Both Ways Read online

  “Um…” I weave through the maze of desks towards my own. “Nothing, just some admin cock-up at City Hall.”

  My gut curls into uncomfortable knots.

  “You okay, Dee-Dee?”

  I clear my throat. “Fine.”

  “Fancy a training session later? I got new moves to show you.” He kicks and jabs at the air, light, quick motions on the balls of his feet. “I get you this time, sí?”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Oh, come, come.” He smiles, an expression so light and sunny I almost want to give in. “We make bets on it.”

  “Not today.”

  My desk, when I reach it, is covered with small brown pellets. Some are furry, others are moist, all of them stink like the waste bins of a butcher’s shop. “Damn it, Norman. I told you to use the tray.”

  The chittarik peeps out from under my desk, small, pointed face looking rueful. Kinda. “Danika Karson?”

  “Yeah, yeah, come here, you daft thing.”

  Clicking and chittering, he crawls up my jeans like before and settles on my shoulder. The hard, curved beak nuzzles my ear, then gently nips my lobe. An apology, I hope.

  Noel chuckles. “You could use the post staff, like normal person.”

  “And miss the love and affection of my little baby?” I pet Norman on the back of the head and he purrs softly. Or I think he does. The sound is a gurgling cross between a growl and a whimper, but that usually means he’s happy. “Anyway, it pisses off Quinn something rotten. A few shit pellets on my desk is a small price to pay.”

  A soft, staged cough. “Speaking of…”

  I spin around in time to catch Quinn sneaking up on me.

  Norman gives a little hiss, and I put my hand on his back, pressing him onto my shoulder. Just in case. “Quinn.”

  “Karson.” Her thin lips draw back in an ugly sneer. “Where have you been?”

  Knowing better than to wing it, I pull the message tube and blue slip of paper from my pocket.

  “What have you done now?”

  Noel snickers.

  I grit my teeth. “Clerical cock-up.”

  “Good. Then I need you to look into a couple of missing persons cases.”

  “What?”

  “Angbec police are swamped with calls from The Bowl. They want a SPEAR to check it out.”

  “We aren’t missing persons—”

  “You are. For now.”

  My face flushes with heat. Norman growls against my cheek. I shift my grip to the base of his tail.

  “If it has to be an Alpha, at least put a G3 on it. I have other cases. Edane cases.”

  Quinn’s smile is as broad as it is fake. “Taken care of. Thought you’d be pleased since you enjoy working alone so much. Without the backup of a team or the authorization of a G7.”

  Bitch.

  “I don’t enjoy—”

  “That’ll be all, Karson. Report back to me at the end of the week.” She nods at Noel and stalks off.

  Norman lunges off my shoulder. Only a quick dive stops him chasing down Quinn. I hug him to my chest, whispering softly, crooning nonsense while he twitches and struggles.

  “I know, baby, I know. She’s a hateful witch. Don’t worry, I’ll take you to shit on her desk later, okay?”

  Noel slaps my shoulder. “I’ll be in the sparring room. Join me if you want to blow off steam, sí?” He makes a beeline to his own desk.

  * * *

  I sit and scoop dried and fresh droppings into the tray stashed beneath my desk. That done, I skim through the various message tubes dotted across my workstation. Test results, lab reports, case summaries. Nothing I can’t deal with later.

  While Norman sits on my head and helpfully tangles his talons in my locs, I kick my legs on the desk, pull out my mobile, and dial.

  “Hey, Dani, this isn’t a great time.” Pippa’s words are clipped and hushed, nothing like her usual chirpy self.

  “Quinn just reassigned all my cases and dumped me on civvie basher babysitting duty. How she got as far as Grade Seven is beyond me, the woman is a total bitch. I could strangle her—”

  “So head a team instead of avoiding your own—take the team leader role.”

  I snap my mouth shut. She has a point.

  “Is that Danika?” A second voice thrums through the phone line.

  My fingers tighten on the mobile.

  “No, it’s—” The rest of Pippa’s lie goes unheard as a scuffle ensues on the other end.

  That new voice: “Danika? Danika, baby, is that you?”

  I slump in my chair. “Hey, Mum.”

  “When are you coming to see me? It’s been so long.”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “What have I done that you won’t return my calls?”

  Six blind dates in three weeks? Each one an unmitigated disaster. From allergic reactions to the prawn salad, right up to escape through a toilet window, I’d say that’s reason enough to avoid talking with my mother. And date number seven.

  “I’ve been busy. Work is crazy and—”

  “Take a holiday. All that fighting and hunting and chasing, you deserve some R and R. How are your menses this month?”

  My fingers tighten on the phone. Norman stops tugging on my hair and slithers down my cheek to peer into my eyes.

  Yeah, he gets it.

  I lift him away from my face and dump his tiny body on the desk. “You know our protection shots muck up our cycles. Ask Pippa, she’ll tell you. Anyway, I’m fine.”

  Mum harrumphs like an angry horse. “Shouldn’t be allowed. How are agents supposed to plan for families if the drugs you take destroy your inner body balance?”

  Deep breath in. Then out. I’m not having this conversation again. Not now. “Mum, can you pass the phone back? I’m trying to arrange dinner.”

  Delighted squeal. “Oh, perfect. I was thinking it’s time we sat down together. Tonight? How’s eight thirty?”

  “Actually, Pip and I were—”

  “Make sure you change before coming out. No T-shirts or trainers. What about a skirt? Or a dress? That red one with the ruffled hem?”

  I heave, just enough to bring a bitter taste to my mouth. “I don’t do dresses.”

  “I thought you liked red?”

  “I do, but—”

  “Good. Wear that and the earrings I got you for Christmas.”

  I cover my eyes with my arm, silently cursing my big mouth.

  “Sure, Mum. Whatever you say.”

  “Great. Now, we’re going now. The pair of us will see you later. Phillipa has some exciting news she can’t wait to share, right, darling?”

  Mumbles of assent from the background.

  “Of course you do. See you later, Danika. Eight thirty, don’t be late.” Gone.

  Norman stares at me, black eyes wide and unblinking.

  At the far end of the office, another rookie slams face first into the Plexiglas divide.

  Yeah. Suddenly the thought of some one-on-one sparring seems a wonderful idea.

  * * *

  Sweat streams down my jaw and chest. Stiffness in my right shoulder and leg highlight where Noel clipped me with a couple of lucky shots.

  He stands in front of me now, the practice sword resting on his shoulder, body at an angle. His hair is mussed up and one cheek darkens with a fresh bruise. He walks favouring his left leg and a tiny trickle of blood runs from a gash on his forehead. I’ve never seen him look so happy.

  “See?” he cries. “I told you, sí, I told you. One day, I beat you. Today is that day.”

  Swap my own sword from my left hand to my right. “Not a chance, González.” My hips creak in complaint, but that doesn’t stop me assuming the next defence stance.

  To the right of us, Link lowers his wings across his shoulders and folds his bulky arms. Eight feet tall, with thick skin the colour of a holly blue butterfly, he grins, flashing fangs. “He has you, Karson. You’re tired.”

  “And you’re ugly,” I snap
.

  He chuckles. “Careful, little meatsicle, careful. You’re good but I can still crush you.”

  “Never managed it yet, buddy.”

  “You may be faster, but I’m bigger, stronger—”

  “Shut up and let me concentrate.”

  We’ve pulled in a sizeable crowd, fighting as we have for the last half hour. Many of my colleagues stand with their faces pressed to the Plexiglas, and more than a handful of them are passing around money.

  Can’t help but wonder who they’re betting on.

  In the middle of them, Quinn glares at us, her face a glorious picture of rage.

  Noel spies me looking. “You know, you could stop baiting her.”

  “And she could stop being a stuffy old cow.”

  “Perhaps, instead, you do as she says? Just now and then?”

  “She’s incompetent. I know it, you know it, everyone does.”

  I flick the sword out and dart in, cutting high with a sharp feint before swinging low. The wooden blades clack together, a sound like twigs snapping.

  “So do a favour for all of us, and take the G7 team leader role.”

  “You know I trust your judgement, but what the hell makes you think that would suit me?”

  A shrug. “You are strong, clever, and talented. People resent you, sí, but they respect you too. You’d make a good leader.”

  “But then I’d have to put up with the likes of you day in, day out. Pass, thanks.”

  He takes the offensive, driving me back across the training floor with a flurry of jabs and slashes. I block them all, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed, focused wholly on the blade in my hand. Feels good to be physical like this.

  His blade slices the air above my shoulder, a hair’s breadth from my cheek.

  “Ah, close, sí? You yield?”

  “Screw you.”

  “Oh, Dee-Dee”—he pauses long enough to press his free hand to his chest—“I have asked again and again. Do you now, finally, admit your desire?”

  “Do you have boobs?”

  “No, no, I did away with those when I began training with the weights. Now, I am all muscle.” A flex of his biceps to demonstrate.

  “Then our deal hasn’t changed. The day you beat me fair and square is the day I let you take me out. I’ll even wear a pretty dress.”

  A sharp whistle through his teeth. “Now that I would like to see.”

  He stops, just for a moment, probably imagining exactly that. I seize the chance and flick out with my blade. The point slams into his chest, an obvious heart shot.

  “Yes!” I toss the blade down and rub more sweat off my face. “Better luck next time.”

  Noel grunts and drops his blade beside mine. “Ah, one day, Dee-Dee. Not this day and perhaps that’s best. I have much to do tonight.”

  “Watching porn in your underwear doesn’t count as much to do.”

  Again that hand to the chest, and a stream of Spanish. “You wound me, Dee-Dee. So cruel, so cruel.”

  “Shut up, you love it.”

  “Sí, that I do.” He winks and joins me in the corner of the sparring space where towels hang alongside a shelf stacked with bottles of water. He opens one and gulps heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing. The empty bottle clatters into the bin beneath. “A gargoyle nests in a warehouse on Sith Street. Tonight, I take my team to catch it.”

  Link appears behind us, curious and wary. “Wild?”

  A nod. “Any help you can offer would be much appreciated, amigo.”

  I leave them discussing the upcoming capture. Fascinating as it would be to see a wild gargoyle, right now, with the adrenaline rapidly leaking away, the only thought left in mind is that of a nap before dinner. Ugh. Dinner.

  As I open the door, the excited chatter from the crowd becomes audible. Money changes hands and several agents pause to thank me or pat me on the back.

  Glad to know I’m good for something.

  Quinn snags my arm as I aim for the changing rooms. It takes every scrap of willpower I possess to refrain from punching her in the nose.

  “Your form is sloppy and your footwork horrendous. Fight like that out there and you won’t last a minute.”

  I pull the sweetest smile I can muster. “I’m always open to coaching. Should we go back in? We can go hand-to-hand.”

  She jerks free and scrambles back three awkward steps. “You think I have time to waste, coaching the likes of you? Speak to Link if you want extra training.” Without meeting my gaze, she hurries away.

  Bitch.

  I stick two fingers in my mouth and whistle a sharp high-low-high trio of notes. “Norman?”

  Bobbing like a balloon, Norman flies towards me above the heads of my fellow agents. He settles on my shoulder once more, nuzzling my cheek with his beak as I head for the showers.

  Chapter Three

  I arrive early at the Italian place. Good thing too, because the heels I’ve worn to match this horrendous dress are near impossible to walk in. I totter through the tables, following the waiter who moves with the graceful, seamless glide of a supernatural.

  Trust Pippa to pick an edane-owned venue.

  The waiter leads me to a circular table positioned in the centre. When he pulls out a chair, I hang back, gripping my flimsy cotton shrug around my shoulders.

  “No. Put us near the wall, close to the toilets or kitchens.”

  He stares.

  My skin crawls.

  His eyes are purple. Only the iris, but that’s enough to tell me this vampire is at least two hundred years old.

  What the hell is he doing waiting tables?

  He leads me to a corner, illuminated by wall lights and a trio of candles in brass candelabra. Two of the chairs are positioned with their backs to the rest of the tables, but the third is against the wall offering a clear view to the left and right. Perfect.

  “Ah,” he nods, “SPEAR?”

  There’s no way he can know about the knife strapped to the outside of my left thigh, or the stiletto tucked into my updo, but that prickling discomfort in my skin intensifies. I force myself to think of my sister, to remember that this venue was her choice. It’s the only way to stop myself leaving.

  “This establishment is fully licensed and registered with the Clear Blood Foundation. If you’re looking for—”

  “It’s my night off, Fangs. Just bring me the menu and a jug of water, okay?”

  His lips tighten. “Very good, ma’am. May I hang up your outer garment?”

  “Hell, no.”

  He leaves, and I exhale, shifting my legs to reassure myself of the knife hidden beneath the dress. I miss my gun, but it’s better than nothing.

  My water arrives with three glasses, each one ringing with a handful of ice cubes shaped like roses. More ice sculptures float in the jug that joins them, a mix of hearts and teardrops.

  “Anything else, ma’am?”

  “No.”

  His lips quirk at one corner. “Then here is the menu.” He lays it in front of me and leaves.

  Two minutes later, in a flurry of coat, scarf, and handbag, my mother crash-lands at the table. “Sorry I’m late, baby, I had errands. Seems Phillipa isn’t feeling well.”

  My stomach knots. “Is she okay?”

  Mum waves her hand. “Fine, just tired and nauseous, it’s perfectly normal. We thought it best she stay home tonight and catch up with you tomorrow.” She dumps her things on the now spare chair and grabs my menu.

  I slump. “So she’s not coming at all?”

  “Nope. Just us.” Mum beams over the top of the menu.

  I sip my water and mentally scramble to find the upside of a meal with only my mother for company.

  * * *

  The waiter is back again, his purple gaze hard and intense. He looks pointedly at the empty chair. “Your reservation was for three?”

  Mum cuts in with a wave. “Yes, we’re one short and—oh, what beautiful eyes you have.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. One of the more flattering
changes my kind experiences upon changing.”

  Delight fills Mum’s features. “You’re a vampire. My baby is a SPEAR agent, you know. One of the best in the country.”

  I fight the urge to sink beneath the table. What could possibly convince her that my job is a suitable topic of conversation?

  “I’m sure she’s very talented and dedicated to her role.”

  “Too dedicated. It would be nice if she took a break sometimes.”

  “I can imagine.” He clears his throat. “Would you care for a drink? Or further time to peruse the menu?”

  Another flighty hand wave. “No, no, I’m ready.” She skims the menu once more, then reels off her order. In Italian.

  Guess that means her language class is going well.

  The waiter beams and replies in kind, words which flow with the ease of a native speaker. He and Mum chat a moment longer before giggling. Like hyenas.

  “Ma’am?” He faces me, eyebrows arched.

  Git. I might not speak Italian, but I’ll bet he doesn’t speak Goblin or the Cold Blood Tongue.

  “Um…” I grab the menu, flip it the right way up, and scan the list.

  Why the hell isn’t it in English?

  “She’ll have the lasagne, please.” Mum leans across me. “A side of salad as well. No dressing or parmesan.”

  No. Hell, no.

  “Actually”—I lift a finger and point to the centre of the menu—“I prefer the look of this.”

  Mum strains to see the page.

  Vampire waiter studies the choice, chuckles, and scribbles on his notepad. “Anything else, ma’am?”

  Another pointless skim of the page. “This one.”

  More scribbling. “Very good, ma’am.” He bows, clicks his heels, then walks off, smirking.

  Mum watches me. I can feel her gaze like an itchy blanket across my shoulders. “Danika, baby, are you okay?”

  “Fine. Just tired. Work is heavy this week.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  I bite my lip. I could tell her about Quinn and my reassignment, but I could also gargle oven cleaner and rip off my fingernails.

  “Phillipa told me you got a summons this morning. Are you in trouble again?”

  “Why does everyone assume that?” I roll my eyes and pull off the shrug.