Bloody Acquisitions (Fred Book 3) (3 page)

“How’s that feel, monster? The silver burning you as it rips apart your flesh? I’m still learning about what works on you things, but I’ve seen firsthand just how potent silver is at putting you down.” He was walking toward me, no doubt expecting me to fall to the ground in a heap as the bullet did its work.

Truthfully, it was a pretty good stopping measure, as such things went. Silver acts a magical insulator and disruptor, weakening most parahumans just by touching them. Shoot us with a silver bullet, and the most we’ll manage is a crawl. However, the problem with that strategy was that it only works on
most
parahumans. Some come from other realms and have reactions to different metals, like the Fey and their aversion to iron. Others, such as dragons, are either immune or so powerful that their magic can’t be insulated—no one is entirely sure.

As for me, several months prior I’d allowed an ancient dragon of immeasurable power to use my body as a conduit to escape his prison. The process hadn’t been a fun one, and I’d needed a lot of blood and rest when it was over, but overall, I’d come out more or less unscathed. Except for the one odd side effect that no one had been able to entirely explain: I was no longer bothered by silver.

For some vampires, that might have been a boon that made them incredible warriors, nigh unstoppable on the battlefield. I, however, used that immunity to recover from my stumble and kept on running away from the crazy man in the coat.

“Hey!” He let out a yelp of surprise as I dashed into the night, firing off a few more rounds. I felt one of them graze my back but not actually break the skin, and assumed he’d traded out for regular bullets.

Within seconds, I turned the corner, and after another minute of running, not even my enhanced ears could hear his chasing footsteps anymore.

3.

After a few minutes of racing through town, it began to occur to me that I had no real idea of where I was going. In the initial burst of panic, my plan had been simply to get away as fast as possible. Now that I was out of immediate danger, it was time to move on to step two, which I had in no way tried to come up with.

I slowed my run, taking in my surroundings. Winslow was a large city, not quite metropolitan but far from the farming town I’d grown up in. This area wasn’t familiar, which was hardly surprising given that I’m an introvert who usually works from home, but there were well-lit street signs I could use to get my bearings. The comfort of that thought lasted exactly as long as it took me to dip my hand into my empty pocket and realize my phone was in pieces on a sidewalk. Inconvenient as that was already, it was made doubly worse by the fact that I, like most people in the modern age, also used the GPS function to guide me around. Without my phone, I had no idea how to get anywhere familiar.

Taking deep breathes to try and relax—some habits refused to die even though I already had—I fought down a rising wave of panic and forced myself to think. Paper maps still existed, not that I had the money to buy one, but if I found a gas station, I might be able to figure out where I was and a route to take me somewhere safe. Or, if they happened to have a phone book, there was a chance I could look up the number to Charlotte Manor and let everyone know I needed a lift. Granted, if I remembered their numbers, I could just call direct with any phone, but of course, I hadn’t needed to dial them since putting the numbers in my phone the first time. I cursed myself for becoming so dependent on modern conveniences, even as I began to jog down the street looking for any open businesses.

With nothing else to do but think and search, my natural instinct to worry soon kicked in. The concern at the top of the heap was for Dr. Huerta, who it seemed was alive, but likely in rough shape. Given how quickly the vampire hunter had gone to the torture method with me, it seemed a good guess he wasn’t shy about using pain to get information, even from humans. Once this was all over, I’d make a point to check in on Dr. Huerta, mostly to see if he was all right. In my truest heart, I knew there would be a selfish component to the visit as well. Being tortured by an insane man because he was stealing blood would quite likely put a strain on our working relationship. There was a very real possibility that, after tonight, I’d have to find a new source of blood, which would be far more problematic than just dealing with a crazy man.

Luckily, I didn’t get too far into a building anxiety spiral before my eyes fell upon the familiar blue glow of a Slurp Stop gas station sign. It was a bit run down, but the lights were on and I could see a clerk standing at the counter, visibly bored as he tapped away at his phone’s screen. I hurried across the street, stepping into the station and causing the small bell overhead to let out a shrill jingle.

The clerk glanced up from his phone. “Welcome to Slurp Stop, how can I—holy shit!” His eyes went wide and the phone fell from his hand, clattering to the floor. “Hang on, dude, I’ll call an ambulance.”

For a moment, I just stared at him, genuinely puzzled. What on earth was he talking about? Then it hit me: his vantage point let him see me from the side, which meant he was at least catching a glimpse of the blood-stained tears in the back of my shirt and sweater vest. The wounds had already closed—we vampires are known for our rapid healing—but the evidence of the shooting still remained. Add in that I have the tell-tale pale pallor of a vampire, and it probably looked like I’d been shot and was on the verge of bleeding out.

“Oh, oh no, no, no.” I held up my hands, though I have no idea why. It just seemed like the right motion to try and reassure him. “I’m fine. Well, not
fine
fine, I do need to use your phone if it’s okay, but this is . . . for a costume party.” We were nowhere near Halloween, so I’m not certain what on earth made me feel like this was an acceptable excuse for wearing a torn and bloody shirt. Strangely enough, though, it worked, and he began to nod, looking less like he was on the verge of fainting.

“Are you going as a shooting victim?” Now that the emergency had passed, he sounded more annoyed than bothered. Guess he didn’t enjoy being made to think that someone on death’s door had just stumbled in during his shift.

“Sure. It was what I could throw together at the last minute.” The rest of the tension finally left his body; evidently, that was a sentiment he could comprehend. A small bell, different from the one over the door, drew his eyes away from mine as a pair of headlights flashed through the window. A beat-up sedan was pulling into the nearest pump, no doubt refueling for its own late-night adventures.

“Hang on.” The clerk reached under the counter and hefted up a phone book that was at least three years old, a fact which would have been more concerning if Charlotte Manor hadn’t been a Bed and Breakfast for several decades. He spun a large phone with a curly cord over from behind the register and pushed it to the edge of the counter. “I think I’m supposed to make you buy something before you can use this.”

“That would be problematic,” I admitted. “I was . . . let’s say mugged, a few minutes ago. It’s why I don’t have my own phone in the first place.”

“Sort of figured.” The clerk sighed, then nodded to the phone and the book. “It’s cool, man. No one really cares about what happens on the night shift.”

“Thank you so much.” I rushed forward, picking up the massive tome of thin pages and flipping through them. The sooner I found Charlotte’s number, the sooner I could alert the others, and the sooner Krystal could get the proper authorities after that psycho. I was only inconvenienced by bullet wounds, but the next person he went after, parahuman or not, might not be so lucky.

This time, the bell I heard was the one for the door, though I didn’t find that particularly odd. Someone buying gas would have to pay for it, obviously. The sound of what movies had told me was a shotgun being pumped did prick my attention, however. Even then, I might have been able to convince myself it was just a robbery, if not for the scream of “Die, you monster!” that came just before the gunshot.

I didn’t bother glancing behind me; instead, I hurled myself over the counter, tackling the clerk to the ground in the process. Quick I was, I still felt some of the shotgun’s blast on my leg as we fell, but the more vulnerable flesh of the clerk remained mercifully unmarred.

“Shit! I’ll give you the money. You just had to ask!” Fundamentally misunderstanding what was happening (and really, who could blame him?), the clerk was yelling from our prone position even as he worked to get out from under me.

I took the opportunity to glance at one of the many anti-shoplifting mirrors that provided a comprehensive view of the store from the counter. Sure enough, it was my hunter, looking even more angry and deranged than when I’d given him the slip. He pumped the shotgun again, sending a spent casing tumbling to the ground, and I had to wonder how much he knew about forensic science. Leaving evidence all over like that, he’d soon have the regular police on him as well. And given that he’d just shown a willingness to bring down bystanders, that didn’t bode well for those who came to collect him.

“I thought you didn’t kill humans!” At this point, my mind was racing, trying to figure out how he’d located me and, more importantly, how to get away. At least if I could make him talk, I might buy a few seconds to work things out.

“I don’t. Not intentionally.” He wasn’t yelling his replies, just stating them like cold facts, which only served to make me more worried. “But every war has casualties. Better one lost now than all the others you’d kill.”

And now the clerk was staring at me, and my bloody shirt, in a whole new light. Hopefully, he’d write this all off as the insane screams of two mentally ill people who’d wandered into his gas station. That was the best case scenario for him, at least.

“You keep saying things like that, but I don’t hurt anyone. I’m just an accountant!”

“I know what your kind does. I’ve seen it. Save your lies for the Devil, monster.” Now I could hear the emotion in his voice—fury and loss twisted together like coiled serpents around his heart. That was when I knew, for sure and for certain, that no amount of talk would get through to him. Not from me, anyway. I needed to get him out of here and away from the clerk, lest he decide to torture someone for the sin of helping me.

“When I get up, you need to sneak out of here,” I whispered to the clerk. “I’ll buy you time, but you have to
go
. Understand?”

There must have been someone in the heavens looking out for me, because the clerk nodded his head and then flipped his position around, ready to move.

Moving slowly, because not even I was sure I could survive a shotgun blast to the head, I emerged from behind the counter with my hands held up. With one large step, I moved on top of the counter, then slid down the front, ending up with only a few feet between me and the hunter. He watched me with those same wild eyes, never letting a single one of my motions escape his gaze. That was exactly what I wanted, though, as it meant he wasn’t watching as the clerk crawled along the floor, keeping below displays and making his way toward the back of the gas station.

“What’s your name?” I’ll be honest, even I’m not sure what I was hoping to accomplish, I just wanted to create noise in order to muffle the clerk’s escape attempt. My ears were primed, tracking his every movement until he was safe, which would be my cue to run for it. That said, I wanted to be the only one aware of that movement, which is why I started up the small talk again.

“Trying to befriend me now? To weave a new set of lies?” His finger grew tighter on the trigger.

“Every man deserves to know the name of their executioner,” I said, though, looking back, I’m almost certain I stole the line from an old noir film. Like I mentioned earlier, I was very much just running on whatever popped into mind.

“Maybe so, but you’re not a man, you’re—”

“A monster? You know, we don’t really like that word. Lot of connotation that purposely paints us in a negative light. Some consider it a very pointed insult.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. When I kill the next one.” He took a step closer to me, keeping the gun steady. “My name is Colin. If there’s an afterlife for you things, be sure to tell the others I sent you there.”

“Nice to meet you, Colin. I’m Fred.” Here, a mix of fear, worry, and habit convalesced into my defaulting to professionalism. I could hear the clerk getting to his feet from across the station; it was almost time to act.

“A real pleasure, Fred.” He began to lift the gun, no doubt lining up a shot with my skull. “Time for you to die.”

And just like that, everything suddenly went black.

4.

It took a moment for me to realize that my life hadn’t ended for the second time, and that my head was still rightly attached to my shoulders. The clerk, that wondrous little slacker, hadn’t just run out the back, he’d also killed the power on his way, plunging the entire gas station into darkness. For the hunter, that was a serious issue, but vampires are made to be nocturnal. If anything, our vision in darkness is better than in light. I seized on the moment of confusion and darted to the side, out of the area where he’d been preparing to open fire.

The report of the shotgun blast made it clear that I hadn’t moved a moment too soon, as the hunter heard me racing through the station and realized his moment of hesitation had cost him the opportunity. Another shot, this one wild, obliterated a display of beef jerky twenty feet to my left. He was aiming blind, but eventually his eyes would adjust and I’d be in trouble again. Best to go while the going was good.