Both Ways Page 4

  “Danika”—Mum bolts upright in her seat—“what happened?”

  Too late I remember why I’d worn the pointless garment. “Nothing, I—”

  “But those are new. On your arms and your chest. When did you get injured? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I trace the new scars and remember the various injuries. A bite on my shoulder, claw slashes across my arm. A small round dot that, at the time, gushed stinking clots of blood and pus while the spriggan that stabbed me made a slick getaway. That one was close: two full months of recovery and desk work while the poison left my system.

  “I’m fine, Mum.”

  She glares. “This job is too dangerous for a young woman like you. You’ve your whole life ahead of you. Why are you risking it fighting ghoulish monsters?”

  The tablecloth receives the full weight of my stare. “I like my job.”

  “Don’t pout. You know I’m proud of you.”

  I sigh and lean my chin on my hand. “Yes and I—”

  “Elbows off the table, baby.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “Now, do you ever consider that your job is somehow off-putting?”

  “Excuse me?”

  She leans in, as if her words are a terrible secret. “All that hunting, shooting and killing, it’s more of a man’s job, wouldn’t you say?”

  “A quarter of my team are female. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s intimidating. And you’re a forceful personality. Perhaps that’s why so many past relationships have been so brief?”

  Well, that might be one of the reasons…

  “Mum—”

  “It’s not a bad thing,” she rushes on, as if sensing my rage. “Nobody wants you to be a doormat, but you could try being more feminine. Look how pretty you are with your hair up like that, and no weapons. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Another twitch in my seat reminds me of the knife strapped to my thigh. “Well, like I said before, if men are intimidated by me, maybe they aren’t right for me.”

  “Don’t be silly. How else are you going to raise a family?”

  Food arrives. One thing to be said for edane establishments, their service is super-speedy.

  Good thing.

  The waiter lays a steaming plate in front of my mother. Looks incredible—long twists of pale pasta smothered in sweet-smelling red sauce. With it, a wicker bowl of garlic bread dripping with butter and herbs. That one he handles with a single gloved hand.

  My mouth waters. I search for my plate.

  The insufferable smirk returns. “And for you, ma’am.” He lays a plate in front of me.

  Mum frowns. “When did you start eating mushrooms?”

  “Um…” I force a smile. “Just thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

  “And this is also yours.” The waiter places a small white bowl beside the plate.

  Pasta shaped like trucks, cars, and planes, not a lick of sauce. The fork he sets beside it is bright green plastic, blunt enough to double as a spoon.

  He loiters, hands clasped at hip height, shoulders bucking.

  “This can’t be what she ordered—”

  “I assure you it is, ma’am. And if you recall, your daughter was quite firm in her order.” He bows from the waist and spins on his heel. “Ladies, please enjoy your meal.”

  I stare at my selection of food.

  Maybe after this I could stop for a burger.

  Mum digs into her pasta, slurping juicy strands into her mouth. She gives an appreciative coo, then ploughs on. “You won’t be this young and fit forever. What happens if your next injury cripples you? Or worse?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t want to lose you. Not you too.”

  Shame bubbles in my gut. I hide a cough beneath a slurp of water and end up spluttering icy droplets down my front. The face of my watch catches a flicker of light from the candles. So out of place while wearing this dress, but I don’t care, and now, more than ever, I’m pleased to be seen wearing it.

  “I know, Mum.”

  “He’d be proud too. You’ve done so much more than we ever believed possible.”

  That’s a compliment. It has to be.

  I smile and nibble the end of a pasta truck. Bland. Overcooked. Hours old.

  “I miss him too, Mum.”

  She plays with gold ring on a chain around her neck, a larger version of the one on her left hand. “You’re an amazing woman with so much to give. I don’t want you to miss all the wonderful things a family can bring you. Love is for everyone.”

  “Even me?”

  “Of course, don’t be silly—” Her mobile rings. She fishes it from the depths of her bag while I silently curse myself.

  I can stare down vampires, fight hand-to-hand with gargoyles, but I can’t set matters straight with my mother? How long is she going to deny the truth? More important, how long am I going to let her?

  Mum grins into the phone. “You made it? Wonderful. Yes, come in, we’re at the back. We’d be thrilled to see you.”

  My heart gives a gleeful skip. Pip made it after all. Maybe she can take the edge off this emotionally barbed conversation.

  The chair squeals as Mum shoves it back, standing so she can see above the tables. A moment later she’s bobbing up and down and waving like a middle-aged football fan. “Over here…hello…can you see me?”

  Several heads turn in our direction.

  I cover my face with my hands.

  She waves again, then scurries away from the table. “There you are. We’ve already eaten, but you can join us for dessert.”

  A chair screeches.

  I look up, ready to thank my sister with the biggest hug I can manage.

  Oh.

  “Who the hell is this?”

  * * *

  The man at my side is tall, with puppy-dog eyes and a toothpaste ad smile. Beneath the shirt sleeves and waistcoat is a body he plainly likes to show off; only an idiot would allow their tailor to stitch silk that tight by accident. His face is vaguely familiar, the look in his eyes more so. In fact, I know it well.

  Not again.

  “Mum—”

  “This is Jackson Cobb. Jackson, this is my eldest daughter, Danika.”

  He holds out his hand. “Please, call me Jack, and it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “What?”

  His smile bumps up several watts. “It’s so often, Danika this, Danika that, you sound superhuman. Great to see you’re real after all.”

  I glance at Mum. She beams and shifts her chair left, leaving us closer together.

  Oh no.

  When the waiter returns, he bobs a short, polite bow at Jack and offers a set of dessert menus.

  Again Mum says something in Italian. Jack uses English, though he makes valiant attempts at the complex pronunciations.

  “And you, ma’am?”

  “Bok ta’akt meir hal.” I glare at the tablecloth. “Synq wen.”

  Long drawn-out pause.

  The waiter clears his throat. “Arri tuk meckla shurri nah. Po’eck rar aye?”

  Though nobody moves, the tension in the air is palpable. I ease my gaze up, meeting the gaze of our waiter who studies me through eyes taking on a bright silver sheen.

  So he does know the Cold Blood Tongue. Shit.

  I lift my hands, palm out, careful to keep each movement slow, smooth, and most of all non-threatening. “I’m going to rephrase that.”

  “Perhaps you should.” His voice is low and bass, almost a growl.

  I think about the knife on my thigh. The stiletto in my hair. Both might as well be on the moon.

  I clear my throat. “Do you have any ice cream?”

  “Vanilla. Strawberry. Chocolate. Mint.”

  I wince. “Then strawberry. Please.”

  “Of course.” The waiter stomps away, carrying the dessert menus with him.

  I exhale. Hadn’t realized I�
��d been holding that breath.

  Insensitive to mood, or unconcerned by it, Mum beams and lays a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I need to go. I promised Phillipa some painkillers on the way back. But I’m sure you’ll take good care of Danika.”

  “Of course. And please allow me to collect the bill.”

  Mum nods and throws a wholly unsubtle look of approval my way. “That’s very kind of you, Jack, thank you. Danika, be nice to him, won’t you?”

  No. She can’t do this, she—She’s already gone.

  How did this happen? Is Mum so slick and cunning that she can now get me on a date without my realizing it?

  Jack swivels in his chair. “Wow, she’s a whirlwind. Quite the character, isn’t she?”

  “Mum? Yeah, she’s something.”

  “Thinks highly of you.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He drums his fingertips against the tablecloth. “I always thought SPEAR agents were grizzled old guys with itchy trigger fingers and a beard full of breadcrumbs.”

  “What?”

  He’s watching me, gaze flicking back and forth across my face and down the neckline of my dress. “That’s my experience. Supernatural crime fighters are generally old, jaded, and grey or young, cocky, and stupid.”

  “Have you been hanging around my office?”

  He laughs. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Only if you like mindless, poorly dressed women with nervous trigger fingers and hair extensions full of fake tan.”

  More laughter.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad.

  * * *

  I’m surprised at how easy it is to talk to Jack. We discuss cars, TV, and music before dessert arrives, this time with a different waiter. Probably for the best.

  Jack has a cheesecake, white, thick, and creamy, smothered in orange coulis. My ice cream is stacked three scoops high in a glass bowl, decorated with sliced strawberries and sparkly red dust.

  I shove a spoonful into my mouth and fight to survive the onset of brain freeze.

  “Teresa isn’t the only one to brag about a SPEAR in the family.” Jack cuts a tiny piece of the cheesecake with the side of his fork. “Pippa loves telling us about her big sister, the vampire slayer.”

  Juice slides down my chin. “How do you know Pip?”

  “She works in my office.”

  “You’re a researcher?”

  He chuckles. “Once upon a time. Not so much now that I’m running for mayor. It’s all so different now since the Interspecies Relations Act. The mayor actually has responsibilities.”

  I stare. My mouthful of ice cream becomes an uncomfortable ooze at the back of my throat. Finally, I recognize his face. “Wait, you’re Jackson? Jackson Cobé?”

  A boyish shrug. “I didn’t have the heart to correct your mother—she was so excited to introduce us.”

  I drop my spoon. It spins off the bowl and hits the floor.

  This is how I imagine kids feel when they meet Santa.

  “Jackson Cobé of the Clear Blood Foundation? Host of the Supernatural Registry?”

  Jack turns his head aside, a bashful gesture that smacks of careful practice, probably in front of a mirror. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Oh, shut up.” I hurry on, ignoring his wide, surprised eyes. “The Life Blood Serum is the single most important tool SPEAR has. We wouldn’t be able to do our job if vampires were snacking on us every night. You’re a hero.”

  “And you’re very kind, but I’m afraid your colleagues might disagree.”

  I retrieve the spoon and stab it into the ice cream. “My colleagues are idiots. Vampires might be vicious killing machines, but the rest can be integrated. Edanes have so much to offer us, and that registry of yours is one way to let them.”

  “Edanes?”

  “Extra mundanes.”

  “Catchy. I like it. You should be on my PR team.”

  “No, I shouldn’t, people hate me. Anyway, SPEAR has thrown everything behind that git Mikkleson. I doubt I’d be much use singing from the wrong side of the hymn sheet.”

  Jack leans across the table, reaching for my hands. This close, I can see the tail end of a thin, trailing scar peeping out from beneath his watch. Faint streaks run down his jaw and throat.

  Is this man wearing make-up?

  He swirls his index finger over the back of my wrist. “I doubt very much that it’s possible for anybody to hate you, Danika.”

  “Tell that to Quinn.”

  “Who?”

  “My supervisor.”

  He smiles and grips my hand. “This Quinn is a fool.”

  True, but now isn’t the time to go into that. In fact, now seems like the time to bolt.

  “I need to go.”

  “But—”

  I’m already up, snagging my shrug and flinging it around my shoulders. Two long strides and I remember the heels.

  Baby steps, then.

  Somehow I make it to my car without breaking my neck. The car park is empty but for a handful of vehicles at the far end, so I kick off the shoes and stand barefoot on the Tarmac, fumbling for my keys.

  Jack catches up as I swing my door open, catching the edge with one hand.

  “What’s the hurry, baby doll? I thought we were having a nice chat.”

  “Long day.”

  “Busy saving the world?”

  “Something like that.” I tug on the door. “I need my beauty sleep.”

  He pulls the door wider and steps into the gap. His fingers trace a circle on my bicep, over the claw slash scars. Though he pauses to look, his smile never droops. “Beauty sleep is something you most definitely don’t need.” One arm curves around my waist, the other hand drifting up to my chin. He’s strong and broader than he looks.

  So distracted by this latest discovery, I’m slow to realize what he’s doing. By the time I catch up, his hand is on my jaw, his lips on my mouth, tongue jabbing for entry against my teeth.

  I punch him.

  Jack drops like a rock, bumping his forehead against the door on the way down.

  Bad. Bad Danika. Don’t beat up civilians.

  The rush of adrenaline gives way to cool irritation. I’m never going to forgive Mum for this. Not this time.

  A quick step over Jack puts me in the driver’s seat where I slam the door shut and dump my heels on the passenger seat.

  The engine starts with a roar.

  “Danika? Wait, Danika?”

  No chance. I’m gone before he can stand.

  Chapter Four

  I’m half a mile away before the rage fades. Before my mind clears and I can see and understand what I’ve done.

  “Damn.” I slam my hands against the steering wheel. It hurts, but not as much as it might receiving my P45 tomorrow morning.

  Cursing, I turn and speed back to the car park. Maybe I only stunned him?

  The area is quiet when I arrive, just Jack under a street lamp, hugging some short, dark-haired woman. At his side, a sleek silver Jaguar stands with its door open.

  My stomach turns.

  Creep. That didn’t take long.

  Wait…

  I slam my foot down, grinding through the gears as my wheels spin and screech.

  Closer now, Jack’s screams are loud and shrill, his frantic cries mingling with the snarls of the figure clawing at his throat.

  I stab the button which lowers my windows and hurl one of my shoes through the widening gap.

  It thunks off the head of the shorter figure, not hard, but enough to gain attention.

  Wild silver eyes and long fangs glistening with streamers of drool.

  Vampire.

  I turn the car, toss the other shoe, then screech across the car park. Turn.

  The creature releases Jack and follows, legs pumping with supernatural speed.

  Again I floor the accelerator, hunched low over the wheel.

  I hit the vampire travelling at a powerful fifty miles an hour. The impact throws me against the seat belt, den
ts my bonnet, and catapults the snarling figure twenty feet across the Tarmac. It rolls twice, then lies still.

  “Jack!” Out of the car and running. There’s blood on his face. His hands. “Are you okay?”

  He blinks at me. “She…out of nowhere…talking, then teeth—she bit—”

  “Look at me, Jack, look at my face. Hey!” At last I have his attention. I use the opportunity to scan assess his injuries. “It’s just a graze, she didn’t go deep. Get in your car and lock yourself in.”

  “She—vampire—they don’t—”

  I slap him. “Get in the damn car.”

  “But Life Blood—they’re not supposed to—”

  “For goodness’ sake.” With his heavy arm drawn across my shoulders, I hold his body close and guide him back to the Jaguar. His steps drag but at least he’s moving.

  At the car I shove him inside and slam the door.

  “Don’t move. I’m going to—”

  A heavy impact numbs my entire right side. A moment later I realize I’m on the ground several feet away from Jack’s car.

  The vampire fights to get inside the Jaguar. The glass must be reinforced like my limo earlier, because repeated punches and kicks barely scratch it, though that won’t last long.

  I scramble up and wave my arms. “Hey, you.” It pauses. “Yes, you, fang face, over here.”

  The next punch cracks the glass.

  Jack yells.

  Small chips of stone and grit catch between my toes, but that’s still better than wearing heels. My sprint takes me back to the car and provides momentum for a flying roundhouse kick.

  Jarring shudders race up and down my leg. Did I break my foot?

  The vampire lands to the side, nursing its jaw.

  Jack’s car roars to life, squealing away with the rear fishtailing. Moments later, rear lights wink and vanish as it peels out of the car park.

  Jackson Cobé…my hero.

  Again the vampire stands, this time focused on me.

  It snarls.

  I yank the knife off my thigh holster.

  We collide hard, and air flies out of me in a gushing whoosh. I stab at the eyes, but the vampire is fast and willow slender. She slithers out of my grip and slips behind me before I fully understand she’s moved at all. I drop into a roll and spring up three feet away.