Demon Night (8 page)

They were at Cole's now. Iron bars striped the front of the glass doors and the restaurant's large, street-side windows. Melody led a group of four past the hostess podium, a clutch of menus in her hand, her hips swaying in time with Janis Joplin's earthy voice.

Charlie checked her watch. “You want to come in? Protecting me from the bloodthirsty undead deserves at least a drink, and I've still got about ten minutes.”

Ethan studied her for a long moment, his face impassive. Faint lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. It was difficult to determine if they were wrinkles or tan lines. If it was from the sun, it had been kind; he wasn't at all weathered.

How old was he? Mid-thirties?

His nostrils flared slightly and he looked away from her. “I'd best not, Charlie.”

“All right.” She concealed her disappointment with a smile, shifted awkwardly on her feet. What should she do now? Shake his hand? A thank-you kiss to his cheek? She probably couldn't get up that high.

And what the hell did
I'd best not
mean?

Dammit.
She'd
best not make herself go crazy wondering, or make an embarrassment of herself by asking him. “Another time, then. Thanks, Ethan.”

Her hand was on the long iron bar that served as a door handle when his voice stopped her. “You'll finish your story when I walk you home?”

She averted her face to hide her relieved smile. “I can do it now. There's not much more.” Tucking her coat a little closer around her body, she stepped up onto the bench seat and sat on the top. She wasn't on level with Ethan, but at least she didn't have to crane her neck up so much this way, and she didn't think he'd sit.

“So I was talking to them, and wiping the area next to them to look like I was busy. The bar is dark wood, sealed with a varnish, and I always keep it clean. Shining. Anything sitting on it reflects—not perfectly, just a gleam. And that's when I notice that even though his hand is on the bar, there's no reflection. Her hand and sleeve do, her glass does, his glass does…but not him or his clothes.”

Ethan didn't respond, just studied her face with that steady, quiet expression. Charlie dropped her gaze to her hands, then to the side. The ashtray at the end of the bench had a single butt crushed into the sand. Whoever it was had probably sat alone in the cold, sucking down the cigarette as quickly as possible before returning to his party.

She touched her fingers to her lips and forced herself to meet Ethan's eyes again.

“So I'm thinking that it's strange, but it's not frightening—until I have to turn around to use the cash register. There's a mirror on the wall back there, mostly hidden behind the shelves of bottles. And I can see
her
, I can hear them talking, so I know he hasn't gone to the restroom or anything…and then his glass lifts into the air.”

Even now, the thought of that floating glass made her heart skip and race.

As if Ethan heard it, his gaze fell to her chest. “Were you frightened then?”

She shook her head. “I was trying to convince myself that I hadn't seen it. And it's not like they were drinking blood. He had an orange juice, for God's sake—she was teasing him about it. It was only after, when I couldn't stop thinking about that glass, that I realized what he was. What
they
were. But even then…”

She pulled off her cap, stuck her hand into her hair to fluff it, and smiled weakly. She had completely lost the pretense that this was just a story. Was Ethan now thinking she was mentally unhinged? He was watching her too closely, his eyes too assessing.

Why was it that nothing about him was direct but the way he looked at her?

“Then he gave me a hundred-dollar tip, and they left,” she finished in a rush, then glanced at the time and hopped down from the bench.

Ethan blinked. His grin was slow as he opened the door for her. Music and the heavy odor of steaks and fries rolled out. “Well, now, Miss Charlie—that may be the strangest part of your tale.”

A tale
. Relieved that he'd taken it in the way she'd intended, she returned his smile. “Why strange?”

“In my experience, vampires that comely are as tightfisted as they are vain.”

That was an odd bit of humor, yet strangely accurate. “Oh. Well, he technically gave it to me—but only after she said something to him. Otherwise I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have thought to leave anything at all. Probably wouldn't have even paid for their drinks.”

That had him rolling into laughter, and Charlie's brow creased as she watched him. There was obviously a joke here that she didn't understand, but she liked the sound of his amusement too much to let it bother her. His laugh was deep, his head hanging low as he bent into it. On impulse, she rose up on her toes, pressed her lips to the firm corner of his mouth.

Then swept through the entrance with a mumbled thanks, unsure if she should be flattered or mortified that such an insignificant kiss had shocked him silent.

If Charlie had turned around, she'd likely have settled whatever internal argument that had set her psychic scent spinning with uncertainty. Ethan held the door wide and watched her walk across the dark-tiled floor, wishing his Guardian sight could burn through the coat concealing her curves.

The most unexpected blows always came from the front—Ethan had learned that long before he'd become a Guardian. Though a man couldn't see the hit coming from behind or from the side, he knew it might. Not
when
, but expecting that eventually it would, and so he was always bracing himself against the surprise.

But even a light blow could knock a man off his feet when he'd been watching for it, because he figured he was prepared.

Apparently, Ethan had figured wrong with Charlie.

Her picture and the few glimpses he'd had told him he liked the look of her. Plenty of conversations over a wall had revealed her easy and entertaining way with a story that could draw him in or set him laughing. He'd gotten real familiar with her voice—the low rasp that often had him wondering about the sounds she'd make if he was in her deep.

But those things hadn't warned him about the way she could size a man up with a glance from beneath her lashes, making him hope that whatever she saw pleased her. Hadn't warned him about the way her hair fell in a soft wave against her jaw when she ducked her chin to smile—or that when she pushed it back, exposing the vulnerable skin at the side of her neck, he'd want to unwind the necklace she'd used as protection, place his mouth on that spot, and tell her that he'd provide it for her.

And he hadn't known she could guard her expression as well as the wall had. Had Ethan been human, he'd never have wanted to face her across a poker table—a tell was easier to spot when it was a twitch in a blank mask. But hers wasn't a studied or artificial expression; the emotions she chose to show were genuine enough—they simply weren't all of what she felt, forcing him to read her psyche instead of her features.

When he had, her interest had slipped like warm velvet across his mind. He'd sensed it before, but it had been nebulous—light curiosity about the man who lived next to her—and easy enough to ignore. Now it was strong, and reaching out with his mind as he was, her interest felt like a touch as real as the kiss that had Ethan's fingers clenching on iron and his eyes staring after her.

Charlie didn't glance back, though he watched until the black-haired hostess returned to her podium and narrowed her eyes at him, as if wondering why a man would remain outside looking starved instead of coming in and eating his fill.

Ethan let the door fall closed, leaving him frowning at his reflection through the bars. Abruptly he turned away from it, vanished the jacket in his hand, and walked around the back of Cole's to examine the twisted gate.

The lock was intact, but even a vampire could have broken it with a hard twist of the knob, or pulled the gate's metal frame from its seat of brick.

They'd intended to scare her first, then. It didn't surprise Ethan that a demon would recruit vampires with a streak of mean. And like a horse or a dog with a rabid temperament and an eagerness to hurt, there was but one option: put them down.

Ethan had destroyed a few animals when he was human, and he reckoned he felt worse for them; they didn't know any better. Anything that had once been human did.

And Charlie had been well and frightened. Her fear had dogged her several times during their walk. Each time, she'd managed to push it away—leaving Ethan torn between his relief that she wasn't relying on him, the sting to his pride that she thought he couldn't defend her, and his unexpected need to reassure her that he would.

But a conflicted man was a distracted one, and he wouldn't be doing right by her if he allowed his ego to get in the way of protecting her.

As it was, Ethan hadn't sensed the vampire nearby until they'd been standing outside Cole's. Ethan didn't figure this particular vampire was any danger to Charlie…but chasing him down might be exactly what Ethan needed to cool the heat she'd created in him.

Ethan walked quickly down the deserted alley, picking up speed. His duster appeared on a thought, and his forward motion created its own wind, the coattails flapping behind him. He'd have to cross two blocks to reach the vampire, and he was moving faster than a human could; he ought to get up top.

And although Ethan was certain no one watched, it was best not to perform impossible feats. It was easy enough to change his direction, take a leap at the alley wall and push off with his foot, using the momentum he'd gained to launch himself to the roof of the opposite building. Every human who'd ever watched a martial arts movie had seen a man run up a wall and flip away from it; Ethan had taken that to an extraordinary level, but not outside the realm of human belief.

Wings would have been.

Crossing the street took only another leap. No one was likely looking up—and in the dark, they would mistake whatever they'd seen. The next block down, Manny's red boat of an automobile idled off a side street, its wheel rims shiny as spit. A human was in it with him.

Ethan propped his foot on an air-conditioning unit, rested his elbow on his knee, and settled down to watch and listen.

Luckily for Manny, the person in the car with him didn't sound all that young. The first and last time Ethan had found the vampire passing something off to a boy not much past puberty, Ethan had rolled him over hard. Guardians had to respect human free will, even when the decisions humans made were foolish. If they wanted to rot their brains with the shit Manny sold, that was their choice. But Ethan figured kids didn't know any better—and if he couldn't stop the humans from selling to them, at least he could stop Manny.

Hell, there were plenty of reasons to beat the vampire, but not enough reasons to slay him. And, at any rate, it was Ethan's own damn fault Manny was alive. He'd been the one to transform the vampire twelve years before, when he'd heard the screams coming from an alley in Tacoma. Only the nosferatu's focus on Manny and its bloodlust had allowed Ethan the easy kill; but the nosferatu had already fed well, and Ethan had had to use the nosferatu's blood to transform Manny into a vampire.

A Guardian wasn't meant to judge, but there were times Ethan reckoned he'd have done just as well to let Manny bleed to death in that alley.

But those times inevitably led to wondering whether Michael had thought the same of him, transforming him to Guardian in an oven of a jail cell. And so it was best not to wonder at all, and just get the job done.

And if the vampires who'd come after Charlie belonged to the Seattle community, Manny might prove a useful source of information. Until a few months ago, he'd remained on the periphery of the vampire community. Aside from his two female partners, Manny had only associated with Vladimir and Katya, the heads of the Seattle community, acting as their enforcer.

A community's leaders meted out punishments and executions to vampires who threatened the secrecy of their kind or who fed from humans, but not every leader liked to get blood on his hands. As one of the rare nosferatu-born, Manny was the strongest vampire in the city, and he'd taken on those duties in return for modest payments.

But when Vladimir and Katya had been killed three months before, Manny had taken their position—likely by virtue of his strength, as Ethan doubted Manny had been the one to murder them…and whoever had wasn't stepping up to claim their place.

Manny hadn't been all that successful winning over the community, but perhaps he intended to change that. Money would give him a more solid foothold than strength alone. Maybe that was why he was selling out here. Ethan hadn't seen him in this part of the city before, but Manny might be thinking to expand his territory.

The transaction didn't take long, and the human finally slid out onto the sidewalk. Nineteen to twenty-two years old, buzzed blond hair, undershirt, and oversized pants with the crotch hanging down near his ankles. Ethan shook his head; the only difference between this kid and fifty others Ethan had seen come out of Manny's car was the brand names on their skivvies, and whether they cinched their belt around their ass or below it.

The kid looked up and down the deserted street before strolling off, and Manny climbed out of his car. The silver medallions banding his black hat winked as brightly as his wheels. The brim cast a shadow down to his hooked nose and over a mustache that hung like a skinny dead ferret down the sides of his mouth.

Ethan waited until the kid disappeared around the corner before clearing his throat.

The tail end of the ferret twitched back to life. Manny's eyes widened briefly and met Ethan's before the vampire dropped into his seat. The white reverse lights flared as Manny shoved the gear out of park.

Ethan leapt from the roof and slammed to the ground in a crouch, getting an up-close view of the Cadillac's rear license plate. He reached just beneath and behind the bumper; once he got a good grip on the frame, he braced his elbow against his knee and lifted.

The vampire was stubborn—Ethan had to give him that. Manny sat for a good thirty seconds with his rear tires spinning wildly, the rubber grabbing for purchase an inch above the road. Finally, he eased up on the accelerator and fired a barrage of curses over his shoulder.

Not trusting that admission of defeat, Ethan called for him to shut it down, then waited another minute until the engine cut off.

The air reeked of fuel. Ethan rounded the automobile; Manny grinned at him through the window and pushed down the little plastic lock.

Ethan braced his hands on top of the car, leaned down. “You planning on playing all night? Or do I haul you out?”

With barely a touch of his Gift, the lock popped up, straight as a toy soldier. Manny glanced uneasily at it, then slowly opened the door. His polished, pointed boot swung to the ground.

“Drifter. I didn't know it was you, man,” he said as Ethan stepped back to give the vampire room to stand. Even at full height, Manny had to tip his head back so far the brim of his hat was near vertical. “All I seen was some huge white dude jumping off a roof, and I didn't want to be hanging around here when the cops come to scrape up the mess.”

Chrome glittered over his front incisors, and matching wire wrapped the upper length of his fangs, making for a smile as pretty as the automobile's radiator grill.

Ethan angled his head, looked Manny up and down. There wasn't much money to be had as a two-bit dealer, pimp, and former enforcer, but considering the sparklies the vampire sported, Ethan wouldn't have guessed it just to look at him.

“You dealing out here now?”

“No, man.” Manny plucked at the third button of his striped shirt, the cotton as crisp and stiff as his black jeans. “I was just sitting here, and he just walked by.”

That fit what Ethan had caught from Manny and the kid; the transaction hadn't been planned, but a chance meeting.

“Are your girls working over here?” Ethan asked, though he doubted it. Capitol Hill wasn't Angie's and Cora's style. “Maybe drinking from their johns?”

Offended machismo poured from Manny's psychic scent. “I'm man enough for both of them.” When Ethan refrained from commenting on that, Manny pulled at the button again. “Come on, Drifter. Why are you hassling me? I haven't done anything.”

Ethan's gaze fell to Manny's fingers. “You're awful twitchy for someone who doesn't need to be hassled.”

Manny's hand immediately dropped to his side, and he gave a short laugh before it, too, dropped away and left a hunted expression in its place. His voice had an edge of a whine to it. “I just came by to see if what I heard about a dead man walking was true.”

Ethan frowned. “What dead man?”

“Just some dead white guy.” A passing car's lights caught the flash of chrome teeth and gleamed off the silver ring on his middle finger. Manny was absently rubbing the band with his thumb, spinning it around. Another tell, but Ethan wouldn't call the vampire's attention to this one.

“You, me, we're all dead men walking,” Manny added with a grin and a shrug.

Now, that was just nonsense. Was Manny thinking to distract him? The ring went round and round. Ethan's gaze narrowed, and he inhaled deep. “Put your hands on the hood.”

“Aw, man—” Manny's lips pressed together, and he turned around.

Ethan quickly patted him down, pulled the small bag of sweet-smelling marijuana from the vampire's front pocket, and vanished it into his cache. Unfortunately for Manny, vampires couldn't carry or hide items the same way. Another sniff led Ethan to the giant trunk. He popped the lock and dug out what he figured was about five thousand dollars' worth of goods from beneath the spare tire.

“You Guardians are worse than the pig cops,” Manny said with an expression more resigned than angry.

“And here I thought we were such good friends, Manny, considering that I saved your life and all.” Ethan slammed the trunk closed. He confiscated Manny's stash each time they met up; this couldn't account for the vampire's jumpiness. “You hear of any vampires—one female, two males, black hair, a lot of black leather—talking about being in this area? Maybe hunting down a human girl?”