“Get away from me. Go deal with the vampire.”
Masterson: “Forget him. Forget the others. I’m alive. You’re dead. We need each other. I worship you. I—”
Lydia: “It’s not me you should be wor—” Pause. “Did you hear that?”
A moment later, she whispered: “ He’s here .”
Oops. Oh, well.
Coburn whistled low and slow to further announce his presence.
“I’m feeling much better now,” he called into the dark basement. His eyes adjusted as he reached the bottom of the steps. The basement was just a repository for junk: boxes, debris, a gun rack, a cabinet. And, by the look of it, their bathroom: various fly-clouded buckets sat against the far wall. Reeking.
But what was most interesting was the hole dug out of the wall and floor. Drywall gave way to exposed brick and broken piping. Leading down into whatever tunnels the rat-man had been referring to.
And there, at the mouth of the shattered wall, stood Lydia and Masterson.
“Hey, guys ,” Coburn said with a low, throaty chuckle. “Geez, I didn’t know you came here. The buckets of shit in the corner are to die for . You crazy kids want to get a booth or a table?”
Lydia looked to Masterson. Her gaze locked with his and Coburn could see that the self-proclaimed Minister could not escape. He tried, but couldn’t. Something transferred between them—which meant the vampire was dropping her hypno-hoodoo on him. Coburn had no interest in seeing that play out. As Lydia handed something to her cohort, Coburn moved fast.
In his head, Kayla called to him in alarm: You’re not thinking straight. Again.
He ignored her. Again.
With a sweep of his arms he tossed the Minister aside; the man clattered into a heap of moldy cardboard boxes. Lydia wrenched a brick from its mooring with a sharp crack and brought it against Coburn’s head.
He didn’t even feel it.
Coburn roared, grabbed her face like it was a bowling ball: thumb in her mouth, two fingers in her eyes, squeezing in order to pop the face off her skull. Her eyes started to give way. Pop like swollen grapes.
Then she bit down.
Her teeth cut clean through Coburn’s thumb. Through skin, through bone. With the drugs storming through his system, it didn’t hurt too much. He even laughed as she spit the thumb out into the tunnel behind her. Her eyes swollen, rimmed with blood, the whites shot through with black.
“Nice job!” he said, giving her a thumbs-up with the hand that had no thumb. Blood wept from the wound.
She kicked him in the stomach. An ungainly, inept kick—nobody had taught her how to fight. Coburn taught himself long ago by getting in fights with any gang thug, robber, rapist, or killer he could find. Humans fought and got hurt just by fighting—too strong a punch meant a broken hand, too high a kick meant your balance was out of whack, and only idiots and assholes went for the headbutt. Headbutt someone, your eyes watered, your head rang like a bell, and dizziness would be your primary reward.
Coburn didn’t worry about any of that. His tear ducts were dry as peach pits. His head was as hard as a grave slab.
So he smashed his head into Lydia’s face.
Once. Then twice. Then a third time for good measure.
She’s a vampire, Kayla reminded him. Just like you.
Oh, right. Crap.
Just the same—her nose was shattered and she staggered back into the darkness of the tunnel. Coburn clapped his hands. This was fun. She was green, this one. Young and awkward like a newborn foal. She picked up a brick. Hissed for Masterson. Chucked the brick at Coburn’s head—
He leaned left, let the brick sail over.
“Someone really needs to teach you how to fight,” he said.
Lydia, nose smashed, eyes bugging out all bloody, shrugged.
“Somebody needs to teach you to pay attention,” she said.
He heard the scuff of a shoe behind him.
Lydia sprang into the tunnel like a fucking puma, her lithe shadow meeting the deeper shadows within—
Masterson tackled Coburn. Slamming
Masterson: “Forget him. Forget the others. I’m alive. You’re dead. We need each other. I worship you. I—”
Lydia: “It’s not me you should be wor—” Pause. “Did you hear that?”
A moment later, she whispered: “ He’s here .”
Oops. Oh, well.
Coburn whistled low and slow to further announce his presence.
“I’m feeling much better now,” he called into the dark basement. His eyes adjusted as he reached the bottom of the steps. The basement was just a repository for junk: boxes, debris, a gun rack, a cabinet. And, by the look of it, their bathroom: various fly-clouded buckets sat against the far wall. Reeking.
But what was most interesting was the hole dug out of the wall and floor. Drywall gave way to exposed brick and broken piping. Leading down into whatever tunnels the rat-man had been referring to.
And there, at the mouth of the shattered wall, stood Lydia and Masterson.
“Hey, guys ,” Coburn said with a low, throaty chuckle. “Geez, I didn’t know you came here. The buckets of shit in the corner are to die for . You crazy kids want to get a booth or a table?”
Lydia looked to Masterson. Her gaze locked with his and Coburn could see that the self-proclaimed Minister could not escape. He tried, but couldn’t. Something transferred between them—which meant the vampire was dropping her hypno-hoodoo on him. Coburn had no interest in seeing that play out. As Lydia handed something to her cohort, Coburn moved fast.
In his head, Kayla called to him in alarm: You’re not thinking straight. Again.
He ignored her. Again.
With a sweep of his arms he tossed the Minister aside; the man clattered into a heap of moldy cardboard boxes. Lydia wrenched a brick from its mooring with a sharp crack and brought it against Coburn’s head.
He didn’t even feel it.
Coburn roared, grabbed her face like it was a bowling ball: thumb in her mouth, two fingers in her eyes, squeezing in order to pop the face off her skull. Her eyes started to give way. Pop like swollen grapes.
Then she bit down.
Her teeth cut clean through Coburn’s thumb. Through skin, through bone. With the drugs storming through his system, it didn’t hurt too much. He even laughed as she spit the thumb out into the tunnel behind her. Her eyes swollen, rimmed with blood, the whites shot through with black.
“Nice job!” he said, giving her a thumbs-up with the hand that had no thumb. Blood wept from the wound.
She kicked him in the stomach. An ungainly, inept kick—nobody had taught her how to fight. Coburn taught himself long ago by getting in fights with any gang thug, robber, rapist, or killer he could find. Humans fought and got hurt just by fighting—too strong a punch meant a broken hand, too high a kick meant your balance was out of whack, and only idiots and assholes went for the headbutt. Headbutt someone, your eyes watered, your head rang like a bell, and dizziness would be your primary reward.
Coburn didn’t worry about any of that. His tear ducts were dry as peach pits. His head was as hard as a grave slab.
So he smashed his head into Lydia’s face.
Once. Then twice. Then a third time for good measure.
She’s a vampire, Kayla reminded him. Just like you.
Oh, right. Crap.
Just the same—her nose was shattered and she staggered back into the darkness of the tunnel. Coburn clapped his hands. This was fun. She was green, this one. Young and awkward like a newborn foal. She picked up a brick. Hissed for Masterson. Chucked the brick at Coburn’s head—
He leaned left, let the brick sail over.
“Someone really needs to teach you how to fight,” he said.
Lydia, nose smashed, eyes bugging out all bloody, shrugged.
“Somebody needs to teach you to pay attention,” she said.
He heard the scuff of a shoe behind him.
Lydia sprang into the tunnel like a fucking puma, her lithe shadow meeting the deeper shadows within—
Masterson tackled Coburn. Slamming
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