Demon Song by Cat Adams

time. The guard’s shot went into the cinder block a foot away from Kevin.
    We went down in a tangle of limbs that made my shoulder erupt into intense pain. I struggled to keep from screaming a second time. Edgar jumped on the guard directly to my left before he could pull the trigger. He perched on the man like a spider, holding down each limb, hissing, fangs bared. I turned away just as Edgar’s head thrust downward and the man screamed.
    A different movement caught my eye. Kevin had decided not to stick around long enough for anyone to get off another shot. He’d jumped from the window. A human might break his legs, hitting the ground from three stories up. But Kevin just landed in a crouch, his face contorted into a snarl of fury.
    A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled. It was my bad arm, so I hissed in pain and reacted, my fist sizzling toward whoever was attached to the hand. Jones is nimble; I’ll give him that. He shifted his head so that my fist sailed past his ear.
    “Time to go.” He raised his other hand and his eyes blazed with power.
    Air pressed against my head until I thought it would explode, and then the world dissolved to white.

5

    “Y’know, vampire healing isn’t your friend in a gunfight.” The voice, male and pure Jersey, brought me back to consciousness. My eyes popped open as I recognized the speaker. Gaetano, a medic who’d patched me up before, shook his head and cut deep into my shoulder with a scalpel. Thankfully I couldn’t feel anything other than pressure, which probably meant I’d been treated with a combination of morphine and a sedative spell.
    “You healed right over the bullet. If I don’t get it out, it’ll sting every time you move your arm.”
    “I’ll take healing over the alternative, thanks.” My tongue felt thick and unresponsive and it was impossible to keep my head straight. Good thing Gaetano was one of the good guys—or at least less bad than those who had shot me. Of course, I had been breaking out a prisoner, so maybe I was a bad guy and so was Gaetano. “By the way, are we the good guys or the bad guys?”
    He smiled then and let out a snort. “Depends on the day, Graves. Today we were the good guys.” I remembered the glowing eyes of the nurse, who’d smiled with a saw in her hands, and agreed with a shudder. Gaetano’s hands pushed my shoulder down harder on the bed. The click of metal on metal said he’d probably reached the bullet. A weird sensation in my shoulder told me I was starting to metabolize the drugs. It was going to hurt soon, maybe before he finished. Maybe it would be better to concentrate on something else.
    I was in a bed. The softness and the sheets gave it away. But whose bed, and when did I get there? Without moving my head, I looked around. I seemed to be in the basement of a house. A hot-water heater stood in a corner and I could see the back of a staircase beyond Gaetano’s muscular arm. “Where are we?” The direct approach is often the best.
    “Safe house.” His voice held concentration. “Quit talking. It makes the drugs wear off. You’re starting to flinch.”
    Yeah. “Should you give me more?”
    His brown eyes flicked my way. Pretty. There was frustration mingled with amazement in his expression. “I’ve already given you enough to kill a full human, Graves. If you just relax and don’t think, they’ll work fine.”
    “Celia.”
    He stopped again. “What?”
    “Celia, not Graves. I’m not a soldier.”
    Another snort and a shake of his head. “Then you’re hanging out with the wrong people.” He put bloodstained gloved fingers on my eyebrows. “Now relax and let me finish, okay?” He closed my eyes.
    *   *   *

    There was a warm, vibrating weight on my chest that moved when I did. My eyes opened slowly, enjoying the sensation of heat and movement. Orange and white fur was all I could see. Why was our office cat, Minnie the Mouser, in the safe house?
    Then I realized she wasn’t. I was in my