Hunter Kiss: A Companion Novella (3 page)

I listen for his response-some kind of denial, fury. Anything. But all I receive is that same steady stare, so thoughtful I find myself wondering if I am not the one insane.

Something hard slams against the bathroom door. It has been

quiet for the past minute, but no longer. There are new voices now. I think of the zombies upstairs; there could be more of them outside this room, also with weapons. Nothing is safe.

"Hey!" yells a man. "This is security! Open the fuck up!"

Zee's nostrils flare. He cracks his knuckles. "Three, Maxine. Just three. All hu-maan."

"Wait," Grant says, but I take his arm and push him into the empty stall next to the heroin addict. The floor is slick, the toilet seat slimy. I almost gag on the smell as I crowd in with the man. Dek and Mal slither deeper into my hair.

Grant yanks his arm free. "Stop. I need answers."

"Why?" I shoot back. "You already seem to have a grasp on things."

"Don't confuse calm with comprehension."

"Why not?" I stare up into his face. He is big, all man. Breath
taking. "You aren't phased by this, are you? Not one bit."

"The bullet was a surprise," he says, eyes narrowing. "And you. Definitely you."

I push away from him, but there is nowhere left to go-and all I can think of are the odds. One man in a city of millions. One mar
ket, full of zombies-who never gather, never gang. And me, there, on the cusp of sunset. Of course. Just my luck.

I swallow hard. "You're not human either. Or if you are, you're not like any human I've ever met."

"Human enough." He steals my words, presenting a bitter smile. "Though having humanity and being human are two different things."

"And what are you?"

"A man of both, I hope." Grant sways close. "And you?"

"This is ridiculous," I mutter.

"No," he says. "Tell me. Please."

"I don't know," I whisper, anger stirring-at him, at myself for being so weak with words, so easily cornered when I have never been cornered before. "I don't know what I am. But right now I

don't give a damn. I want some answers, too. So you tell me, Mr. Cooperon ... how did you know? How did you know what those people were?"

Grant sways close. For a moment I forget he is a stranger, a mys
tery, because the regret and uncertainty in his dark gaze suddenly feels like a mirror, a hard reflection of my own emotions. I do not feel sorry for him.

"I see things," he tells me, with a deep breath that sounds like an anchor dropping into his chest. "Color. Or the lack of it. Up there, darkness. Darkness in most of that crowd. And then you." He leans even closer, his gaze flickering over my face, my mouth, until, soft, "You."

He says the word like it means something, like it means every
thing. It scares me. Everything about this is wrong.

"My presence was an accident," I tell him, barely able to drag my voice above a whisper. "But that darkness you saw ... that was a sign of possession. Demons, a certain kind of parasite. And they were there for you. They wanted you dead, no questions asked. I cannot understand why. No one draws that kind of attention, Mr. Cooperon. No one."

"Not even you?" Grant says gravely.

The bathroom door slams open. I hear three muffled screams, followed by silence and hard successive thumps. Grant and I tumble out of the stall. Two men in uniforms are sprawled face-first on the filthy floor, and a third, in street clothes, rests on his back. They are breathing. No dark auras, either, just as Zee promised. Aaz and Raw sniff their faces. Zee pokes a thick round belly with his sil
ver claw.

"Juicy," he says, sly. "Very juicy, Maxine."

"No," I warn him. "I'll get you dinner later."

"A better dinner," Grant says, surprising me again, "if that fel
low there tastes like he looks."

Zee grins, rubbing his little shards of hair. "Not picky, hu-maan. You want to give
your
finger for a pinch and a taste?"

"Give me yours, and we'll call it even," Grant replies, and this time he is rewarded by tiny chimes of laughter. He does not smile, but merely looks at me-challenging-as though daring me to say something.

All I can do is stare. Zee tugs on my sleeve, and I scoop him into my arms. He hugs me, pressing his sharp mouth to my ear.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs. "Like blood battle. We dream, and we remember as dream, but Aaz says something bad cut you down. A big bad zombie cutter."

I move away from Grant, toward the bathroom door. "Can you tell me what this is about?" Zee shakes his head. I breathe, "And the man?"

Again Zee says nothing, but the purr rumbling through his chest stops. I hold my breath. It would not be the first time I have mis
judged character, human or otherwise, though the boys are good au
thorities on trust, ready to pass verdict whether or not it is required. The last time I met a man the boys did not like, I had to pack a body part on ice for paramedics to find.

And now? They are laughing at jokes.

Grant, leaning on his cane, stoops to check the pulses of the un
conscious men. "Fierce. Care to explain the best way to stay off their bad sides?"

"Do not fuck with me." I give him
a
long hard look. "Do not fuck with anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"Fighting on the side of light, huh? Wonder Woman, be still my heart." Grant's smile is grim. "Of course, that doesn't explain how to stay off
your
bad side."

"That might be impossible for you."

"So harsh."

"Compared to demons wanting you dead?"

"That last bullet was for you." Grant's gaze flickers over the boys, all of whom watch him with red eyes, coiled bodies hunched light over their gray and silver haunches. "Care to explain that? Or how you survived?"

Aaz and Raw drag their claws over the tiles, hissing softly. Zee puffs out his little chest. "In your daylight, hu-maan, our skin is her skin. Cutters got no glory over us old boys. Cutters got nothing but pain."

" By cutter ... you mean demon?" Grant's jaw tightens. "And what are
you,
little man? Aren't you the same?"

"No," I cut in. "They are not the same. The boys are family, the only family I've got. I take care of them, and they take care of me. They
protect
me."

For now.
The boys, after all, did not protect my mother on her last night. Or her mother. Or her mother before that, or any of the women in our line. Survival always wins out in the end. Always, for them.

Grant studies my face. This is the longest conversation I have had with anyone in almost five years. It is also, without a doubt, the worst mistake of my life.

He looks at the boys, his gaze lingering on their upturned faces. I try to see them as he must, but I have grown up with them, and there is nothing left about their bodies or personalities that can star
tle me.

"Are you ready?" I ask him, wanting to run, to scream. "Do you have some place I can take you?"

"Let's get out of here first," Grant says.

I reach for the door. He stops me. His hand is warm.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "I don't know why you saved me, but thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," I tell him, just as softly. "You could still be dead by morning."

"Such an optimist."

"Yes," I reply, without humor. "I wouldn't still be standing here if I wasn't."

Behind us, the stall door rattles. The gray wiry fellow slouches out, a trail of blood running down his coarse arm. He glances at us and then takes in the men on the floor, the boys.

"Fuck
me,"
he whispers, rubbing his eyes.

"Get out of here," Grant says to him. "Right after us, get out. You don't want to be here when someone finds those men."

The man nods. I hope he listens.

I crack open the door. Raw peers out and clicks his claws.

We leave fast.

Traveling with demons is not so difficult as one might think. It all

depends on the particular demons, but in my case the boys are ex
perts at shadow-jumping. Fortunately, the dim lighting of Pike Place Market's lower level offers many opportunities to use their skills.

Zee, Aaz, and Raw leap into the first dark spot they find-a dirty corner filled with the lazy remains of some janitor's work: soda cans, a syringe, candy wrappers. One minute here, and in the next, gone. Swallowed by shadows. Dek and Mal, hidden as they are in my hair, stay with me. They press against my skin with warm purrs, tangled and nesting like very small, very serpentine, cats.

Grant, leaning on his carved wooden cane, watches the boys dis
appear. "Interesting."

"You are a master of understatement," I tell him. "Unless your life is more strange than what you've already told me."

"Strange enough. Where did they go?"

"I'm not sure. They jump short distances, from one shadow to another. When we hit the street, as long as it's dark out, they'll be able to travel beside us without anyone seeing them."

"Interesting," he says again, and pins me with a brief heavy stare. "Still doesn't explain you."

"Not much does." I start climbing the stairs. Grant, after a mo
ment, follows. For a man with a limp, he moves surprisingly fast. He looks too strong to need a walking device, but the weakness in his right leg is no act. I point at the cane. "Accident?"

"No," Grant says. "Not in the slightest."

Before I can ask-before I can wonder at myself for wanting to ask-I hear the static of a walkie-talkie. We are still on the stairs, not quite at the upper Market level. The radio is tuned to a police fre
quency. I hear other voices, muted tones, very serious. Somewhere close, the wail of sirens.

Grant throws me a look. "I might be the victim here, but why is it I feel like a criminal?"

"A guilt complex is an ugly thing, Mr. Cooperon." "Call me Grant."

I ignore him. "It's your choice. If you want to go to the police and introduce yourself, go right ahead. Tell them you were there." "Really. Just like that."

"You're not my prisoner."

"No," he agrees slowly. "I don't quite know
what
we are."

I look away. "You should know that I don't usually do this." "Save lives? Kidnap men?"

"Hang around afterward."

"Ah." Grant studies me for a moment, then peers down at his hands, his feet. "So, cops. You talk about choice, but why do I get the feeling that introducing myself to those uniforms would be a bad idea?"

"The same reason Zee and the others knocked out those security guards. There's nothing they could pin on us, but it would eat time."

"And they would ask uncomfortable questions." I feel him finger my back, and jump as he makes contact with skin. I reach around. There is a sizeable hole in my jacket, right down to my spine.

"Your hair covers it," Grant says quietly. "But I knew where to look."

I swallow hard. "I still say you're handling this remarkably well."

"I'm too much a man for hysterics."

I shoot him a quick glance and catch the dry tilt of his mouth. It takes me so off-guard I almost smile-almost-and Grant's mouth curves a fraction more.

"Got you," he says softly.

"You got nothing." I search his face, trying hard not to be af
fected. Tables are turning, turning fast. I feel like prey when I look at this man. Wolf among dogs. And here I thought I was the Hunter.

"I don't know why you haven't tried to run yet," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I thought you wanted me here."

"You don't know what I want."

Grant's smile softens. "If I tried to get away from you, I think you would come after me. I'm no fish to be thrown back to the water. Not after all the trouble you've gone to in order to keep me safe."

No argument there. "I have questions about why you're a target. Unless, of course, you already know. You, who can see demons peel off a woman's body and somehow treat it as sane. You, who can see other kinds of demons when everyone else in this world doesn't have a clue."

"Sane is
a relative term." Grant sways close. "As for the other, I suppose that could have something to do with why those things, whatever you say they are, want me dead. I've ... seen them before. The darkness."

"And you knew they were possessed?"

Grant hesitates. Before he can answer, Zee pokes his head from the shadows of an alcove above us-like a demonic otter cutting the surface of dark water-and tests the surface of the ceiling with the tip of his tongue. Hisses instantly, spitting out the taste. Specks of red saliva spatter my face. I wipe it off.

"Maxine," he rasps. "Hot spot. Whole place is burning. Fucking red hot."