Hannah Jayne (19 page)

“He doesn’t need an ambulance,” I told Will. “He needs to come home with us.”

“What?”

I looked into the man’s dark eyes, which were now hooded and weary. “He’s a werewolf.”

The man started to shake his head and I steadied him. “It’s okay. I recognize you from the UDA, but I don’t remember your name.”

“Sergio,” his dry lips whispered. “My name is Sergio.”

Will’s eyes went wide. “Werewolf?”

I had a hot, sinking feeling in my belly. On a daily basis I surround myself with immortals, angels, and the occasional fire-breathing dragon. From time to time, having that kind of posse tends to make me feel rather invincible, but coming face-to-face with the kind of firepower that could take down a werewolf—let alone turn me into a runny hunk of Swiss cheese—had the uncanny ability to turn me into jelly.

I blinked at the velvety bubble of black-red blood as it made its way out of Sergio’s wound.

I felt hot bile rise in my throat. “I don’t feel so good.”

I felt Sergio’s baseball mitt–sized paws holding my shoulder, guiding me softly to the concrete. Will pressed his palm to my forehead.

“Is she going to be okay?” Sergio asked.

I blinked and gulped down a lungful of stale, urine-scented air; then I gagged and coughed.

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

I tried to glare at Will, but I was feeling a little barfy. I swung my head out of the vestibule and sucked in some semiclean air.

Will crouched down next to me. “So, do ... these guys ... bleed out like normal humans?”

I looked back to where Sergio was holding his wound and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then we need to stop the bleeding or we’re going to lose him.” Will gently pushed Sergio’s arm aside and Sergio let him. “Looks like he was shot in the chest.”

Sergio shook his head again. “Shoulder. It’s the upper shoulder. Not a big deal.”

“Let’s get him home.”

We helped Sergio up and I was astonished to see that he was almost a full head taller than Will; but Will wielded Sergio as if he weighed nothing.

I stared into the street, frowning. “Should we get a cab?”

Sergio shook his head with concentrated effort. “My car is right over there.” He dug in his pocket and dropped a shiny set of keys in Will’s hand. “Do you mind?”

Will shook his head silently, continued to guide Sergio and me toward the car. We helped Sergio lay down in the back of his SUV, then drove home in near silence. The only sounds were Sergio’s occasional groans and ragged whooshes of air. I glanced over at Will, noticing his own arm lying limp in his lap, covered with blood. He was slowly flexing and unflexing his fist.

“You okay?” I wanted to know.

I watched the muscle twitch in Will’s jaw. I saw the pink tip of his tongue slide across his lower lip. He leaned over to me.

“What does it take to make a person ...” His eyes flicked from the windshield to his blood-covered forearm.

“Into a werewolf?” I finished for him.

Another whoosh of air from the backseat and Sergio pushed himself up. “Don’t worry, man. You’re fine. I didn’t nick you, did I?”

My eyes went wide. “He didn’t nick you, did he?”

Will wagged his head and I let out a tiny, relieved breath. “You’re fine,” I said. “It’s only a bite, a really significant scratch, or drinking from his footprint.”

Will knitted his brows. “Drinking from a footprint?”

I shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

We rounded a corner and Sergio winced again; I angled myself over the back of my seat.

“You’re going to be okay, Sergio. We’re almost back to my apartment.” I eyed the man and his well-tailored suit—that gorgeous coat now glistening with a growing sheen of wet blood.

“Do you know what happened? Do you know who did this?”

Sergio shook his big head. “I don’t really know. I was walking home from the office and I heard tires squeal. I didn’t really pay attention because, you know, downtown San Francisco.”

We all nodded knowingly, used to the constant honks, tire squeals, and inarticulate shout-ing from the downtown residents and tourists.

“Then I heard the first pop. Naturally, I ducked, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me.”

“Gangbangers?” I asked.

“Something like that. I really try and keep to myself mostly. There are a lot of thugs out there, a lot of bad elements. I like to keep my business clean.”

I socked Will on the shoulder. “See? I told you.”

“Good guess,” he said without looking back at me.

“I felt the first shot whiz by me, so I dove into that doorway. I wasn’t too worried because”—Sergio’s dark eyes glanced from Will to me—“well ...”

“Werewolf,” I finished. “Yeah, we get it.”

For the first time Sergio seemed to brighten. “You too?”

“No”—I pointed to Will—“Vessel Guardian.” Then I jabbed a thumb at my chest.

“Supernatural Tupperware.”

Sergio grinned, his teeth practically glowing white in the dim car. “Vessel Guardian. You don’t say! I thought that was all just a bunch of religious mumbo jumbo.”

Will stepped on the gas and easily maneuvered us through an intersection, finding a space just in front of my building. “You don’t say,” Will mumbled.

“And Tupperware? What’s that like—”

“Vessel of Souls,” I confirmed, shrugging nonchalantly.

Sergio’s eyes went wide, and Will cut his eyes to me. “Way to keep that one under wraps.”

Will put the car in park and we helped Sergio up to my apartment. He was groaning less and starting to stand up a little straighter by the time we reached the third floor. You gotta love that supernatural healing power.

I sank the key into my lock and kicked the front door open. Vlad, seated on the couch, snapped his head toward us; his nostrils flared, and his brow furrowed.

“Vlad, this is Sergio,” I said. “Sergio, take off your coat. Let me have a look at the wound.”

I nodded to Will. “Go grab the emergency kit underneath the bathroom sink. And there’s extra Bactine in the medicine cabinet.”

I would like to say that I kept a fully stocked emergency kit and a Costco-sized bottle of antiseptic just for Florence Nightingale situations like these, but, the truth was, I had a tend-ency to walk into things. Or fall off them. But I was still feeling very much like a lifesaving bat-tlefront nurse, until Will returned with a heap of bandages and Bactine. I turned back to Sergio, who was now down to his white shirt, the blood soaking through to his collar and all the way down his breast pocket.

There was a lot of blood.

But I was used to blood in copious amounts—when it came from a blood bag and wasn’t attached to an actual bleeding person.

That was the last thing I thought before the room started to spin... .

I felt ice-cold fingers pressed to my cheeks. When I blinked, Nina was hovering over me.

“She’s awake. She’s going to be okay.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t have a concussion?” It was a gruff, unfamiliar voice and I struggled to sit up, but Nina held me down, fingertips pressed against my shoulders, surprisingly strong.

“What’s your name?” Nina asked.

“Let me up, Nina.”

“Answer the question,” she commanded.

“Sophie Annemarie Lawson. And you’re Nina LaShay.” I pointed. “That’s Will Sherman and ... I have no idea who you are.”

“Sergio, remember?” Sergio grinned at me and I cocked my head, remembering. “Nice shirt,” I said finally.

He had traded in his bloodstained button-up for a borrowed shirt from Vlad. It was three sizes too small, emphasized Sergio’s bubbly muscles, and the VERM logo was stretched un-mercifully across his huge chest. Sergio smoothed it, grinned, and patted the two inches of exposed belly under the hem of the shirt. “It’s the best we could do.”

“Whatever,” Vlad mumbled.

I sat up and smiled at Sergio. “You’re okay.” I pointed to my own shoulder. “The gunshot?”

Sergio blushed, his dark skin tinged a deep red. “Your Will is quite the nurse.”

Will’s eyebrows disappeared in his bangs. “Hey! No, it must be the werewolf-healing thing.” He snapped his fingers. “Quick. I had nothing to do with it.”

I stood up and brushed off my pants. “I’m glad. But I thought the silver bullet would, you know ...”

Sergio wagged his head. “No, only through the heart.”

“Oh,” I said, “like vampires. But with the stake.”

“Not like vampires,” Vlad said, taking his seat behind his laptop.

Will leaned in to me. “They’re not going to start the whole werewolf-vampire arm wrestling thing, are they?”

I looked from Sergio to Vlad, narrowing my eyes on the scowling century-old sixteen-year-old. “No, they’re not. Besides, the whole vampire versus werewolf thing has mainly been fabricated by the media.”

“That sounds very VERM.”

“We DON’T shorten it!” Vlad groaned.

Sergio clapped his hands together. “So, now that this is all sorted out, I should probably be on my way.”

I grabbed him by his ham-hock bicep. “You can’t go. You’ve just been shot. You need to relax and we need to figure out what’s going on. Your shoulder might be healed, but you’re probably still a little weak, right?”

Sergio frowned and rubbed his flat belly. “A little, I guess.”

“Can I get you something? Crackers or something?”

“No, thanks.” Sergio wagged his head. “Do you have anything with protein?”

“Oh,” I said, “because you’re a werewolf.”

“Actually, it’s because I’m gluten intolerant.”

Will followed me into the kitchen while I pulled open the fridge, willing a turkey breast and a hunk of Brie to magically appear. My powers of astroprojection being nil, I was greeted with the usual selection of blood bags, condiments, and a carton of vanilla soy milk.

I shook the carton, then upended it in a glass.

Will winced. “Is it supposed to be chunky?”

I tossed the carton in the trash. “Do you think I could pass it off as chocolate chip?” I blew out a sigh. “Hey, Sergio, what do you like on your pizza?”

We were all sitting around the dining-room table—Vlad, glowering at Sergio; Sergio, oblivious, enjoying his fourth piece of Veggie Madness on a gluten-free crust; Nina, working a bag of AB negative and typing away on my Mac; and Will and I trading uneasy glances between a half-decimated all-meat, extra-cheese pizza.

I wiped my grease-soaked fingers on my napkin and pushed away from the table. “Okay!

So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

Nina raised her eyebrows. “Sophie, you may have put on a few pounds, but I wouldn’t call you an elephant.”

“I think she is talking about him.” Vlad’s dark eyes went to Sergio, who popped his last bit of pizza in his mouth and wiped his hands on a napkin. Sergio’s back stiffened, and his eyes held Vlad’s.

“What about me?”

“I thought you said there wasn’t an issue between vampires and werewolves?” Will asked.

“Hey, before you guys start comparing incisors, and before I completely kick Nina’s ass for calling me an elephant—”

Nina held up a single finger without looking up from my laptop. “I called you not an elephant.”

“I’m talking about the fact that Sergio was shot with silver bullets. Kale was plowed over in an intersection. Bettina was hammered in the streets. Someone tried to drive a stake through my heart. What else needs to happen for you to believe that someone is out there? We’re seriously being Van Helsinged, and no one is paying attention.”

“Who has it in for demons?” Will asked.

I huffed. “Who doesn’t?”

Will’s eyebrows went up and Nina sighed. “There is always someone hunting vampires.

Buffy wasn’t exactly an original idea.”

“There’s always been people after us,” Sergio said.

“Yeah. They’re called dogcatchers!” Vlad snorted.

“Guys!” I shouted.

Nina finally looked up from the laptop, clicking it closed. “Okay, if someone is out for demon blood, what are we supposed to do about it?”

“Um, maybe find out who wants you dead and why. If this guy knew that Sergio was a werewolf , and that silver bullets would actually kill him—”

“Then he’s probably got a pretty decent foothold in the Underworld,” Will finished.

“Right. Because most people just pretty much assume the whole werewolf-silver-bullet thing is legend,” I said.

Vlad blew out an exhausted sigh. “Still more trouble in Gotham.”

“We were shot at.” I thought yelling and stamping my foot with each word would get the weight of the issue across, but Vlad just straightened his ascot to Thurston How-ell-perfect—quite a feat since the man had no reflection to check—and looked at me.

“I’m really sorry about your incident, Sophie, but I fail to recognize how this affects me.

Or”—his eyes cut to Nina—“us.”

Nina frowned. “Are you sure it wasn’t gangbangers? Maybe they picked up the bullets by mistake.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and narrowed her coal black eyes.

“Bastard gangbangers. We could do the city a real service if the UDA would just lift their ban and let us eat them.”

Vlad wrinkled his nose. “Ew. I don’t like gangbangers. They’re usually so thin and stringy.”

“It wasn’t gangbangers.” I dug in my pocket and picked out the one shell casing I had nicked from Will’s stash. “This bullet isn’t something you inadvertently pick up at Walmart.”

Vlad examined the shell casing and gave it a small sniff.

“Anything?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not a dog.” Then, “Do you keep Skittles in that pocket, too?”

Nina leapt off the couch and snatched the casing from Vlad’s fingers. “A silver bullet. How odd. Maybe one of my characters gets shot with a silver bullet!”

Sergio leaned over, flashed a big grin. “You’re a writer?”

“Novelist, actually,” Nina said, oozing pride. “I’ll read you something later.”

“Hello!” I sprang up from the couch. “My clients go missing, a banshee is bashed up with the message about eradicating ‘her kind,’ and now someone shoots at me and Will with silver bullets. Don’t you get it? Someone is trying to clean up. Someone knows about the Underworld and is trying to clean up.”

No one seemed to register the amount of shock and awe that my proclamation required, and I huffed. “Hello? Guys? There is a serial killer out there and you’re what he’s looking for.”