Page 40 of Missing Moon

Whoever is behind me is also giving off a supernatural presence. I do the absolute dumbest thing possible for a woman walking alone at night, and turn down a small secluded alley. As soon as I move out of view of the street, my inner alarm gives off a mild warning prickle.

I walk about twenty steps into the alley before the guy gives up on trying to be subtle and rushes at me from behind.

At this, I whirl around to face him.

He’s about six feet tall, stocky, and smells like a wet dog. He’s cleared the distance between us in under a second, which doesn’t give me a whole lot of time; still, I get my hands up,grab him by the shoulders and pivot him over my left leg in a Judo style hip toss. Unfortunately, the maneuver costs me my grip on the plastic water bottle I’ve been carrying. It hits the alley and rolls away. Most of the force propelling him into the nearby wall is from his charge. I didn’t really throw him very hard.

He bounces off the bricks and whirls to face me.

… and I stop short, jaw open as soon as I recognize him.

“Mack?” I blurt.

A bestial snarl escapes past long, inward-curving fangs. His irises are a yellow-green hue, his face gray as death. In the half second or so I look at him, I’m convinced this might be Mack’s body, butMackis not here.

He lunges at me, hissing and growling. We grab each other by the throat and spin in circles several times while I struggle to find the leverage to throw him again. Damn, he’s strong. I teeter backward. There’s nothing for me to brace against. He’s keeping me away from the wall.

There’s a small difference between him forcing me over onto the ground and me flinging myself backward—which is what I do. The motion lifts him off the ground and allows me to plant my foot in his gut. Rather than crash down on top of me like he’s trying to do, I send him flying up and over me to land on the pavement a short distance away as I skid on my back.

Whatever is going on with him is bad enough that he’s not mentally processing the fact he’s not easily overpowering me. In less than a second, he’s back on his feet and charging again. I flip over into a push-up position and shove hard. Vampire strength has me going straight up. Mack charges by under me and runs face-first into the wall.

My wings unfurl, keeping me aloft.

This is not Mack. This is his body. Something else is in control. I think that until he growls, “What the frick?”

I almost laugh.

Mack’s one of those—well, hewasone of those guys—who really hated cursing. In fact, he used to scold anyone who worked for him if they used bad language. Somehow… the vampire Mack is still retaining that part of his personality.

Oh damn. I really don’t want to do this but… it’s a mercy.

With Mack pushing himself off the wall and starting to circle under me, I dive bomb for the water bottle. He tackles me right as I grab it. We hit the ground together, him on top of me with his head right behind mine. Before he can sink his fangs into me, I twist myself around and ram my left elbow into the side of his head.

A dull thud and faint bone crunch accompany him flying off me into a logroll that comes to a halt with a loudwhumpagainst a dumpster. I don’t bother to waste time getting to my feet just yet; instead, I rip the cap off the water bottle as blue light floods the alley.

Dammit, I can’t hesitate. He’s a threat to innocent people around here. I could have been a mortal woman walking home.

When he comes charging back at me again, I throw myself to the side, somersaulting out of his way and let him run headlong into the other wall. He staggers back, whirling to face me with the most bewildered expression. It’s like watching a dog try to carry a long stick through a doorway and not understanding why it can’t get inside. He’s baffled that I’m fast enough to move away from him over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Mack.”

He growls and charges.

The poor guy’s motions are so direct and unsubtle, like he’s one of the expendable bad guys in a Stephen Segal movie who obligingly sets themselves up to be smashed. I close my eyes and swing. My sense of touch tells me I took his head off. The jolt in the handle of my sword when it hits the spinal cord is obvious.

Mack’s body plows into me and knocks me back a step or three… before it, too, disintegrates into ashes and bone dust. I hold my breath, both to avoid the horrible smell and to stop myself from inhaling Mack’s particles.

After a moment, I open my eyes. There’s nothing left of him but clothing and a vast smear of grey powder with some bone fragments. It looks as if someone dumped a crematory urn on the ground. I crouch over the remains and pick up one of the larger bone lumps. It’s about the size of a hen’s egg, but so eroded I can’t tell what bone it used to be. Maybe Max can use it to figure out what’s going on here.

“Hi, Sam,” says Mack.

The voice sounds simultaneously far away and right next to me.

I look in the direction it came from and make out a barely discernible human figure made of glowing light. ‘Glowing’ is perhaps too strong a word. ‘Faint luminosity’ works better. He’s hard to see it, even at night.

“Mack?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s me… or what’s left of me.”