“Kane!” I yelled, but even he was staring at the bleeding college student with a gleam in his eye. Even the most assimilated PAs can get stirred up by the smell of fresh blood.
To make things worse, the kid I was holding started flailing around. He still clutched the broken bottle, and I had to drop him to avoid being cut. He lashed out as he went down, slashing the leg of a norm tourist sitting next to us. Great—more blood. A woman screamed. A man jumped up, yelling, “Back off, you damn monsters!”
One of the zombies—the male, I think—bumped me from behind. A greenish arm reached around me, grasping, trying to get at one of the bleeders. I shoved backward so he crashed into the other zombie. I heard twin grunts as they hit the floor. From the front, a female vampire levitated, then flew straight at Husky Boy, fangs bared. I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, then grabbed the bleeding tourist with my other hand. “Follow me,” I shouted.
A dozen humans stampeded for the door. Kane had gotten himself under control and was growling at the vampires, hackles raised, in an effort to convince them that eating these norms would be a bad idea. I glanced behind us to see where the zombies were; both of them had crawled to the spot where the student went down and were licking his blood from the floor.
“Axel!” I yelled on my way out. “Toss the zombies some pretzels.” Once their hunger gets stirred up, zombies have to eat—they have no choice.
Outside, Husky Boy’s friend had snagged a taxi. I put both bleeders in the back and ordered the driver to take them to Mass General. I didn’t think either one was really hurt, but better safe than sorry. And better still to get them out of here as fast as possible. The taxi took off with a screech as the bar door flew open and three vampires leaped outside. Someone else came out behind them, but I couldn’t see who it was. I had three hungry vampires to calm down.
“Stop right there, all of you. There’s no food here,” I said.
The humans who’d run out with me had all disappeared. Either they’d taken off in their cars or had run for the human-controlled part of Boston, where the worst thing they’d face was a mugger with a gun. They might get robbed and killed, but at least they wouldn’t get eaten.
The vampires sniffed the air. Suddenly one was right in my face, thanks to that superfast now-you-don’t-see-’em, now-you-do movement they do. I knew this guy; he was one of Juliet’s friends.
“They’re gone, Gregor.”
“You smell like blood.” His eyes glowed like a cat’s.
I looked down at my clothes. Husky Boy had bled all over me, down my front and probably down the back, too. Blood streaked my sweater and was beginning to stiffen the leather of my jeans. I was covered in the stuff.
“It’s not mine, Gregor. I’m not human; I’m a shapeshifter, remember? Juliet’s roommate?”
He blinked, as if my face had just come into focus. The light in his eyes faded. Vampires won’t drink shifter or werewolf blood. They don’t like how it affects them. Those old legends that tell of vampires becoming bats and wolves? They’re not legends. That’s what happens when a vampire drinks the wrong kind of blood.
Gregor didn’t apologize—I’d never met a vampire who apologized for anything. He just turned and walked back toward the bar. The other two followed him. They stopped briefly to sniff at the other person who’d come out. It was the cameraman, still filming. I hadn’t realized it before, but the cameraman must’ve been a werewolf, because after a couple of sniffs the vampires left him and went back inside. He followed, camera on his shoulder.
Great. Footage like that would really boost Kane’s pro-monster PR campaign.
When the door opened, frantic yelling erupted from inside. I heard Kane’s voice: “Stop, damn it! Get off him!” Apparently, the fun wasn’t over yet. I ran back inside.
In the middle of the room stood the director, screaming. He had a vampire hanging off his neck; the female zombie chewed on his ankle. Kane held the zombie by her feet and was trying to pull her away. Her green toes wiggled in his hands. One of her shoes had fallen off and lay on its side. Zombie Cinderella, dragged kicking and screaming from the ball.
Looked like the vampire was my job. With vampires, the trick is to get them to pull off voluntarily, so their fangs don’t make hamburger out of the victim’s flesh. The way the director was thrashing around, he was in danger of having some serious damage done to his neck.
Axel stood behind the vampire, holding a silver stake. A silver stake would immobilize a vampire but not kill him, unless it went directly through his heart. But it’d certainly hurt like hell. Other vampires stood in a semicircle, watching with keen eyes. None of the vamps would mess with Axel. He liked to think it was because he was so tough, but the real reason was that they didn’t want to get banned from Creature Comforts.
“Don’t stake him, Axel,” I called. “Not yet.” My words made the vampire open his eyes and regard me over the director’s neck. His throat pulsed as he swallowed. “Hold still,” I said to the director, “or you’re gonna lose a big chunk of your neck.” He stopped struggling. Either my advice scared him or he was losing strength.
The vampire watched me, his eyes glowing yellow, as I came up to him, real close. I didn’t know this vamp—some out-of-towner. The New Combat Zone attracted PA tourists as well as human ones. I placed my finger and thumb behind his ears and squeezed. It was almost like picking up a kitten by the scruff of its neck. If you’re strong enough, sometimes this move can make a vampire retract his fangs. But this vamp was enjoying his feed too much for that.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Here’s plan A: You let go of this norm’s neck willingly. If that doesn’t happen, we move on to plan B. You wouldn’t like plan B. It involves a silver stake and a very pissed-off bartender.”
I squeezed a little harder. The vampire gasped—a good sign; he’d broken suction. But his fangs still pierced the director’s flesh.
“Axel?” I said. “You ready?”
“Ready.” Axel lifted the stake.
“Mmph, mmph! All right!” The vampire retracted his fangs and pulled back from the director, who collapsed on the floor. I checked his neck wound. Two small punctures, but no tearing. He’d have one hell of a hickey in the morning, but he’d be okay. The zombie, finally pulled off by Kane, hadn’t done much more than fray the hem of the director’s jeans. All told, he was in damn good shape for someone who’d survived a double-monster attack. The cameraman, finally putting down his camera, bent over his boss.
“Bar’s closed,” Axel said. “Everybody out. And you—” He looked at the out-of-town vampire, whose lips were crimson with the director’s blood. “You’d better get out of here now, before the cops arrive. It’d be a really smart idea if you left town within, oh, the next five minutes or so.”
It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Axel make. He must’ve been really angry.
Silently, the vampires dispersed. Juliet brushed my arm. “I’ll see you at home,” she said.
The director had regained consciousness. He sat up woozily, then leaned back against the cameraman. “Cut,” he croaked. Then he smiled as the vampire-saliva high hit.
“Don’t worry, I got the whole thing,” the cameraman said. “Every minute.”
“Hold on,” said Kane. He’d settled the zombies back at the bar and given them a couple of cases of potato chips to munch on. They crunched away happily. “I demand that you give me the tape.”
The drugged-out director squinted at him. “Huh?”
The werewolf cameraman stepped in between them. “No way. I’m selling that tape to the highest bidder. You want to make an offer, fine. You can bid against all the news outlets—and Baldwin’s campaign.”
Kane grabbed the camera, but the cameraman had already removed the tape. He patted his jacket. “Want to fight me for it?” he snarled.
Kane’s hackles rose, and for a minute I thought he’d go for it. Then Axel spoke up. “No werewolf brawls in here tonight. Take it outside if you’re gonna settle things that way.”
“Don’t worry, Axel.” I stepped in front of Kane and smoothed his lapel. Trust me to get between two snarling werewolves. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”
“Bigger things?” Kane said. “If Baldwin’s camp gets its hands on that tape, it’ll send PA rights back to the Stone Age.” He turned to the director, who was back on his feet and looking blissful, like he could hear choirs of angels singing “Happy Birthday” to him. “I paid both of you to be here tonight,” Kane said. “That tape is legally mine. In fact, I’m going to find a judge and slap an injunction on you so fast—”
“What?” said the werewolf. “My head will spin? Somehow, after what happened tonight, that doesn’t worry me too much. Come on, Joe, let’s get out of here.” He put an arm around the director and helped him across the room.
When they reached the door, the cameraman turned back. “See you on TV.” He sneered and was gone.
What a night. I’d been threatened by a Hellion, questioned by a cop (a hot cop, admittedly), and caught in the middle of a monster-human bar fight. And by tomorrow morning, my blood-smeared face would be all over TV.
13
IT WAS ALMOST THREE IN THE MORNING WHEN KANE AND I walked together along Washington Street in the New Combat Zone. The night was cold and clear. Stars shone overhead, and the waxing moon lit our way. He should’ve had his arm around me, or at least been holding my hand. Instead, we each held hands with a zombie.
Kane led the male, and I towed the female along behind me. Both zombies were exhausted, wiped out by the evening’s excitement. Human blood had that effect on zombies: frenzied bloodlust, followed by extreme torpor. That’s why you didn’t find a whole lot of zombie orderlies in hospital emergency rooms. Left alone, our zombies would’ve sunk down in the street and stayed there until the sun started eating into their skin, so it was up to us to get them home. But guiding this zombie through the streets was about as easy as dragging a refrigerator. I tugged, she took a half-step, then fell forward against me.
