Vampire, Hunter. Maria Arnt
spaces between buildings with light. Funny thing about TV, she thought, just from looking you don't realize that most alleys smell like piss and garbage. She checked the nearby dumpster and the bag of supplies in the car one last time, then rubbed her hands together to try and calm down. You can do this. You’re always nervous before a kill, but as soon as you get going it’ll be like running downhill. Couldn’t stop if you wanted to.
Summoning that first leap of confidence, she made her way down the alley and took a left, then knocked on an unmarked metal door. It didn't even have a doorknob, and the sunlight made it hot enough to hurt her knuckles. There was a long pause and she fought the urge to rub the sweat off her palms on her pants, but eventually the door opened just a crack.
"Whath’fuck d'youwan?" slurred the man on the other side. The one eye she could see was bloodshot and in constant motion.
Tanya recognized the symptoms of a vampire’s daytime grogginess. Probably not a Master, she reasoned, he didn't open the door all the way. No wonder he's sleepy—it's the middle of the freaking night to him.
"Jimmy had a thing," she said. "They sent me instead." In reality, Jimmy was handcuffed to a railing in a parking ramp five miles away. He'd have a hell of a headache when he woke up in police custody, but she wasn't in the habit of feeling sorry for drug dealers.
The door opened a hair more. "You're late. It wuz s'posed t'be'ere las night."
"Yeah, well, Jimmy's an ass, Okay? I just got the stuff," Tanya whined, shoving her hands in her pockets. Maybe if she acted irritated he would hurry up.
He chuckled at that and opened the door wide enough for her to pass through. "Alrigh, c'mon in."
"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "I dunno how Jimmy does it, but I follow the rules, man. You gotta come out to the car." From the marks on Jimmy, he'd been making a little extra on the side by giving them more than crack. There was no way in hell she was going to go inside and let them make a meal out of her, too.
"Don' be a bitch." He scowled. "A'least pass it through." He held out a hand, just inside the door.
She noticed he sounded a bit rushed. Probably wants to get the door closed as soon as possible. She hid a smile, glad to have regained the advantage.
"Nope. Rules. I show you a sample, you give me the money, I give you the rest." She’d watched Jimmy long enough to know his routine, after his brief "chat" inside.
"I don'ave time fr'this shit!" He growled and lunged at her. A hand on his shoulder stopped him short, and a much more attractive man stepped into view, just inside the door.
"It's alright, Randy. I'll take care of it." Fair skinned and sandy-blonde, the newcomer looked much younger but Randy nodded without question and drifted off into the building.
When he opened the door wide and gave her a winning smile, Tanya recognized him and knew she had the right man. This was Etienne du Lac, the killer she had been trailing for the last two weeks. There was also that tell-tale buzz of static. It rolled off him, making her skin itch.
"My car's just around the corner," she said.
He made an elaborate bow to indicate she should lead the way. Late 17th, early 18th century, she guessed from the fancy gesture. Some habits never wear off. Belatedly, she realized he was trying to flirt with her, so she flashed him a smile.
She led him around the corner and was surprised he didn't even blink as they stepped into the sunlight. He's gotta be the most powerful one I've done so far. Good. You can do this.
"Will you be making all of our deliveries from now on?" he asked, eying her breasts as she pretended to fumble in her pocket for her keys.
She responded in an unintelligible mumble. When he leaned forward to hear her better, she pulled out a miniature can of mace on her keyring, spraying it directly into his pretty face. Just because it wouldn’t do him any real harm didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like a bitch. And make it harder for him to see.
He screamed, doubling over. That gave Tanya all the opportunity she needed. She wrapped her arm over his head and twisted with everything she had.
His neck didn't break on her first try. Etienne let out a string of French curses and punched her hard in the ribs. Her whole left side burned like it was on fire, and he pulled out of her grasp when she gasped for air.
Damn. She had missed her first chance, her best chance, but she couldn't stop now. His head was at a bit of an odd angle, though. Maybe with the right applied force, she could still break his neck.
He rubbed his eyes with one hand and swung blindly at her with the other, spewing more French profanity. When he called out for Randy, she knew she had to act fast, before any of his minions were stupid enough to brave the sun and save their Master.
She gave the side of his face a hard right hook, and then followed it up with the best roundhouse kick she could manage in so much pain. There was a dull crack, and Etienne's body sprawled on the gravel.
"Son of a bitch..." Tanya put a hand to her side. There wasn't any blood, but damn did it hurt, especially when she breathed. She probably had broken a rib or two. She kicked him for good measure, but he was unconscious. Oh well, she thought, that'll make the next part way easier.
She grabbed the roll of industrial-sized plastic wrap she had stashed in the car and set to work, winding it around his legs. It hurt to move, but she didn't have a lot of time before he woke up and not much more before his broken neck would heal. She hoped the plastic would hold—she hadn't tested this method.
Once she had his legs wrapped up, she started on his torso. Working with his dead weight was awkward, and the pain in her side was getting worse. She pushed herself to keep going, she had to finish quickly before anyone saw her. At last, she had him all wrapped up except for a thin slice of his chest, right over his heart. Sliding the six-inch bowie knife out of its sheath in her boot, she sat on his chest. She slapped his face a few times, and finally he woke up.
"Qu'est-quec'est?" he murmured, and then felt the point of the knife under his chin. He thrashed his head wildly looking around for help, but he was still paralyzed below the neck. All he succeeded in doing was getting his chin cut up on the tip of her knife.
"Hey!" she grabbed his jaw. "I just want to talk, okay?"
He stopped wiggling but didn't look convinced.
"If you tell me what I want to know, I promise not to kill you," she said in her most persuasive voice. "I'll leave you here and let your minions come get you when it's dark enough."
He gave her a long, hard look through narrowed eyes. It was clear he didn't trust her, but there was curiosity there, too. "What do you want to know?"
Tanya smiled. "Tell me the name of the most powerful vampire you know.” Her eyes flashed. “And where I can find them."
Etienne smiled slowly, not the expression she expected. Most of the time they were surprised. "Why do you want to know?"
"That's my business," she said, and poked his chest with the tip of the knife for emphasis. "Now tell me, or I will kill you."
"All right, all right!" he shouted.
She slapped him. "Quiet."
He glared at her and then muttered "Salope fou. His name is Seth, and he lives in Chicago."
Hm. Chicago. It was further than she'd had to go so far, but it made sense to her that a fat cat vampire would live in a big city. "Seth what?"
"Just Seth," he insisted, "like Cher."
She rolled her eyes at the out-dated reference. "He has to use a last name, even if it's just an alias. What is it?"
"Uhhhh..." He looked like he was trying to remember, but she could feel his hand wriggling under the plastic. She pressed the first half inch of the knife into his chest and he stilled—she would have to finish quickly; he was already regaining movement.
"Walker!