I fumbled for the seat belt, slamming into the door again as Irish cranked the wheel and whipped us down a side street, tires screaming. Or possibly that was me. It was hard to tell with my face mashed into the window from the force of the turn.

“Fuck,” I snarled, peeling my face off the glass and shoving my hands into my pockets. “I am so sick of today, let me tell you.” I pulled my hands out of my pockets, coming out with two handfuls of colored glass marbles. I juggled them between my hands, a few spilling to the floor as I sorted through them and gunfire rattled across our car and Irish jerked into oncoming traffic. The car coming right at us shrieked up onto the sidewalk to miss us, narrowly avoiding some lady with a little dog and slamming into a building. “A car chase, Irish? Does this happen to you a lot?”

“Damn it,” Irish hissed, pulling the car back over into the right lane. I hit the button to roll the window down as Irish snapped, “Do somethin’ already!”

“Yeah, yeah, working on it.” My shadow was dutifully relaying Randall’s conversation, but I didn’t really have time to listen. I told her to just remember it, and I’d listen later. She grumbled, but obeyed without much fuss, which was refreshing. “Red light.”

“What –”

I leaned out the window, grabbing the oh-shit handle above the window for balance, and whipped three red glass marbles back at a shiny black Camaro barreling towards us. Some big goon with long black hair was leaning out the passenger side with a great big handgun, and they were close enough that I saw him wrinkle his eyebrows together in confusion as he fired. A bullet parted my hair as our brakes howled, and suddenly I was hanging on for dear life as the car spun. I let out a shrill squeal as I twisted, hanging half out the window. Someone’s side mirror whipped by my face, then Irish grabbed the front of my shirt in one big fist and jerked me back into the car as he spun into oncoming traffic and jerked the wheel, pulling into the right lane.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the sports car plow through the billowing red cloud sent out by my marbles, and I grinned. “Got one,” I gasped as my ass hit the seat.

Irish glanced up at the rear view mirror and I twisted to look as the Camaro emerged from the cloud, its entire body rapidly changing color, as ruddy brown rust ran wild all over it. It shuddered, leaving a flaking red trail of powder behind it. A pair of thrown rods blew right through the hood of the Camaro, and then the wheels fell off. The front end of the car slammed into the pavement, sending up a shower of sparks and oxidized metal. The driver’s side door fell off, and another car slammed into what was left of the Camaro, sending up a geyser of rust and chunks and parts in a resounding crash. It pretty much erased the Camaro from existence, and the passengers must have been hating their day, too, right up until the impact. I turned back around in my seat, and went back to sorting through my marble collection.

“What the fuck was that?” Irish demanded, glaring into the rear view mirror.

“Rust bombs. Three might have been overkill.” I giggled, more in self-satisfaction at a job of artificing well done than out of hysteria, I’m pretty sure. “Always wanted to try that, though.”

“There’s another.” He nodded at whatever he saw in the rear view mirror, and I twisted in my seat, spotting a navy blue Chevy wheeling around the accident and accelerating after us.

“Shit,” I hissed, watching a big white box van trundling around the accident, following the blue Chevy. “Make that two. Shit. Get us out of here!”

“I’m trying,” he spat between gritted teeth. I stowed the marbles again, and pulled out my Baby Eagle to check the load as Irish put the gas down, aiming us back towards 8 Mile. Only five of my precious and incredibly pricey void rounds. I eyed the clip, and rummaged around in my belt pouch for something effective and affordable.

The shadow was one long, low, savage rumble in the back of my head, spiky with anger and challenge. She wanted out, wanted loose, wanted to fight. She couldn’t quite grasp what was going on, besides the fact that we were moving fast and bits of metal kept flying at us. She wanted us to stop so she could envelop our foes and get a good look at them. Taste them, weigh and measure them, and maybe eat them. She was a little in awe of my ability to perceive things I wasn’t touching, but preferred to ‘see’ for herself whenever possible.

“Just drive, Irish. There’s no way they’re outrunning a BMW in a Chevy and a shitty box –” Gunfire rattled again and glass exploded into the front seat from the rear window, peppering and, thanks to my active rubberband bracelet, bouncing off the back of my head. The front window spiderwebbed before I had time to flinch.

“Machine gun,” Irish said. “Of course they’ve a bleedin’ machine gun. I wish I had a machine gun. Who the fuck is it?” He punched the windshield repeatedly, bloodying his fist before the safety glass let go and he pushed it out and away so he could see where he was driving.

“Uh.” My mind raced. Gianna? No. Her goons drove better cars. Also, too smart to start gun fights and car chases in the middle of the day. The Arcana? Nope. Tyler or Damian would have fricasseed us by now. The Order? My blood ran cold for a heartbeat, before I thought through again. Nah, it couldn’t be. They’d be better shots, right? Carl had used geist henchmen last time, not goons with guns – this didn’t seem like his style. That left… “Aw, hell, it’s gotta be Duane’s pack of assholes.”

More gunfire, and through the shadow, I felt the holes opening up in the car. It was only going to be another moment or two before one of the bastards got lucky and got a tire. Or one of us. I was suddenly, brutally aware of the fact that we were driving very fast and the driver’s head was unprotected.

“The vampire Eldest? These are his servants?”

“Probably, yeah. He’s kind of a douchebag, but I don’t think that matters.”

Irish punched the brake down and whipped out a right turn, down some dingy little side street with less traffic. His jaw was ground tight, brows pulled down in a positively murderous expression of concentration as he drove. His knuckles were white where he gripped the wheel. I managed to retrieve a pair of clips from my copious belt pouch. One was engraved with NaCl, and that was no good. Salt rounds were fun, but did diddly against anything that wasn’t alive. I was fishing around for something with more oomph when Irish stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Put yer seatbelt back on Alice,” he growled.

“Oh, hell.” I grabbed the loose seat belt, glancing in the side view mirror to see the blue car gaining on us. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he said, and turned the wheel. The tires squealed as I drove the belt hook into the latch and fell against Irish’s arm. Buildings spun in front of us and Irish put the gas down, and we spilled back out onto Woodward, Chevy still closing.

I tightened the seat belt, unable to stop myself from bracing my feet on the floor as the car picked up speed. We were aimed right at a great big pile of traffic. “Irish, there are cars.”

“Aye.” Now he was smiling. That was worrying.

“Irish, you are not going to get around all those cars.” All ten lanes were occupied. The median was dotted with trees. Just the thought of trying to navigate through that obstacle course at high speed was enough to make me break out in a sweat. More gunfire rattled, missing us for a change.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he said, smiling… or at least, showing his teeth as he eyed the fast-approaching traffic.

“Oh shit,” I said, as I caught on. “Oh. Shit.”

Irish turned the wheel, and we plowed into the median, narrowly missing a giant, drooping oak before barreling into oncoming traffic. Specifically, a pair of huge semis. I grabbed the door handle and shut my eyes as the shadow howled in my head, demanding to know what the hell was happening.

The corner of the right semi scraped along my side of the BMW, blowing my mirror off and shattering the windows. My airbags exploded in a dusty flash of white as we squeaked out into traffic, and I don’t know if it was better or worse that I couldn’t see a damn thing. Nice cars, BMW’s. I hadn’t expected the side airbags. One of the semis was blaring its air horn, and I could hear cars squealing and honking and crashing, and Irish was eerily quiet as the car swerved back and forth, alternately surging forward and slowing as he stood on the brakes or the gas. I fumbled with my rings, finding the one with the pop-out punch dagger, and went to work puncturing the airbag in front of me. Those things are made tough, though, and it took me a few seconds.

Finally, with a sigh of stale canned air, it deflated and I saw a brief flash of metal and greenery as our car plowed through a chain link fence, and out into the grass in Palmer Park. We fishtailed wildly as Irish slammed on the brakes, and behind us there was a series of cacophonous, shrieking crashes that seemed to go on and on.

Our car slid to a stop, Irish hacking and coughing on the dust from my deployed air bag as it deflated.

“Jesus.” I sat frozen in the passenger seat, locked in position. My heart slammed in my chest so hard and fast I thought it might burst. Irish twisted around to look behind us, and winced.

“Come on.” He had to put his shoulder into the driver’s side door twice to get it to pop open. I was still frozen in place, waiting to see if my heart would burst or not. The shadow hummed in the back of my head. She wasn’t exactly sure what had just gone on, but she did so love the taste of adrenaline in my blood. “Alice?”

“Yeah, give me a second, here.” I managed to unlock my hand from the door handle.

My door wouldn’t open. I put away my gun, and hoisted myself out through the missing windshield, almost falling when my feet hit the wet ground and my knees wobbled. I looked up as I braced myself on the side of the car. Irish had managed to cause a whole series of collisions and hadn’t gotten us caught in any of them. A big red F-350 had rear-ended the stopped semi, and the other semi’s trailer had ripped loose and tipped over, jam-packing the road. Across the median, traffic there had come to a screeching halt, as well. Other cars had plowed into the resulting mess… it had to be at least a twenty-car pileup, with some miscellaneous fender-benders thrown in for good measure.

“You… You are fucking insane.”

“Alice.” Irish grabbed my arm and I jumped. “Let’s go. I think the van was too far behind to get caught in that.”

“Right,” I said, and speak of the devil, there was the big white box van, trundling up towards the accident. “Fuck. Let’s go before we find out what they’ve got in there.”

“More men with guns?” Irish guessed as we started across the park.

“Sure, if we’re lucky.” I glanced up at the sky. It was full dusk now, dark enough for vamps if they were determined enough, and the last thing we needed to deal with was a van full of crabby vampires. We headed for the tree line, a good three hundred yards off the road. There was a lot of shouting and honking going on behind us.

“What else would it be? There aren’t but twenty bloodsuckers in Detroit, if that.” Irish had to slow for me. Bastard probably jogged or something. He wasn’t even winded.

“There’s lots worse than vampires in Detroit,” I pointed out, trying not to sound out of breath. “Me, for instance.” Beams of light washed across the park, and I looked over my shoulder in time to see the white van bumping up onto the sidewalk, and punching another hole through the fence. “Crap.”

An engine gunned back behind us, and I tossed another glance over my shoulder. The van was pursuing. Well that was completely unnecessary. I skidded to a stop and spun on my heel, leveling my Colt.

“Alice…”

“Keep running. I’ll just be a minute.” I squinted against the oncoming lights, taking aim.

The van bore down on me, and I pulled the trigger. The echoing cannon boom of the concussion round dwarfed the sound of the traffic and as the bullet impacted, the van hit a bump and ducked down. The whole goddamn thing flipped forward – oh, of course – towards me.

I tossed an arm up and rocked as the back end of the van hit the ground, fifteen feet from me, tossing up a cloud of sod and mud. The van gave a meaty, metallic crunch as it slammed down and the back door burst open. My shadow, thrilled beyond words to finally have a conflict that was standing still, darted forward, filling the nooks and crannies between blades of grass and darkening the sheen of reflected streetlights on the patches of mud. She moved to investigate the van, and find out what waited inside. Worked for me.

“Jaysis,” Irish exclaimed, right at my elbow.

“Hello? Mr. Not Bullet Proof? Didn’t I tell you to keep going?”

“I did hear somethin’ like that,” he agreed, drawing a gun from his side.

I shot him an exasperated glare. “Seriously, do you not have any sense of self-preservation? Or are you trying to die? I mean, I know you’re having a shitty day and all, but I am going to some effort on your behalf. If you’ve got a death wish, you could just say so.” I tossed my hands up. “That way I can at least account for it in my plans.”

“You make plans?” Irish raised his eyebrows, clearly disbelieving. “’Cause it looks like yer wingin’ it from here.”

“Well, yes, but I’m winging it with –” I put a hand up as the shadow poked into the collapsed van box. “Hold up. Something’s moving in there.”

Irish leveled his gun at the box van. “What is it?”

I tasted blood and death. And leather. “Vampire.”

“Just one?” Irish frowned at the dark interior and I fell back a step as the shadow swelled inside the van, bringing the shape of the thing within.

“It’s, uh… holy shit…” I fell back another step, eyes widening. Chains of heavy steel, restraint bolts welded to the floor of the panel van. The chains were moving, as something worked to free itself. The shadow found a pair of twisted and broken links, probably broken when the van flipped. A figure began to resolve, lowering itself from the van’s floor – now its roof, I supposed. Leather creaked, and metal clinked, but it moved in silence.

“Alice?” Irish glanced back at me, then back to the van. “Ah, bit more detail would be good.”

It freed itself, and landed with a thud only slightly less jarring than the crash of the van. It was too big to stand up, so it knuckled forward. “Um. A big vampire,” I offered, backing up a few steps.

“My God, what the hell is that?”

The thing was a hulk. I wanted to call it huge, a giant, but honestly, it – he – was shorter than me. He was a – a mass, though, a big, sloppy Sumo-wrestler shape of a thing, clad head to toe in skin-tight black leather and a mish-mash of straps and buckles. Many of them featured heavy metal loops, probably so they could chain the thing down when they weren’t using it. It wore a sort of gimp mask, too, but as it stepped out of the van it reached up and tore the stainless steel muzzle cage off the front of the mask, uncovering a mouthful of teeth that had been filed to points.

“And what is it wearin’?” Irish demanded, sounding more outraged than afraid.

“It’s a super-sized fetish freak vampire.” I stared at him as he thundered out onto the golf course and looked around, and still couldn’t quite grasp what I was seeing. Even the shadow seemed a bit taken aback, although she was probably just responding to my shock. She kept poking at the vampire, like she couldn’t quite figure out what had happened. It took me a second to figure out she’d dropped the temperature in the van, enough so that as he emerged into the dying sunlight, his leather outfit glistened and crackled with frost. “It’s a super-sized fetish freak vampire that didn’t freeze solid,” I said out loud as I realized.

I fired my gun, just on the off chance it might do something interesting. The hulk rocked back, and I managed to blow a hole in his suit, but other than that, not much happened. I glanced over at Irish, who was eying his gun. He met my glance and sighed heavily.

“I don’t even know why I carry these things.”

“Think how pleased you’ll be someday when you meet something they work on,” I said, and then the beast came at us.

The creepiest thing about it was how quiet it was. It didn’t roar or snarl, and its heavy steps were silent, but it was fast; faster than anything that size had any right to be. It cleared the distance between us in seconds, and they only thing that saved Irish and I was the fact that we scattered in two different directions. It stood there for a beat, confused, just long enough for me to wonder if I should let it tackle Irish and give me a head start, then I shot it again.

It turned after me, and I ran like hell, digging frantically through my pockets while cursing myself. The shadow spilled out behind me, so I knew when it leapt and dropped to my knees, feeling the wind ruffle past me as it cleared my head by about eight inches. I scrambled to my feet, hauling ass back towards Irish.

“What now?” He shouted at me.

“Thinking! That way!” For once he didn’t argue, just darting left as I dove to the right, and the thing rushed by us again. I jumped up, running after Irish.

“We need cover!” He was making for the tree line. Good idea. Trees would slow the monster down… unless it just uprooted one and used it to swat us around.

“Watch out!” It didn’t lunge this time – it just caught up, so freakishly silent. I felt it reaching after my hair as I whipped around, coming face to face with a gaping maw full of jagged fangs, and fired, blowing the vampire off its feet. My ears rang as I sprinted after Irish, holstering the gun and grabbing the silver pocket watch necklace. I snapped it loose, breaking the chain. We were never going to make it. I felt the thing reaching for me again, felt his hand brush my shoulder, and flung my hand back, triggering the watch as I let it go.

The watch was built of healing magic, another payment from Jada for a gadget I’d made her a couple of years ago. The watch acted on synapses, slowing them, stalling the physical messages they relayed, slowing the brain, slowing the body. I usually swung it on the chain, ala the old hypnotist schtick, and it did a dandy job of inducing a trance state – even in things that were resistant to enchantments. Using it this way would burn it out, and that stung, but now was not the time to quibble. I willed enough magic into the watch to set it into terminal overdrive, and sure enough, the vampire staggered and fell. And I am not kidding, here, the ground shook. I poured on the speed, closing on the tree line. No way of telling how long it’d stay down – and while I itched to do hurtful and violent things to it while it lay there unconscious, I didn’t want to be standing right over it when it woke up.

We broke into the trees. I was gasping for breath. Irish wasn’t, although he did pause to lean on a tree.

“Where did it go?”

“What?” I turned to look, and saw nothing. My blood went cold, and the shadow spooled outwards, spreading out, searching. “Okay, don’t panic. It can’t sneak up on us,” I said, and it was totally for Irish’s benefit, not mine. Irish shot me a dry look, and before I could get snarky something snapped out in the darkness. We both turned to stare.

“Yer sure?”

“Yeah.” I double checked with the shadow. Were we sure? “Okay, yeah, we’re sure.”

“Where is it?”

“Dunno. Out of her range.”

“It – she – there’s a range?”

“Well, yeah.” Another twig snapped and we froze. The snap seemed… deliberate. And it definitely came from a different direction than the last one. Was it actually messing with us?

“Cat and mouse,” Irish said quietly, like he was answering the question. “Doesn’t seem too smart, but they’ve got instincts.”

“Who sends a vampire in a gimp outfit after people, seriously?”

“It’s still light. For a few minutes, yet, anyway.” Irish peered into the growing darkness as we edged farther into the woods. “They can come out if they cover up.” He paused, and I could almost hear him thinking. He reached up and tore off a branch, frowning at the piss-poor evergreen stake in his hand. “It’s going to be tough to kill,” he finally said, as if it pained him to say it.

“Didn’t mind getting shot much.” I chewed my lip, and feeling my pocket book flinch, pulled out the Eagle. “Didn’t want to freeze, either.”

“Freeze?” There was a rustle somewhere in the darkness and we stopped, listening hard.

“She gets cold,” I said after it had been quiet for a few moments. “Very cold. Well, technically she eats the heat, but it amounts to the same thing.”

“Okay…” He stood still, watching the gloom. “What else’ve ye got? Fire?”

“Yeah. Dragon fire, and maybe some more salamander rounds. Couple of explosive things. A nasty little shrunken head, but it needs exposed skin. This,” I held the Baby Eagle up. “Void rounds. They’re made of – Move!” I shoved Irish one way and leaped the other, and the vampire rushed between us, clipping Irish on the way by and sending him sprawling. Just that fast, it was gone.

Irish let out a hiss that was more annoyance than pain as he shoved himself up. “Alice?”

“Yeah. Fine.” I sat up on my elbows, belatedly adding, “You?” Irish favored me with a dirty look as I stood up. I assumed that meant he was okay.

There was a slow, deep sound from the darkness, a clotted, heavy giggle. It put a chill down my spine, and without quite meaning to, I took a step closer to Irish. Realizing what I just done, I made myself straighten up and squared my shoulders.

“Christ, it’s fast,” I said, cussing at myself. For fuck’s sake, what did I expect Irish to do for me?

“Aye.” He turned, scanning the gloom, frowning while he thought. He either hadn’t noticed my fit of girliness, or was choosing to ignore it. “Do ye have anything that –”

I felt the vampire’s movement at the edge of the shadow’s range, spun, fired, and missed. I flinched as somewhere out in the woods a teeny black hole opened up and swallowed a few trees with a grinding, crunchy sound.

“Motherfucker,” I snarled, tightening my grip on the gun. Eighteen grand, in the shitter. Now I was mad.

I willed the shadow to billow higher, and wider. Pine needles rained down as she disturbed the branches around us, filling the air with a thin mist of gloom. Irish tensed, not liking that he couldn’t see as well, but I relaxed. This was better than seeing, for me. She spread out, a thirty-foot radius around us… forty… fifty… a lot farther than I usually let her roam, and she wasn’t even straining. Shit, how strong had she gotten when I’d been too busy to control her meal intakes?

Something pointy and metal was flying at me. I sidestepped, and snapped my head around as a fucking harpoon sailed between Irish and I. A second later, she found the Gimp… about twenty yards off to the side, knuckling along and sniffing warily at the gloom that shrouded the treeline. But if he was over there, then where did the harpoon come from?

“Alice? Did I get you?” someone called out. “I can smell you, you know. So can he. We have your scent, now, and you’ll not be escaping.” A tall, thin vampire in a tailored suit, carrying a harpoon gun and followed by a limping human entered the gloom, strolling casually. He paused, raising something to his lips, and the shadow caught the sharp, piercing tone of the dog whistle, even if I heard nothing. The Gimp flinched, and shook his head, and jogged toward the sound.

“Who’s that?” Irish whispered, using his sword to put some kind of point on his stake.

“The Gimp’s handler. Another vamp.”

“Oh, good, more vampires. I’m going to need another stake.” He started eying promising branches.

Dapper Vamp’s sidekick was carrying a golf bag, and from it he produced a new harpoon. Wait, this guy brought a caddy to hunt me? Asshole! “Alice, dear? Please answer me. I’m not supposed to kill you, you see. Duane says that if you change your mind about putting out, he wants you alive and pretty enough to fuck. Mind you, that’s a fairly loose description… we can hurt you lots and lots without making you unfuckable.”

The Gimp reached Dapper Vamp, and was given a treat, something wet and smelling bloody that the huge creature snarfled right up. Dapper Vamp pointed our way, and the Gimp was suddenly streaking right at us like a kinky leather-clad locomotive. “Incoming!” I yelled, and Irish dove to the side… while I knelt in place and lined up my shot, letting the shadow’s senses guide my aim.

Table of Contents / Chapter Thirty-One >>

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Image credits: Florida Sunset.