1305 & 1306 The Oracle & the Vampire (The 13th Floor) (5 page)

A man’s body hung half off the fire escape. It twitched as two of the ugly black creatures wrestled to yank off his head. The spine was the only thing that connected it, and with a loud crack, the monsters managed to decapitate the poor fellow. The body fell and slammed into the pavement near Kiral’s feet.

The urges to flee and feast warred within him. Kiral bared his fangs as the beasts peered down at him. Their eyes flashed red, and then they laughed. Like hyenas with a bad smoking habit. Taking the head, the monsters climbed up and out of sight onto the rooftop.

Their laughter and retreat unnerved him more than the headless body at his feet. Red eyes like the dealer Marc had saved him from. Kiral reached to grab the lowest rung of the fire escape, but yanked back his hand.

No, it would do him no good to give chase. They had nothing to do with him. Harriet. All that mattered was finding her.

His blood lust demanded he feed. Kiral turned and ran home. He needed to see Harriet was safe. She was his sun and moon. One taste could burn and quench him. One touch could save him from himself.

CHAPTER 7

Harriet had to be on time. Her old bones creaked as she forced herself up the stairs. It was after sunset, but she refused to believe Kiral left his apartment. So many people were dying she couldn’t save, but she could stop one death.

She’d thought she’d be screaming all night, but it seemed one vision after another after another confused the curse. Which death should she go mourn? All the better for Harriet, but for the dozens of people who were dying, there was nothing she could do. Each one deserved her wails.

Stumbling on one of the stairs, Harriet startled when she heard someone run up behind her. She tried to push herself up, but her body failed her.

Marc wrapped an arm around her middle. She didn’t doubt he could crush her without knowing it. He always made her feel small, but safe.

“Harri, what are you doing out? It’s dangerous in the city right now.” There was something in his voice. Fear? No, he wasn’t the type to be afraid of anything. Yet she couldn’t think of anything else it might be.

“I can make it.” Harriet croaked, trying to shoo him away as she managed to find her footing again.

“I’m helping you to your apartment. Lock yourself in if you have to.” Marc helped her up to the landing and opened the door to the thirteenth floor.

A woman followed behind them and stepped onto the landing with them. Harriet glanced at her and smiled. Nightmares were prowling the streets, but Marc had the sweet coffee shop owner with him. What was her name? Mary? Mabe?

“Let me hold the door. You two go through.” Marc the gentleman.

The affection between Marc and the woman was wonderfully obvious. Harriet couldn’t help herself. “You brought a lovely friend home with you, Marc. The one from the little coffee shop. I like her.”

To make matters more amusing, Marc’s chest puffed out a bit. “Mae Hopkins. This is Harriet McKay.”

Mae! That was it. Harriet shuffled into the hall on Marc’s arm and smiled all the more as the lights grew a little brighter.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. McKay.” Mae followed them down to the far end of the corridor. “Marc’s told you about me then?”

Mae’s grin tickled Harriet all the more. “No.”

She resisted the urge to giggle. It would only come out as some hideous burbling. Her wacky hair and dirty, disheveled state had probably already worried Marc and Mae. She didn’t want to look any more the part of a madwoman.

Harriet wasn’t the only one in rough shape, though. It seemed as though they had walked out of a nightmare too.

Marc opened the door to 1305, and Harriet crooked a finger at Mae. “Come in for a moment. I have something for your injuries. I know Marc doesn’t even own a bandage.”

She sent them away with tea, bandages, and ointment. If she hadn’t been in her banshee form, she might have healed Mae with her hands, but her curse dulled her magic at night. Thankfully no visions plagued her while they were in her apartment, and the cats stayed on the shelves. They didn’t like Marc, but they never dared to give him a hard time.

Before Harriet could change or feed the cats, there was a frantic knock at her door. Elli hissed and Kerr puffed out. She shushed them and opened the door, thinking Marc might’ve come back for something else or even just to check on her without raising any questions from Mae.

Harriet startled, nearly losing her balance, as she stared at Kiral. He gripped each side of her doorframe as if holding himself back from bursting into her apartment. His gaze dissolved her surprise and made her stomach flutter. Hunger. Naked and raw. Same look as he had when he’d bitten her earlier.

His mouth was slightly open, fangs in clear view. A wave of heat went through her. “I’m sorry to bother you, Grandmother. But is Harriet in? I need to see her.”

“Harriet?” She rasped. He knew her name? And he wanted to see her. Not just wanted, but
needed
to see her.

“Your granddaughter.” Kiral peered over her shoulder, searching the apartment. “She’s your granddaughter, yes?”

So he knew her name, but he didn’t know it was her. It was tempting to ask where he had learned her name. Yet wherever he heard it, he didn’t know she was the same person he had bitten.

Harriet wanted to reply that she was the one. She could explain her curse. He knew she was a banshee and a witch. It shouldn’t shock him.

Yet at the same time she couldn’t tell him. Kiral wanted the young woman who had offered herself to him in the stairwell. There was something desperate in his expression. Polite as he was, he was ignoring her. The old woman. The repulsive, crazy hag.

Couldn’t he tell the young woman and old witch were one and the same? Her lower lip quivered. He’d never want her like this. No man would want anything to do with her.

“Is that blood on your skirt, Grandmother? Are you hurt?”

His voice jerked her from her self-pity and drew her eyes down. Harriet shook her head. “No. It belongs to another poor soul.”

Kiral breathed in and nodded. “Poor soul indeed.” One of his fingers tapped the wood of the frame. “Harriet’s not in then. Do you know when she’ll be? She’s not out somewhere in the city, is she? Please tell me she isn’t out there.” He was suddenly standing straighter, poised on the balls of his feet.

“She isn’t.” Harriet didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t going to tell him it was her. No. Not like this. Maybe not ever.

Here was her chance to change fate. She wet her cracked lips. “Stay here if you wish, or wait in your apartment. Wait for her because I know she wants to see you. It’s safest here. She’ll be back at the latest by first light.”

“So she’s not here.” Kiral pushed away from her door. “That means she’s out there. Nowhere else is safe. Not right now. I need to find her.”

As he ran down the hall, Harriet called after him. “No! Wait!”

Kiral disappeared into the stairwell. Harriet swore under her breath. “Dammit, I’m right here. Right here!”

She scurried down the corridor after him. There was no way she was going to let her vision come to pass. She had to stop him. “Wait!”

CHAPTER 8

“Please just give me the address, Grandmother. There’s no reason you should be out in the city right now. It’s too dangerous.” Kiral gripped her hands. If only she had given him the names. He wanted to throttle her and usher her safely upstairs at the same time.

“She might not be at the first address. She has a dozen clients, and it would be just like her to check on every one to make sure they’re safe.” Harriet croaked. “Besides, I know where all the places are, but some I don’t know the actual addresses.”

Kiral let her go and stood clenching and opening his hands. His grip on his patience was tenuous at best. Carmine was experiencing a living nightmare. To think of Harriet alone out there somewhere made him feel as if his heart might actually be beating and too fast. “I will find her. You don’t need to worry about her safety. I would never harm her. But I’m faster on my own. You can see what’s going on out there.”

He gestured to the street, and she glanced over her shoulder. A group of young people ran by screaming. A foul odor had permeated the lobby.

Harriet shuddered, eyes fluttering and flecks of saliva foaming at her mouth.

“Grandmother?” Kiral caught her before she fell to her knees.

“I know precisely what’s going on. That’s why I have to come.” Her words came out as a rasp. The poor crone was as concerned as he was. Of course, they were family. If someone tried to prevent him from going to save someone he cared about, he’d find a way to make sure he could come along too.

He hissed through his teeth and paced the lobby. How was he going to do this, though?

Kiral ran his hands through his hair and pleaded with her once more. “Please. It really is better if I go alone. You know what I am.”

She raised her brows and smirked. “And you know what I am. Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”

Touché.

He pursed his lips. Somehow he’d have to find a way to make this work. Finally, he gave her a single nod. “All right, Grandmother.”

Her eyes seemed brighter as he agreed. So much like the younger Harriet’s. “The first is only three blocks away on Lincoln above the new clothing store. Catherine Miller. Lovely older lady.”

“Older lady?” How old would that make Miller? Kiral didn’t pause as he went to the front door and held it open for her.

“You’re only as old as you feel.”

He wanted to ask her how old she felt because she moved like she was ninety. And not a spry ninety-year-old either. The crone shuffled as they left the building. His feet ached to run, but he kept pace and watched for danger around them.

Surely Harriet had to be at Miller’s apartment. No one would travel through the city right now. They just had to walk three blocks.

And three very long blocks they were. The dark seemed too dark even with the random fires. His keen eyes caught people and other things in the shadows. He steered the old woman away from them and frowned when he finally saw the store. Human greed knew no bounds.

“There’s the store,” Kiral whispered. “Looters have broken in. Is the entrance to the apartments in the rear or on the side?”

Harriet shook her head. “No. The door that looks like another entrance to the store leads to the stairs—”

Her body seized with the assault of another vision. Kiral didn’t ask what it was. The crone would tell him whatever he needed to know. She motioned to the right. “Let’s go around and come down the street so we don’t cross in front of the store.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Grandmother.” Wishing she would move faster, Kiral ushered her across the street. He should leave her here. He could find Harriet himself now, but then what would she think of him leaving her grandmother alone outside?

A woman screamed and leapt through the broken plate glass window. Her shrieks didn’t cease as she ran down the street.

Kiral ignored her and darted forward. “The door’s here. What apartment does the woman live? I’ll run up—”

He saw it too late. A hand snatched Harriet by the hair and yanked her into the shop. She screeched and kicked, raking her nails over the hand. A hand with no flesh.

Without thought, he was suddenly beside her, and with one swipe, he beheaded her attacker. Yet the hand didn’t let her thick waves of white hair go. No blood. Not a drop came from the thing.

“It’s not alive!” Kiral growled as he tore the opposite arm off from the shoulder and held it up. “It’s a bloody manikin!”

A man’s cry was cut off from somewhere else in the store. The sound was one he knew too well. Death walked the streets tonight.

Kiral pried the fingers from her hair and kicked the headless manikin into the racks. “This is a foul night to be about.”

Rubbing her head, Harriet stood straight. “That it is. Even for those of us who belong to the night.”

Clothes racks toppled as a pair of stiff legged manikins marched toward them with arms out-stretched. Fighting would get them nowhere. Kiral picked her up over one shoulder and raced out of the shop. The door to the apartments was slightly ajar, and he bounded up the stairs.

So close. He could feel it.

“What apartment?”

The old woman gasped as she paused to catch a breath. “2C.”

Kiral left her standing there. He needed Harriet.

Unable to think of anything else other than her, he was in front of the door and tore it off the hinges. He tossed the door to the side. Something slammed into his stomach and pain flared through his body before he heard the telltale boom. It sounded so much like thunder.

Fighting to keep conscious, he laid a hand on his gut. He didn’t need to breathe to live, but taking in a great whiff enhanced his keen sense of smell. Gunpowder. Someone had shot him.

“Kiral!” Harriet stumbled down the hall and knelt beside him.

He groaned and coughed, lips splattering with blood. His body was already pushing out the buckshots as his tongue collected the drops. He would need to feed.

“Stay out, you bastards! I’ve already reloaded.” A woman’s shrill bark came from 2C.

“It’s okay. I can heal you.” Harriet brushed her fingers over Kiral’s cheek. She then cleared her dry throat. “Ms. Miller. Can you hear me? We don’t mean you any harm.”

“Eh? Who’s there?” The voice didn’t sound as menacing this time.

“Stay here for a moment.” Harriet squeezed Kiral’s hand and stood. She crossed into the apartment and held up her hands. Kiral leaned to one side. A gray-haired woman sat in a chair with her back against the wall facing the door. “Ms. Miller, please, we aren’t going to hurt you.”

“Harriet? Is that you?” Miller lowered the shotgun.

Suppressing a groan, Kiral rose to his knees. The metal balls rolled to the floor as his flesh knitted together. The world was clear again. He rose to his feet as the crone stepped closer to Miller.

“You’re not Harriet.” Miller rubbed her eyes.

“No, I’m her grandmother. We’re actually looking for her, thinking perhaps she has come out to check on her clients as the city …”