Page 64 of Throwing Shade
Lindsey tried to pull free, but couldn’t.
The darkness that oozed through my fingers was ice cold, turning the tips white.
“What are you doing?” Lindsey said.
I hesitated. Our rapport, thin as it was, cut both ways. Once upon a time, Lindsey had been someone’s daughter, too. I shook my head. It was too late for her, but I could prevent any other parents from losing their children to this fiend.
“I’m sorry.” I flicked the lighter and dropped her shadow into it.
The vampire burst into flames, both of us equally astonished. For one brief second, her eyes met mine, and she looked so heartbreakingly young that I dropped the lighter.
But it was too late. She disintegrated into a pile of ash.
I bowed my head for a moment, mourning both her and the poor employee, then I used the phone in the pizzeria to call the cops about a fight in the alley, hanging up when they asked for my name.
There’d been too much death in my life. A ticking clock hung over Rupert unless I miraculously pulled a way to save him out of my ass. And Jude…
She had to be alive. Any other option wasn’t a possibility. We’d made a pact that when one of us died, the other would pluck our chin hairs before anyone else saw the body. Being two years older than her, I fully expected her to be the one to keep up that deal.
I drove to Laurent’s house in a numb haze. My car still smelled of watermelon bubble gum, but I snapped off the radio so I wouldn’t hear any more pop songs.
Even though the streets were awash with light that slid over my face, I couldn’t shake off feeling like I was blanketed in darkness. Maybe this was the price to pay for my magic, but I clung to my belief that I’d stopped a killer from taking another life. That mattered a lot more than ordering this year’s edition of the Annual Review of Law & Practice.
I parked alongside the Hotel Terminus and ran to the side entrance to tell Laurent that the vamps were on to us.
The door was ajar.
The hair lifted on the nape of my neck. I slammed my magic over me, seeing the world through the black mesh, crept inside and smothered a gasp.
Books had been knocked off the shelves, the piano bench was smashed, the radio broken and scattered in a jumble of parts. The vintage ads were knocked off their nails, jagged shards of glass glittering on the floor planks.
There was even a footprint marring the piano keys. I frowned. This wasn’t a coldly methodical job, it was vicious. Personal. Someone had taken great joy in this carnage.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my shock giving way to a burning rage climbing in my chest at the long, wet crimson smear painting a swathe along the parquet floor.
Laurent was my team member, for now at least, and I took care of my own. He might not be in a position to hit back, but one way or another, I’d make the perpetrator pay.
