K. R. Treadway
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Blood and Lace: Chapter 16
🕑 Added 2024-03-31 15:00:10 +0000 UTC
“Oh my God,” Beverly said, “what’s wrong?” Whatever she'd seen on his face had deeply alarmed her.
“I…” Nicholas closed his mouth. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt as wide as a pin. He coughed, looking down to buy a few seconds.
“Nicholas—”
“I’m…realizing…it was a huge mistake to lean down.”
“Oh! It’s your back?”
Nicholas nodded, hoping he wasn't hamming it up too much, but he had to justify his stricken reaction. “Hang on,” he gasped, then levered himself off the partition. “Ow-ow-ow…” He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. “Okay…better.”
“You don't look better.”
“Getting better with every passing second.” He kept his eyes closed. “Just distract me, okay? You were saying something about…vampire dresses?”
“Vampires wearing dresses,” Beverly corrected uncertainly.
This time Nicholas managed a credible laugh. He opened his eyes. “Not what I was looking for, but I can't wait to hear the context.”
Beverly finally relaxed a little. She leaned on the divider Nicholas had just vacated. “So yesterday, a whole bunch of us got into a ridiculous conversation about whether anyone had ever seen a leech in a dress. It just got dumber and dumber. Frank, Mike, and Ruth kept me laughing—even Clayton managed to make a few funny comments.”
“Clayton was funny?”
“I know, right? That dude could spoil milk by talking to it.” She snickered. “It was one of those dumb questions that spawn heated debates—and it was already hot and heavy when I waded in.”
The mole was there.
Nicholas—perhaps driven by the shock—had made the leap almost at once. If the Bowers Cell spy was planted deep enough, then the vamp who had left Della in that townhouse had probably seen the raid report. When it didn't mention a vampire in a wedding dress, the leech had gotten nervous and ordered their spy to make discreet inquiries, likely resulting in the “humorous” conversation.
Hiding his thoughts behind an easy smile, Nicholas nodded. “That is…really dumb,” he agreed. “Who on Earth started it?”
“No clue, I arrived late. But I did answer it.”
Shit. Nicholas would have bet his Hammer movie collection that whoever had asked first was their mole. Setting it aside for now, he returned his focus to Beverly. “You answered it? Is that why you're looking super smug?”
“You remember a few years ago when I created a searchable database for every entry on our ‘after action’ reports?”
“Yeah, a lot of people said you were wasting your time—though I wasn't one of them. Let me guess: there's an entry on clothing?”
“Yup. And the answer, my dear Watson, is ‘twelve.’ Twelve female vampires staked in a dress in the past twenty years. Below the national average, but far from zero.”
Despite the worries pressing on him, Nicholas couldn't help but smile. “You used quantitative analysis.”
“Quantitative. Fucking. Analysis.” Beverly triumphantly pushed her glasses back up her nose.
Nicholas chuckled. “You know what? The news of your victory has temporarily restored me.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I'm gonna head out while I can still walk. It’s been great catching up, Beverly.”
“It has! Maybe you’ll remember that the next time you're trying to decide between crushing beer cans against your forehead with your new hunter friends, or visiting your intellectually gifted ex-coworker.”
“I don’t crush beer cans against my forehead. That’s advanced training.” Nicholas shot finger guns at her and she laughed. He started back towards the locker room, his own smile fading as he contemplated what he'd learned.
Frank, Mike, Ruth, and Clayton…
One of them had asked a dumb question about dresses in the hope someone would mention Della. Then Beverly showed up and helpfully side-tracked the conversation into generalities. The mole might suspect that Della had escaped, but they wouldn’t have gotten confirmation. Nicholas was the only hunter in the Bowers Cell who knew exactly what had happened to Della, and he was determined to keep it that way.
No…all the spy’s clumsy effort had done was reduce the list of suspects. If he could just discover who had first brought it up…but which of those four could he trust to ask? Some choices were more obvious than others, but choosing wrong would be a disaster.
Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile effort to ease the pain behind his eyes, and pushed open the locker room door. The space was mercifully empty. He pulled down a heavy duffle from the top shelf of his locker and began adding the equipment he needed. His combat uniform, night vision goggles, and thermal scope were easy choices.
The body armor was tempting, but it was important not to be too conspicuous when he left. Firearms were out for the same reason—plus they were only marginally effective even in a squad. Instead he settled on his gear belt, making sure the stake, hammer, and flash blinders were attached. He warily eyed the baton-sized “emergency staker” leaning at the back of the locker, the dubious “YOLO pogo.” Was he that desperate? Nicholas cursed and tossed it in. Finally, the transmitter and earbud that would allow him to communicate with one other person. The earbud was from his analyst days, but he’d never returned it and Ruth had forgotten to ask.
That was enough; the duffel was full without being suspiciously stuffed. He zipped the bag up and left. To his relief, he didn't see anyone else on the way out.
The sun speared into his eyes the moment he opened the door to the parking lot. Nicholas gritted his teeth and clumsily shook out his sunglasses, sliding them on with his free hand. Marginally better.
One of their big trucks—a utility job with built-in tool boxes and enough gardening implements to landscape Omaha Beach—rattled into a parking space halfway between Nicholas and his own more modest transport. Mike and another hunter (Doug…something?) got out as he was passing. Despite the cool air, both of their uniforms had sweat stains. Nicholas idly wondered if they’d been on a leech scout or a legitimate contract. He gave them a small wave and kept walking.
“Enjoying the vacation, Nick?” Mike's voice suggested he was surlier than usual. Nicholas didn't even turn around. He just shook his head in irritation. Then he heard Mike tell his partner, “Head on in, I need to talk with this guy.”
Not now, asshole…my head’s about to pop like a biscuit tube.
Nicholas managed to swing his duffel into the back of the truck just as he heard Mike’s shoes scraping the gravel behind him. He turned around and immediately his instincts went on high alert. Mike wasn't just surly, he was seething with hostility.
“Hey, Mike.” He tried to sound conciliatory, but mostly it came out weary. “Everything okay?”
“You seem better today.”
“I am.”
“But you didn't come to work.”
Nicholas suppressed a sigh. “Dr. Yun told me not to. He wants me resting my back for two days. I picked up some gear to do maintenance in my downtime.”
Mike’s lip curled. “Was it Yun…or the Director who gave you the time off?”
The pressure in Nicholas's head flared until it felt like it was pressing against the back of his eyes. He didn't know if Mike had figured out his greatest insecurity or just gotten lucky, but for a moment he was too flustered to respond.
Mike nodded knowingly, as if he’d just elicited a confession. “Believe it or not, Nick, this little chat is a favor. I’ve been thinking about this ever since our last conversation—had plenty of time since we have to do the work of people who aren’t here.” He squinted up at the sun and idly cracked his knuckles. “This is like…an intervention. See, the other hunters are worried. They don't think you’re up to the demands of this job.”
Was that true? It couldn't be…no one had said anything other than “congratulations.” Unless they were keeping quiet because of his mother. Stop it. You know he’s full of shit. He’s just trying to get in your head. “First I'm hearing of it,” he muttered.
“Well,” Mike shrugged, “they're not too keen on getting into trouble. So I'm going to tell you what everyone else is too afraid to: you should quit.”
“Quit?” Nicholas’s reply was flat and automatic. He was suddenly aware of everything. The cracks in the asphalt, the grass stains on Mike’s shirt, the dull ache of his fiercely clenched fists…a deluge of details had begun pouring into his mind, bringing him to an almost painful level of alertness.
“It’s only going to get harder,” Mike was saying, “and you’re already falling apart. I mean, you’re older than most of us, and with your lack of field experience…”
Nicholas’s teeth were aching from keeping them closed. He didn't trust what he would say, or the emotions behind it—or even that he could speak without revealing the sensory overload setting his nerve endings on fire. It was clear Mike was goading him, hoping Nicholas would be foolhardy enough to start a fight so that Mike could finish it.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen it.” Mike lowered his voice and took a step closer. “A staffer gets jealous, so they start hitting the gym and taking the training, and listening to that little voice inside that says, ‘I’m brave enough, I’m strong enough, I’m fast enough. Golly, I really could be a hunter.’ ”
“Stop.”
Mike leaned in, an unsubtle move to show off his superior height. “But after a year at the gym and a year on the range, all we get is one more staffer with nice abs and fancy certifications. Not a hunter. Not that. Because you don’t have what it takes, Nick. Nah…what you need? There's no machine for that in a gym.”
“Mike…” It was the final word he could manage. The sun was beating down on him, heating his anger until it threatened to boil over. His body was trembling like a poorly-set trap, ready to spring under its own weight.
“But maybe you’ll keep squeaking by,” Mike murmured, his tone laced with pure malice, “because you have folks to cover for you. A loving mommy who will make sure you never fail, and Jessie, a hunter who follows you around like a cashier crushing on the assistant manager. Ever seen that before, Nick? A dumb bitch mooning over a little bitch?”
Nicholas’s headache broke like a fever.
He actually felt it crumble away, releasing its tension down through his chest and limbs, making his entire body feel like it had been reinforced and prepared. All at once he was ready—even eager. The overpowering details became a glittering tapestry to record every instant of what was about to happen.
Unlike his fellow hunters—particularly Mike—Nicholas had never exulted in violence. But now his veins were singing with it, welcoming its promise even if the result was his own defeat. A part of him knew this wasn’t a natural response, just as his analytical mind knew that Mike had engineered this moment to “teach him a lesson.”
He just didn't give a shit.
Nicholas grinned, feeling his mouth stretching into a rictus of anticipation. A flicker of confusion moved across Mike’s face—and that’s all his face had time for.
Nicholas hit him square in the jaw. There was no art to it, just a raw uppercut that connected hard enough for Nicholas to feel satisfying pain blossoming across his hand and up his arm.
Mike grunted in pain and stumbled back. For a moment he swayed on his feet, then awareness sharpened his gaze and furrowed his brow. He gave a wolfish smile of his own, the look of a man who’d gotten exactly what he wanted. “Was it something I said?”
He waded back in with supreme confidence. There was no question he had the better skills, and with twenty pounds and two inches of reach, Mike had no reason to suspect anything other than victory. He jabbed at Nicholas’s face with a fast left. Nicholas managed to parry it, leaving him wide open for the right hook that followed.
A burst of stars flared over his vision as Nicholas felt his head snap to the side. No doubt the black eye would be impressive. For an instant he waited for the darkness to overtake him, or to feel the world tilting up to meet him. But apart from a buzzing sensation on his face, he felt fine. More than fine.
This was fun.
He stepped forward and began pummeling Mike’s midsection with a flurry of punches. He made a cursory effort to use his training, but anger was guiding him more that technique. He felt another buzz on the side of his head and then a dull blossom of pain in his lower face. For a moment, things went gray, but then awareness roared back, like Mike’s fists were pokers stirring up a blaze. Nicholas clenched his fists even harder and drove another blow into his opponent’s gut. The pained wheeze that followed made him laugh. Mike staggered back.
Both men were breathing hard. One side of Nicholas’s vision was mushy and indistinct, but he could still make out the shock on Mike’s face and the look of something else: worry.
“Just so we’re clear on names”—Nicholas spit blood on the asphalt—“when a little bitch knocks you unconscious…what does that make you?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Now Mikey, that’s no way to talk to the assistant manager.” Nicholas charged forward like a madman. The small part of him that was still sane was bewildered. He always played tactics and positioning, never shock and awe. It made him think of last night, of Della’s sudden savagery.
Oh hell.
The vampire blood. Just a few drops and he was dancing to its violent, domineering tune—and he liked it. Nicholas laughed again when Mike clocked him hard enough to make him stagger, because now he knew. He was faster, stronger, and more resilient. He was like one of them.
Nicholas lunged forward, swinging a haymaker left that moved too fast for Mike to counter. It slammed into the larger man’s cheek close to his ear. Mike cried out, clapping his hand over the side of his head. Nicholas followed through with another air-crushing body blow. Mike gasped, losing his footing and falling to his knees. Nicholas closed the distance for the final time. The other hunter held up his hand, signaling a stop.
“Sorry, Mike, but this lesson needs to stick. Think of it as an intervention.”
“Wait—”
The fight ended the way it began: with a vicious uppercut. Nicholas felt another explosion of satisfying pain across his other hand. Mike sprawled bonelessly onto the pavement.
Nicholas stared at him, breathing heavily. After a moment he crouched down and made sure the bigger hunter’s vitals were okay. Then he hooked his hands under Mike’s arms and dragged him into the shade. He propped the larger man up against the chain link fence.
In the handful of steps back to his ride, the energy seemed to evaporate from Nicholas’s body. With every beat of his heart the soreness on his face amped up. The violence was past, and “psycho vampire Nicholas” had swapped-in the regular version to endure the aftermath. He started the truck and backed out.
Just before leaving, Nicholas saw Mike shift his head and bring a hand up to his face. A wave of relief went through him. He couldn’t quite bring himself to regret the outcome, but the rage that had fueled it, and the vicious joy he had felt, were terrifying. What did that say about his innermost self?
He made it halfway home before he pulled over and threw up.
Comments
K. R. Treadway
You should see him at the Christmas party.
brideofmoo
I like how a lot of the folks who Nicholas works with are good, likeable folks. Makes assholes like Mike extra obnoxious though . 😆
