He grinned, flashing white teeth and fangs. A lot of new vamps try to be subtle about what they’ve become. Carlton wasn’t the subtle type.
“What, you don’t like the nickname? I mean, hell, aren’t you just the heap big vampire slayer? You’re the one to beat, baby. I’ve done my homework. The rest of the Not Prey—they’ve taken maybe one minor vamp to earn their status. You’ve taken down two entire hives. I mean… damn, girl. You have those old broads shittin’ a brick every time you so much as say boo.”
Somehow I doubted that. I glanced over at him. “You don’t look too intimidated.”
His grin widened, but something in the set of his face made it look fake. “Like I said, I like a challenge. It’s why I accepted their offer to come out to Denver.”
“And why you jog in broad daylight.”
He laughed, a deep joyous sound, and flashed those oh-so-sharp teeth again. “It stings like a bad sunburn, and it’s hard on the eyes. But I don’t mind a little pain.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
I decided to ask Carlton the question that had been tugging at the back of my mind ever since Richards handed me the packet last night. He might choose not to answer, but it couldn’t hurt. Who knew, maybe I’d actually find out something.
“Why can’t the queens track the eggs mentally? They had an awareness. I could feel it when I was in the hospital.”
“Those were the incubated eggs. They had either hatched or were close to hatching. The ones that have been stolen were cryogenically preserved. They’ve never been connected to the hive, so the queens can’t find them.”
“They’ve tried?”
“Oh, hell yeah.” He shook his head. “Do you really think they’d deal with you if they didn’t have to? Get real, Reilly. They hate your ass. To them you’re a fucking mass murderer.”
“Funny, I feel the same way about them.”
We continued running in silence for several minutes, stride for stride. He could easily have outdistanced me if he’d wanted to, but seemed content to just keep pace, his breathing perfectly easy, expression calm.
“Do they know anything about Henri Tané?”
I could barely see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but I felt his consciousness shift. He didn’t break stride, but he did slow the pace a little. I matched my stride to his.
After a long moment he said. “He’s dead. And before you ask, nobody connected to the hive did it. The queens didn’t want to risk it. They considered him almost as much of a pain in the ass as you.”
“Only almost?”
“Baby, nobody is more of a pain than you are.” His voice was hard.
I looked over at him, deliberately keeping my expression neutral. “Am I supposed to be flattered?”
“Don’t be.”
We reached a fork in the sidewalk. I stayed on the main track. He turned off. In less than a minute he was gone.
4
« ^ »
I made it back to the apartment with plenty of time to shower and change. I didn’t dawdle. I didn’t want to be late. The 16th Street Mall has a set of shuttle buses that run from one end of downtown to the other, stopping every couple of blocks. They’re busy most of the day and night, but during peak times, when all the good little commuters are making their way to the high-rise office buildings, they run extra buses. Even so, people pack in like sardines. I had climbed on at the Union Station stop. It’s the start of the line, so I’d been able to snag a seat. It was more comfortable than swaying on my feet with somebody’s briefcase jabbing into my back, but only barely. If I hadn’t been due to testify this morning I’d have walked. But I didn’t want to take the stand in front of an entire courtroom full of people, including reporters, soaked in sweat and stinking to high heaven.
Winter in Denver, you had to love it. Frigid one minute, hot the next. The old saw about “You don’t like the weather? Wait a few minutes. It’ll change” is actually true here. Since Tom hadn’t been on hand to choose an outfit, I’d gone for a more comfortable and practical look today. My jacket and slacks were light-weight wool in a deep, forest green that brought out the color of my eyes and made my hair look even more red than usual. I’d pulled all of that hair back into a tight French braid that hung down to the middle of my back. I left the jacket open to show off a soft cotton tee in a flattering shade of cream with a floral and leaf pattern embroidered around the scooped neck. Practical shoes with no heel in basic brown matched the bag I carried. It might not be a great outfit for fighting, but it would be a damned sight better than what I’d had on yesterday. Not that I was likely to have to fight any Thrall today. No, apparently for the moment I was on their side. Made me nauseous just thinking about it. I checked my watch as the shuttle bell rang. The doors were sliding closed, we were one block from Civic Center Station; only a couple blocks from the courthouse. I’d make good time by cutting through the park that takes up nearly the entire block between the Denver courthouse and the state capitol building. It has trees, gorgeous flowerbeds in the summer, fountains, Greek columns forming an open theater area and, at this time of day, more than a few homeless still huddled against the warm air exhaust grates in sleeping bags.
I crossed Colfax with the light and began hurrying along the sidewalk, the heat from the concrete sidewalks seeping through the thin soles of my shoes.
I had only gone about half-way across the park when I stopped cold. There had been about a dozen demonstrators yesterday. Today there had to be over a hundred, waving signs, chanting. It was a mess. There were police there to control the crowds, and vans from all of the local news affiliates.
“Shit.”
The clock in the bell tower struck the quarter hour. Judging from the crowds by the front door, there was no way I was going to make it through security and up to the courtroom before eight going that way. Turning on my heel, I took one of the sidewalks that angled to the corner of the park. There was a visible line at the back entrance to the courthouse, too, but at least there wouldn’t be reporters and chanting demonstrators. I moved as quickly as I could, my purse slapping against the side of my leg, shoes clicking on the concrete. I reached the edge of the park across the street from the courthouse in less than two minutes. I’d missed the light, and was getting ready to jaywalk when someone spotted me.
“It’s her!” someone in the crowd shouted.
The demonstrators surged forward, knocking over the wooden barriers. I couldn’t tell if the police were holding the demonstrators or vice versa. There were screams of “Murderer!” and “Bitch!”
Two teenage boys managed to break from the pack. They did an end-run around cops and the rest of the crowd, each running full out toward me. They ignored the squeal of traffic on Court Street, their eyes intent. I dropped my purse. Kicking it out of my way, I braced myself as well as I could for attackers approaching from opposite sides.
The first boy, to my left, reached into the side pocket of his baggy jeans and pulled out what looked like a red water balloon. Time seemed to slow. As if from a distance I heard a booming voice shout “Put down the weapon!” I turned and saw the second boy pull a blue balloon out from his jacket. As the first boy cocked back his arm to throw, a darkuniformed figure launched himself into a flying tackle, bringing the boy to the pavement with a bruising impact, the balloon smashing against the ground inches away from them.
I spun, toward the second attacker, even as the smell of rotting meat hit me like a slap to the face. He’d let go of his balloon. I had all the time in the world to see it sailing toward me, and no time at all to avoid it. It hit me in the center of my chest and exploded, soaking me with red paint mixed with what smelled suspiciously like fly attractant. Police officers had cuffed both boys and were hauling them toward the squad cars. A third cop crossed the street to check on me, leaving his buddies to deal with the wildly cheering crowd of demonstrators.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I reached down to grab my purse. I wasn’t hurt, but I was humiliated. My clothes were ruined, and I stank like road kill left in the mid-July sun for a couple of days. I was scheduled to be in the courtroom in less than five minutes to testify. Oh, and all of the local news cameras were aimed in my direction.
“Do you want to press charges for assault?”
I thought about it and decided that, while a part of me really did want to, I also didn’t have time to deal with it right now. I turned to the cop. “I’m scheduled to testify in Courtroom Four in a few minutes.”
“I’ll walk you through the line, but you’ll have to wait and go through security. If you decide to press charges, stop by the station.” He gave me an address over on Cherokee, only a couple blocks from the courthouse, escorted me past the line to the back door, through security, and to the bathroom door. He promised to go into the courtroom and let my attorney know what had happened, and that I would be there in just a few minutes. I hated being late. It would probably piss off the judge. But I had to at least try and clean up. I was scrubbing my face with a coarse paper towel and the cheap pink soap they keep in the dispensers when a woman opened the restroom door. Her nose twitched, she gagged, and retreated rapidly back into the hallway. The jacket had been one of my favorites. But it was completely soaked and totally unsalvageable. I shoved it through the hinged lid into the trash can. The pants were ruined, too, but I couldn’t exactly take them off until I had something else to wear. The tee-shirt had only been splattered. I’d go ahead and wear it, but the odds were good that the stuff would stain, despite my efforts to blot at the spots.
There was a brisk knock on the outer bathroom door. “Ms. Reilly, they’re ready for you in the courtroom.” I recognized the voice of my attorney’s legal assistant.
“All right.” I turned off the sink, dried my hands, and retrieved my purse.
The assistant was waiting for me outside the door. He manfully managed not to gag, but he couldn’t keep from sneezing. He escorted me past the scaffolding, down the hall. When we reached the courtroom, he held open the heavy wood door for me. Steeling myself, I passed through.
Back rigid, I walked straight up the center aisle. There were gasps. More than a few people made choking noises. I couldn’t blame them. The stench was really, seriously disgusting, and this was the improved model. Short of utter desperation I didn’t believe anybody would set foot in the women’s restroom on this floor until the janitors had emptied the trash.
In a loud voice my attorney announced, “I call Mary Kathleen Reilly to the stand.”
The bailiff held open the little gate to the front of the courtroom and I walked over to the witness stand. I put my left hand on the bible, my right in the air and swore to tell the whole truth. And I did, so help me God. I glanced at the judge and fought not to blush as he winced from the smell. “No need to explain, Ms. Reilly. The bailiff informed me of the altercation outside. Normally, I’d reschedule your testimony and allow you to go change, but this courtroom is needed in a few days, so we need to finish this trial up.”
I nodded and the questioning began. When my attorney was done with our planned questions, I was crossexamined by the attorney for the other side. I’d been warned he’d bait me—try to get me to yell or argue, and he did. He tried valiantly to make me lose my temper so that I would say something he could use against me. I could feel the heat of blood rushing to my face, but I held onto my temper. I was polite. I was civil. I wasn’t even sarcastic. If Tom had been here, he’d have been damned proud. Of course if Tom had been with me outside, there was a good chance we’d have had a pair of mauled teenagers. Was that a good or bad thing?
“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” I said the words sweetly. I didn’t really think that he’d asked a question. It had sounded more like a sarcastic comment. But I was being good.
He gave me a truly nasty look, but announced, “No more questions, Your Honor.”
“Attorney Jones, do you wish to reexamine the witness?”
“I do.”
My attorney stood up and walked calmly over to stand in front of me. He didn’t sneeze, but his nose wrinkled, and his eyes looked a little more moist than was normal. I watched him take a few steps back, until he was standing next to the air conditioner vent. It was a smart move. The vent was angled in a way that would blow the scent away from him. The judge, meanwhile, had pulled an old-fashioned handkerchief from a pocket beneath his robes and was holding it over his nose and mouth. It wasn’t exactly subtle, but maybe it helped.
I felt sorry for the poor court reporter. She needed both her hands to run the transcription machine. She was just going to have to suffer until I was done with my testimony.
“Ms. Reilly, would you say that you are an expert with regard to the Heterotroph hippocratia, or Thrall as they’re more commonly called?” Jones asked.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You wouldn’t? But aren’t you Not Prey?”
“Yes. I am. But that doesn’t make me an expert. It just makes me a survivor.”
One or two people in the room chuckled. I hadn’t meant it as a joke. It was the simple truth. If there was such a thing as a Thrall expert, it was somebody like Miles MacDougal. Not me.
“So, again, being Not Prey doesn’t mean you’ve studied the Thrall, or have any special knowledge of them that you could be expected to pass on to others? It simply means that you have fought off a vampire attack and survived. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I spoke clearly into the microphone, making sure everyone in the room could hear.
“I have no more questions, Your Honor.”
The judge discreetly slipped his handkerchief back beneath his robes. “Ms. Reilly, you may step down. And I want to thank you on behalf of this court for your appearance today in spite of the…adverse circumstances.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” I stood up and stepped down from the witness box. The bailiff held open the little gate for me to leave. I walked out of the courtroom with as much dignity as I could muster. Then I called a cab to one of the smaller side exits of the building and went home to clean up.