bleach." O-kay. Maybe these guys weren't with Assan after all. Maybe they'd just escaped from some understaffed, under funded psych ward.
I turned my head to check on Vayl. They were taking him very seriously. He stood among the brush and scrub that passed for a shoulder on this part of the highway, leaning on his cane as he traded stares with three men in their late twenties.
Two held him at bay, or so they thought, with silver crucifixes held out at arm's length. One had JESUS SAVES emblazoned across the front of his gray T-shirt in big orange letters. The other wore a black sweatshirt that framed two praying hands surrounded by a beaded necklace with a silver stake hanging from it.
The third man, who'd come straight from a funeral judging by his three-piece suit, aimed a cocked crossbow at Vayl that would've made me laugh in different circumstances. It looked like he'd built it in his 7th grade shop class.
"And don't try any of that mumbo-jumbo on us," JESUS SAVES warned Vayl. "I'll tell them if you do and you'll be smoke before you can blink."
As Graybeard yanked me around to Vayl's side of the car, two big light bulbs went off in my brain, which probably meant I was flirting with an aneurism. But while I still had my faculties I figured JESUS SAVES was a Sensitive, like me. He also must've been present at a staking to know vampires do leave trace amounts of dust and ash when they're vanquished, but the biggest part of them goes up in smoke.
We were down on numbers and weaponry. Never a good place to be, even when you're a pro. I admit, dread had sunk its claws into the back of my neck, and it wasn't helping me think any clearer. Then Vayl met my eyes—and winked. Suddenly I could breathe again. Because in that moment I knew no two-bit operation run by a bunch of yahoos was going to beat us. Not tonight. Not ever.
As soon as my mind cleared, I noticed two things. An undeniable affection for my partner whose survival meant a lot more to me than mere job satisfaction. And the pseudo-identity of the organization fronting this one-night event.
"Hey Vayl," I jerked my thumb at Graybeard, "this one's into cleanliness and that one," I nodded at JESUS SAVES, "is into godliness. What's that make you think of?"
"God's Arm." Vayl's instant reply pleased our captors. It's always nice to have your ultra-fanatical religious affiliation recognized. It's also nice when someone guesses who you've dressed up as on Halloween. I raised my eyebrows at Vayl and slid my eyes toward Graybeard's neck. He understood immediately. All members of God's Arm have a cross tattooed on their necks as a rite of initiation. These necks were clean.
"Let's walk," said Graybeard, gesturing toward a grove of trees in the distance with the .357 Magnum he'd pulled from his front pocket. Vayl's slight nod encouraged me to cooperate, for now. So I walked, my sandals protecting me so poorly from the rocks and weeds I considered kicking them off. Only the possibility of stepping on shards of glass or metal deterred me. It had gotten colder too, and my party dress wasn't providing much protection against the wind that kept brushing against me in an endless, winter-borne tide. The full moon lit up my goosebumps and the pseudo-path ahead of me. But I squeezed my contacts into night vision anyway, preparing for a trek through the deeper brush ahead.
Nobody talked during the walk, which only took us about 200 yards off the highway but seemed endless. Something about the march seemed eerily familiar to me. It was like the entire store of knowledge I'd built around criminals and their victims had coughed up the ghosts of those who'd walked ahead of their murderers, sometimes cold, sometimes stumbling, leaving glowing footprints for me to follow. Only they were angry that I'd consented to follow that trail. "Fight!" they whispered, their wild, haunted memories sharpening their voices. "Fight now. Fight hard. Die, if necessary, only die fighting!"
I never meant to
I turned my head to check on Vayl. They were taking him very seriously. He stood among the brush and scrub that passed for a shoulder on this part of the highway, leaning on his cane as he traded stares with three men in their late twenties.
Two held him at bay, or so they thought, with silver crucifixes held out at arm's length. One had JESUS SAVES emblazoned across the front of his gray T-shirt in big orange letters. The other wore a black sweatshirt that framed two praying hands surrounded by a beaded necklace with a silver stake hanging from it.
The third man, who'd come straight from a funeral judging by his three-piece suit, aimed a cocked crossbow at Vayl that would've made me laugh in different circumstances. It looked like he'd built it in his 7th grade shop class.
"And don't try any of that mumbo-jumbo on us," JESUS SAVES warned Vayl. "I'll tell them if you do and you'll be smoke before you can blink."
As Graybeard yanked me around to Vayl's side of the car, two big light bulbs went off in my brain, which probably meant I was flirting with an aneurism. But while I still had my faculties I figured JESUS SAVES was a Sensitive, like me. He also must've been present at a staking to know vampires do leave trace amounts of dust and ash when they're vanquished, but the biggest part of them goes up in smoke.
We were down on numbers and weaponry. Never a good place to be, even when you're a pro. I admit, dread had sunk its claws into the back of my neck, and it wasn't helping me think any clearer. Then Vayl met my eyes—and winked. Suddenly I could breathe again. Because in that moment I knew no two-bit operation run by a bunch of yahoos was going to beat us. Not tonight. Not ever.
As soon as my mind cleared, I noticed two things. An undeniable affection for my partner whose survival meant a lot more to me than mere job satisfaction. And the pseudo-identity of the organization fronting this one-night event.
"Hey Vayl," I jerked my thumb at Graybeard, "this one's into cleanliness and that one," I nodded at JESUS SAVES, "is into godliness. What's that make you think of?"
"God's Arm." Vayl's instant reply pleased our captors. It's always nice to have your ultra-fanatical religious affiliation recognized. It's also nice when someone guesses who you've dressed up as on Halloween. I raised my eyebrows at Vayl and slid my eyes toward Graybeard's neck. He understood immediately. All members of God's Arm have a cross tattooed on their necks as a rite of initiation. These necks were clean.
"Let's walk," said Graybeard, gesturing toward a grove of trees in the distance with the .357 Magnum he'd pulled from his front pocket. Vayl's slight nod encouraged me to cooperate, for now. So I walked, my sandals protecting me so poorly from the rocks and weeds I considered kicking them off. Only the possibility of stepping on shards of glass or metal deterred me. It had gotten colder too, and my party dress wasn't providing much protection against the wind that kept brushing against me in an endless, winter-borne tide. The full moon lit up my goosebumps and the pseudo-path ahead of me. But I squeezed my contacts into night vision anyway, preparing for a trek through the deeper brush ahead.
Nobody talked during the walk, which only took us about 200 yards off the highway but seemed endless. Something about the march seemed eerily familiar to me. It was like the entire store of knowledge I'd built around criminals and their victims had coughed up the ghosts of those who'd walked ahead of their murderers, sometimes cold, sometimes stumbling, leaving glowing footprints for me to follow. Only they were angry that I'd consented to follow that trail. "Fight!" they whispered, their wild, haunted memories sharpening their voices. "Fight now. Fight hard. Die, if necessary, only die fighting!"
I never meant to
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