a Handler, and I work in a three-person Bounty Hunter squad called a Triad. We hunt rogue elements, carry out special warrants, try to keep some species from killing one another and wreaking havoc in the process, and dole out punishment when lines are crossed.

“My boss’s bosses are three anonymous, highranking police officers, who work in tandem with the Fey Council—that would be faeries, sprites, gnomes, pixies, and sylphs—to keep the peace and prevent the Dregs from killing everyone on the planet. Kind of like the Mafia, but shorter and with magic and pointy ears.”

I stopped. Alex stared. And stared. He blinked once. His jaw twitched. Water dripped from a faucet somewhere—the only sound in the room. He stood up, and I tensed, trying to anticipate his reaction. I expected a verbal attack, maybe even a physical one. Instead, he wandered into the kitchen, as though he’d just offered to retrieve refreshments. He went straight to the refrigerator, where he opened the door and ducked down.

A drawer squeaked. Bottles rattled. He stood straight, let the door slam shut, and twisted the cap off a bottle of beer. One, two, three, four long pulls. He held up the bottle, studying the label like he’d never seen it before today. Then he took one more deep swallow and returned to his chair, the bottle still in his hand.

“Well, either you’ve gone completely insane,” he said, sinking into the upholstery, “or I have.”

“We are both very much sane, Alex. Most people don’t know about the Dreg population. They’re good
at staying out of sight, and we’re good at covering up after them. Remember the downtown blackout two years ago?”

“A power grid blew.”

I shook my head. “Gremlin revolt. They did it because the Council demanded work without proper compensation. So they demonstrated their power, which put pressure on the Council from several sides, including humans. One power failure can be explained, but not the entire city. The gremlins got what they wanted.”

“A gremlin labor strike?”

“Yep.”

He downed the rest of the beer and deposited the bottle on the coffee table with a clunk. Twin smudges of color darkened his cheeks. “Gremlins.” He turned the two-syllable word into four, testing its sound and texture. “Vampires are real?”

“Very real, but more
Lost Boys
than Bram Stoker, and it’s forbidden to turn humans. The change is actually a physical reaction to a parasite present in a vampire’s saliva and—never mind; that’s a long story. At any rate, bite survivors are considered inferior half-breeds, and are hard to control. Not human and never fully vampire.”

“Okay, that was way too much information.”

“You need to know this stuff, Alex.”

“Why?” He leapt to his feet and stormed to the other side of the living room. He planted himself in front of the patio doors, casting his shape into a back-lit shadow. “Why the hell did you come back here if you’re not Chalice? Why are you dragging me into this crazy fantasy world you live in?”

I stood up with measured movement, taking care to not startle him. My good humor and sympathy were quickly disappearing, replaced by frustration. “Because I need your help, Alex, and I don’t have anyone else I can trust.”

“What about your team?”

“They’re dead.”

“Your boss?”

My heartbeat quickened. “He’s why I need your help. He’s been captured.”

“By whom?”

“The people he used to work for.”

Alex tilted his head to the left. “Wait a minute; you said he worked for the police. He’s been captured by the cops? As in arrested?”

More complications. I blew hard through my teeth. “Yes and no. It’s more complicated than that.”

“I don’t see how. He was arrested for a reason, right? So does that make you the good guy or the bad guy in this little melodrama?”

“Depends on your point of view, I guess.” I launched into the rest of my story, starting with the setup at the train yards and ending with the night I was kidnapped. It was all I knew for certain, and I hoped it told him that I wasn’t the villain. But I certainly wasn’t an innocent bystander, either. There was no black and white in my situation. Only varying shades of gray.

Alex listened attentively, giving no hint of his inner thoughts. He remained quiet for a full minute after I finished. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s say I believe everything you’ve told me so far and that I don’t think you’re off your rocker. Here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”

“Why am I, Evy Stone, in Chalice Frost’s body?”

“Yeah, that would be the one.”

A completely reasonable question that I felt somehow compelled to answer. Not only because I needed his help, but because I felt connected to him, on some basic level that may have been a carryover from being in Chalice. They had been friends. I needed him to believe me.

“I don’t remember anything after five nights ago,” I said. “The night I set out to prove I’d been set up, I was kidnapped. I was taken to an abandoned train station and tortured for two and a half days, and I eventually died. I was dead for three days, until a dear friend paid a terrible price to bring me back. He traded for a Fey spell that required a freshly dead body for my soul to inhabit. Only something went wrong. I went into the wrong body and without my complete memory, and now I can’t remember what I was too afraid to tell him before I died. Until I remember what I’ve forgotten, I can’t clear us.”

“Why bother?”

I balled my fists. “Why bother what? Saving him?”

“No, I understand that. Why bother trying to clear yourselves in the first place when it’s easier just to run?”

Running had never been an option. Not even that first night, fresh from the deaths of Jesse and Ash and the unexpected betrayal of my former allies. “This is my life, Alex. It’s all I’ve known since I was a teenager. It never occurred to either of us to not fight this. Besides, there’s more at stake than just our lives. Although right now, saving Wyatt’s life is all I care about.” I walked toward Alex, and he didn’t flinch.
“His name is Wyatt Truman. He was my Handler and my …” My what? Lover? Not exactly. I stopped an arm’s length away. Tears prickled my eyes. “I have to save him.”

Alex lifted his right arm. His fingers stopped inches from my face. I remained still, allowing him his exploration. Tentative fingertips traced the line of my jaw, from ear to chin. Proving I was real, that he wasn’t imagining it all. Touching the face of a woman he’d seen die. Knowing that a stranger lived in her shell and that the woman he cared about was never coming home. Was he convinced? Or simply contemplating escape?

His touch dropped to my shoulder, down my arm, until he finally grasped my hand. He squeezed it; I squeezed back.

“Evy, huh?” he said.

“Assuming you believe me and we’re not both crazy.”

He smiled.

Shadows darted past the patio doors, too fast to count. I yanked hard on Alex’s hand. He yelped and tripped and fell to the carpeted floor. I dropped to my knees and covered his head with my hands.

Above us, glass and wood exploded in a shower of tinkling shards.

Heavy boots landed near my head, crushing broken glass into the thick carpet. I lunged upward and drove my balled fist into the intruder’s groin. Hard bone met delicate flesh, which gave way under the blow. The man howled and doubled forward. I thrust upward. Knuckles connected solidly with his chin. For a split instant, I looked into Tully’s shocked eyes, and then he was toppling backward.

I rose into a crouching position and spun toward scuffling sounds. Alex and Wormer were on the ground, wrestling for control of a revolver. Wormer had used his advantage in bulk to roll Alex onto his back. The gun shifted above their heads. Someone squeezed off a wild shot that took out a vase on the counter. Glass shattered and pinged.

I grabbed the closest weapon within reach—an iron candlestick sporting a half-melted red pillar—and swung. It connected with the side of Wormer’s head. He grunted and lost control of the gun to Alex. It was more of a glancing blow than the knockout I’d hoped
for, but it did its job. Alex gripped the gun by the barrel, eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t dead.

“Get off him, asshole.” I shoved Wormer with my foot, and he fell sideways. The bloody footprint left behind on his shirt surprised me. I didn’t even feel the glass.

I readied the candlestick again, hoping to deliver a coma-inducing blow.

“Watch out!” Alex shouted.

Too late. Something hit my neck, sharp as a knife thrust. Lightning exploded behind my eyes, and every nerve ending was on fire. My heart raced, and I could barely breathe fast enough to compensate. I lost muscle control and fell to my knees. A hot flush broke across my skin. Then the agony ended as abruptly as it began, and all I felt was cold. I shrieked as I fell.

Broken glass cut into my right arm. I smelled sizzled flesh. A flash of something long and black entered the periphery of my vision. Cattle prod. Nice move. Didn’t see that one coming.

“We’re better trackers than you realize, little girl,” Tully said.

Little girl?
I rolled onto my back, hoping for a good opening, but he gave me none. He stood out of arm’s (and foot’s) reach, the cattle prod in his left hand and a revolver in the other. Pointed not at me, but past me. Over my shoulder, Alex was sitting up with both hands braced around the butt of his acquired gun, muzzle pointed at Tully. His hands trembled ever so slightly.

“Put it down,” Tully said.

“Hell no,” Alex replied, but without the necessary
force. His fear was betraying him. “You broke into my apartment. You’re intruders. I can shoot you.”

Tully’s nostrils flared; he didn’t like the threat. “My superiors know where I am. If I don’t check in on time, they come here looking for me. You don’t want that.”

“He’s not kidding,” I said. My hand investigated my neck and found a quarter-sized burn.

The gun’s aim didn’t move, but I came under Tully’s scrutiny. “We know you’re helping a fugitive named Wyatt Truman. Why? Who are you?”

He didn’t know me, which meant the brass didn’t know about my resurrection. I didn’t know how Wyatt kept it secret, but he had. Advantage one for my team. Behind Alex, Wormer groaned. He seemed to be struggling to sit up. Maybe I’d whacked him good after all.

“Where’d they take Wyatt?” I asked.

Tully’s nostrils flared. “Do you really think you’re in a position to ask me questions, lady?”

“Yes.”

He fired. I felt the heat of the bullet as it passed by my cheek. Behind me, Alex cried out. I twisted around, coming up on my hands and knees, stomach knotting as I prepared for the worst. Alex lay on his side, one hand pressed against his right temple. Blood oozed between his fingers, but he was very much alive. Alive, aware, and swearing colorfully enough to make even me blush.

I lunged for the gun he’d abandoned. More lightning, this time in my lower back. Cursing my own idiocy, I collapsed by Alex’s feet. My stomach muscles spasmed. Bile scorched the back of my throat and left
a sour taste in my mouth. An unexpected whimper tore from between clenched teeth.

The jolt ceased. I didn’t move, choosing instead to simply breathe. Stupid; goddamn stupid.

“Still think you’re the one asking questions?”

A sardonic retort formed in my mouth, but thankfully died a quick death before I could utter it. I needed my wits about me, not volts of electricity coursing through my body. “No,” I hissed. “You’re in charge.”

“Good girl.”

I drew my knees up to my chest and rolled, hoping to sit up. A sharp kick to the middle of my back felled me again. I took the hint and stayed low, choosing to roll onto my back and prop up on my elbows. I disliked the prone position, but at least I could glare right into Tully’s eyes. It also gave me a better view of the room.

Pale, but very much alive, Alex scooted closer to me. Blood stained the side of his face, neck, and shirt collar. Wormer loomed above us, once again in charge of his own firearm, and apparently very much in favor of using it.

“Now,” Tully said, “let’s try answering my questions. Who are you?”

Smug. I hated that. Self-preservation took a backseat to annoyance. “I’m the thing that the shadows fear.”

Confusion creased his forehead. It was a line Triad members used jokingly amongst ourselves. We hunted the creatures that haunted others’ nightmares. Tully seemed to understand the reference. I could see imaginary wheels turning in his mind.

“Truman tell you to say that?” Tully asked.

The burn on my neck began to itch. If I was lucky, it would heal fast and freak Tully out just a little bit. “Wyatt didn’t tell me to say anything. He never expected us to be separated.”