Charming by Elliott James

in Clayburg now.
    She sensed my change in mood.
    “Go ahead, get out of here,” Sig said. She also seemed to be recalling who she was and what she was about. At any rate, she was doing that pushy thing again. “And leave the vampires’ possessions.”
    “Just like that?” I asked suspiciously.
    She grinned suddenly. “Why not? You’ve already been debriefed.”
    I grimaced but didn’t delay further, crouching to pull my smoldering shoes back on. There was still glass about, and no point creating new blood trails. I carefully wiped select parts of the cell phone and keys and weapons down with what wasleft of my jeans, noting that Steve Ellison’s wallet was still in the tattered back pocket. I didn’t actually have to do this; the knights had burned off my fingerprints with a mild acid long before I became a creature who regenerated, but there was no point in letting Sig know that. My lack of fingerprints was a clue in itself.
    Now that Sig and I were no longer making eye contact, it felt ridiculous instead of erotic, walking around wearing nothing but sneakers and a semi. Dignity and I have never really had what you’d call a close working relationship, though. I made a detour to pick up the neck of the vodka bottle as I made my way toward my car. There was a gym bag with some clothes in it in my trunk.
    Sig gave me a moment to compose myself, then walked up to join me while I was pulling on a gray T-shirt over some black sweat pants.
    We stared at each other uncomfortably. It seemed like there was nothing left to say but the thing I really wanted to say, and I wasn’t good at that kind of thing.
    “You’re fascinating,” I told her. See what I mean?
    She smiled, and I don’t think I was imagining traces of interest and regret and a lurking what-the-hell element of challenge that she was trying to repress in the expression. That didn’t change her words, though. “I’m involved with somebody else.”
    Of course she was. All the good Valkyries are taken.
    “OK, but you maybe saved my life, and you’ve seen me naked,” I said. “In some countries we just got married. Can I at least know what name you go by?”
    “What do you mean
maybe
saved your life?” she demanded.
    “Is that a no?” I asked.
    She sighed. “My name is Sig.”
    “Like Sigrid?” I persisted. “Sigourney? Signe?”
    “Like the gun.” She smiled slightly and patted the sidearm in her hip holster. It was only then that I realized it was a SIG Sauer.
    I thought she was carrying the whole Norse battle maiden thing a little far, but I had to admit she carried it well.

6
THE SCREAM TEAM
    I didn’t go home. I was hungry and tired and sore, but I was also paranoid and devious and used to ignoring bodily discomfort, so I parked my car behind a closed tattoo parlor and went back to the bar. A quick sprint and three jumps took me from the top of a Dumpster to a window ledge to a series of rooftops that I slid over like a shadow.
    I wanted to know more about these “friends” Sig was going to discuss me with.
    Unfortunately I had to stop and hide behind a parapet about three buildings farther from the bar than I’d intended. On the roof to my right, two men were climbing from a drainpipe to the top of a dance studio whose upper floor had been converted to public housing. One of them had a sniper rifle slung over his back, and the other was shouldering a nylon backpack. Both wore headsets. If they had been vampires, I would have taken them right there while I still had the element of surprise, but an errant breeze whispered that they were human. Both men were short and stocky and not ideally built for climbing, butthey were also young and fit and seemed to know a little about parkour. It took me a moment to realize that they were twins.
    Once on the roof of the dance studio, the sniper moved to the opposite side and positioned himself so that he was sighting down on the alley below. His partner took several foot-tall crosses with small