Blood Work (28 page)

“Nope.”

“Not even a
cold?”

Mercy was good
at acting human, but some things still slipped past her. Sarcasm
was one of them.

“Don’t get
sick, remember,” she told me firmly. “Can we go dancing now?”

“Hey, that’s a
good idea,” Roberts muttered. “Let’s do that.”

“But we
haven’t found anything yet.” I glared at the map, daring it to keep
hiding Big Red from me.

“Did it ever
occur to you that the ghoul lied? I mean, he had just helped in
your capture and imprisonment. And he’d almost let his friend eat
your face off. That he would tell a big fat fib is within the
grounds of possibility.”

Mercy nodded
along, her hair flickering in the window to tickle my face. I
shoved it out of my way.

“I suppose,
but he sounded sincere. The second time at least. And this would be
a good place to hole up.”

“Yeah, but
it’s not exactly an easy amount of ground to cover in one night.
They could be on the north side of the river too.”

I waved at the
clock on the dash. “It’s only eleven o’clock. We’ve got hours of
darkness left.”

“But no
petrol. Come on, man. We’ve gone down every street, parked in every
driveway, been chased out of most places and nearly had the cops
called out on our arses. Give it up for tonight, plan for the north
side and we’ll do it tomorrow night. Besides, I really should show
my face somewhere, to at least pretend I’m doing my job.”

Mercy looked
at me hopefully. I looked between them, trying to glare. It was
hard, especially with Mercy’s little upside down face staring at me
so hopefully. Roberts was right. We’d found nothing. There wasn’t a
lot on the north side of the river at the mouth. Kermit had most
likely lied to me. Stupid ghoul. Stupider Matt for even considering
he might have been telling the truth.

“You really
got nothing?” I asked Mercy.

She swung down
off the roof and right through the rear window. “Nothing.”

“Seems I’m
destined to not win anything tonight.” I sighed. “Okay, let’s
go.”

Somehow
Roberts had enough petrol left to warrant a gratuitous rev of the
engine as he headed back toward the city like Big Red himself was
hanging off the towbar. I studied the map during the trip, still
wanting Kermit to be right. If he’d lied, I was right back at the
beginning, with no idea where Big Red was. He’d found me the other
night, which would indicate he could do it again. If I couldn’t
find him and do some pre-emptive arse toasting, I suppose I would
just have to go huge on the defensive.

I needed more
paint.

Roberts
stopped for petrol and got me a king sized Snickers. I forgave him
his surliness, then went back to studying the map. By the time I
gave up and folded the map away, we were cruising along Vulture
Street.

“West End?” I
asked Roberts.

“Yeah, haven’t
shown my face here for a while.”

In the back
seat, Mercy was humming. She had the window rolled down and was
very nearly hanging out of it like dog. I turned to look out the
window, but really wanted to keep an eye on her from the corner of
my eye. While I was pretty certain she wouldn’t get hungry too
soon, I had been wrong before. Not often, mind. She watched the
people on the footpaths, frowning or smiling at the various
activities she observed. A guy waved at her and she just stared
back. The next person to wave, she returned it. A new learned
response? Or just my vampire growing up? It was hard to know which
was more desirable.

All this time
I’d been set in my thinking Mercy was just a better trained animal
than the wild vampires. Now I had Aurum’s perspective to consider
as well, that age adds breadth to the wild vampire’s abilities to
blend in, to act more human. Perhaps all my discipline with Mercy
was just bypassing the natural path, accelerating her progress. Was
that what the Reds wanted us for? If they could speed up the rate
at which their young vampires became more autonomously successful
then their army would grow and become stronger quicker than that of
the other clans.

Argh. It was
all too much to take in so fast. I just had to find a way to get
Big Red off my arse. And really, about the only way I could think
to do that was toast the mother. Thing was, had to find him first.
Or sit around looking pretty and vulnerable until he came running.
I’ll take option number one, thanks, Larry.

“Where are we
going?” I asked Roberts.

“I thought I’d
hit the –”

Mercy hissed
in a sharp breath.

I spun around
to look at her. “What is it?”

She crouched
on the back seat, hands on the door, ready to throw herself through
the open window and pounce. Her eyes were silver, flashing with the
reflections of street lights and neon signs.

“Something
big,” she growled. “Old. Strong.”

Roberts
glanced at me, worried.

Yeah, I had a
sinking feeling too. “Vampire?”

A desperate,
vicious snarl was Mercy’s response. I took it as a yes. Nothing
quite grabbed her goat like another vampire. I figured it as part
of the whole clan deal. Reds liked Reds, but didn’t like Yellows,
Oranges or Blues. Mercy, being until recently clanless, didn’t like
any of them. Guess we were clan Hawkins now. Maybe we could be the
ultra-marines, or cyan, or puce.

“Is it still
here?” I asked, looking around furiously for Big Red.

Mercy shook
her head. “Stale. Gone now.”

“Can you track
him?”

“Aw man,”
Roberts moaned. “Now I’ll never get any work done.”

Mercy began
climbing out of the window. I nearly broke my back and did strain
several important things reaching around to hold her back.

“What are you
doing?”

“Chase,” she
snapped at me, her fangs coming awfully close to my hand. “Track,
fight. Kill.”

“Whoa, she’s
in a mood.” Roberts quickly turned us down a less busy side street.
People had started to stare.

“She’s got a
point though. If she can track him tonight, this could all be over
before dawn. We packed for vamp-ageddon anyway. May as well get
some use from that sweet new gun you got me.”

Meanwhile,
Mercy was quivering in my hands. She was like a dog that could see
its favourite toy in your hand, waiting, just waiting,
anticipating, salivating over the moment you were going to throw
it. There was no freaking way I was actually holding her back by
mere strength alone. She could have broken my arms as soon as look
at me, but she contained herself, just barely, because I still held
the toy.

Roberts gave
me the it’s-your-choice look.

She was hot
for the hunt, but it was different to last night. Then, she’d been
charging out of hunger. Tonight, it was territorial, or something
very much like it. She would latch onto this potential threat and
ignore everything else. Probably.

No.
Definitely. She was well fed, she was focused on the trail. It
would be all good. Except for whatever we found at the end of the
trail.

“Fly, my
pretty,” I screeched and let Mercy go.

She was gone
in a heartbeat, moving so fast she was a blur in the corner of my
eye before the touch of her faded from my hands. I sat back and
pulled out my phone.

Way back when
Mercy was just a little tucker of a vampire, she’d run away several
times. Twice I’d spent the whole night chasing her down the old
fashioned way. You know, running madly through the streets asking
strangers if they’d seen a petite blood sucking fiend with curly
black hair whiz by. That, or just look for the trail of stunned and
scared people left in her wake. Twice more still, she’d made her
own way home, bloody from fights she hadn’t been strong enough to
win, weak from overindulging in the wrong blood groups. When we’d
hooked up with Roberts, he’d tuned me in to the easy way of
tracking a speed freak of a vampire.

He’d
low-jacked her.

Evolving
technology was one of those things that moved too fast for
otherwise preoccupied people like me to keep up with. I’m sure its
open-the-box-before-it’s-outdated nature was the result of demonic
forces. It was too diabolical for humans to manufacture. Still, it
was nice to know it could help. Nice to know someone who could
understand it all and then show me what button to push.

The GPS
program on my phone had been tuned into her signal. A map popped up
on the screen, a little square telling me where we were, a flashing
dot telling me where we wanted to be. Real time satellite downloads
had nothing on a vampire at speed, so the tiny Mercy-marker jerked
across the screen in a wide zigzag pattern. I watched until three
consecutive flashes of the dot went in the same direction.

“That way.” I
pointed back up the street we’d turned down.

Roberts got
the car turned around and we began following Mercy as she
hunted.

It was a
frustrating half hour. Mercy didn’t use roads. Know that saying, as
the crow flies? Crows, vampires, same difference. We ended up the
wrong way up one-way streets, in dead-end alleys and doing more
than one illegal u-turn. At one point, swearing like the
proverbial, Roberts simply took the centre island between lanes
like it was a speed bump, earning us an impressive symphony of horn
honks, and it wasn’t because the other drivers were horny. Quite
the opposite I would hazard. Needless to say, I had one hand
holding the phone, the other had a death grip on a panic handle and
I wished for a third to cover my eyes.

“That,”
Roberts shouted at me, “is why you need a four-wheel drive in the
city. Not that pussy little low rider thing you got to compensate
for whatever it is you think you lack.”

“Yeah, but in
my car I’m more likely to get what I lack than in a freaking great
big tank. Watch the light pole!”

Roberts
swerved. “Where is she heading now? I have four turning lane
options coming up.”

I peered at
the phone. “Go left.”

“Fan-bloody-tastic. Into the city.”

It was a
nightmare. But a short one. We ended up in Fortitude Valley. The
Mercy-marker slowed down and began a more detailed search. She was
closing in. Roberts parked near the China Town Mall, we geared up
and then hot-footed it down Ann Street. When we were on top of the
dot showing Mercy’s location, we stood outside the Fringe Bar.

Panting,
Roberts said, “Well, she did want to go dancing.”

“She’s not
here to dance. Big Red’s in there.”

“Are you
certain? I mean, what if this was just a scam to get here?”

“She’s not
that intuitive. There’s no way she could conceive of doing such a
thing, let alone carrying it out so convincingly. When something
gets in her head, that’s all she can think about. If she’d
pretended to scent Big Red just to get away to go dancing, she
would have headed straight to a particular place, not taken us back
and forth across the CBD. He’s here.”

“Whatever.”
Roberts trooped inside.

I scowled at
his back and followed.

There is a
reason I let Roberts do my advertising for me. Well, two actually.
One, he is correct when he claims to be a better people person than
me. I’m great one on one (refer to earlier flirtatious Matt with Ms
Erin of the auburn hair and misty eyes) but in groups, not so hot.
Too much time spent alone, maybe. Dunno. Dr Campbell thinks he can
work me through it. I don’t see it as a real issue. It’s not like
the freaks are inviting me over to BBQs or Tupperware parties.

Number two is
that I have this dislike in particular for clubs. There’s a reason.
It’s called ‘ending up in a correctional facility for eleven
months’. Again, Dr Campbell thinks they’re one and the same thing.
I don’t see it. Clubs. People. Different things. No, okay, I do get
it. Yeah, club equals big mobs of people, but I’m sure one day I
could stand in a corner at a cocktail party and tell everyone about
how I was an awesome slayer of the vampires and not have issues.
But I don’t think I’d be doing it in a club, ever.

It’s the
close, tight atmosphere. The cloying mix of artificial scents and
the all too real human ones. Noise that doesn’t just register in
your years, but in your chest, competing with the beat of your own
heart. But worst of all, it’s the fragile balance between ‘yippee,
we’re having such a fun time’ and ‘you spilled your drink on me,
jerk’. I’m a man standing in the middle of that seesaw in the vast
majority of my life. I try not to go looking for reasons that might
tip me over to the ‘jerk’ end of the scales. There is one big
obvious exception, of course, but in my own defence, I don’t go out
looking for vampires just so I can get all berserk on their
supernatural selves. It just happens that way… a lot.

So, me walking
into the Fringe was akin to a reformed alcoholic winning a free
pass to a drink all you can tour of the XXXX brewery. Each ignorant
brush of some guy’s shoulder against me, each person that stepped
back into me without knowing I was there, each hint that someone
might smack into my injured knee screamed a challenge to the
primitive part of my brain.

Dr Campbell
had given me several methods of dealing with my issues. ‘Controlled
breathing techniques’ was one of them. Yeah, just a fancy way of
saying hyperventilate till you pass out and cease to be a
threat.

“What the hell
are you doing?” Roberts demanded. “Lamaze breathing?”

“It’s called
‘controlled breathing’. Supposed to help me, you know, leash the
beast.”

“I can’t take
you anywhere.”

I found a
relatively clear spot by the bar and tried to ignore the crush of
overexcited, mostly drunk and unsteady clubbers. Trying to calm my
nerves was like trying to catch the soap in the shower. I managed
it, eventually, and reached out to Mercy.

She wasn’t
dancing. Take that, Roberts. She was still hunting, her mind a
focused arrow, but one I could ride along on, not like the
hunger-frenzy blocked mass it had been the night before. Now, I got
a sense of where she was, what she was feeling.