Chapter Sixteen – Jack
Chapter Sixteen
Jack
We parked in the apartment’s parking lot and Paco pulled up beside us. It was pushing ten-thirty, Rabbit’s grandma was certainly back by now. Paco gave me a nod, which I returned, and Rabbit hopped out of the car none-the-wiser, bouncing excitedly across the parking lot.
“Wait up,” I told him. He jumped up onto the curb and walked along it like it was a tightrope, until I caught up to him. “I hope you’re tired. You’ve got to go to school tomorrow, right?”
“No, tomorrow’s Saturday.” The things you lose track of when you spend half your life dead.
“You still have your house key?”
Rabbit held it up like a trophy. “Yep!”
“Good.” Because the last thing in the world I wanted to do was have to go back and fish it out of the ball pit.
One of the lights outside Angela’s apartment was out. I felt sure it’d been working when we’d left.
“Can I do it?” he asked, when we got to his door.
“We could just ring the doorbell.”
“I’m going to do it,” he said, bringing the key out. It took his clumsy hands longer to fit it into the lock, and when he tried to turn it, it wouldn’t budge.
“Need some help?” I asked, after watching him struggle.
“Yeah,” he admitted, stepping back. My hand found the key in the semi-dark, and felt a pattern of scratches against the key-plate—and it was hard to turn now, I had to twist it slowly, afraid of breaking the key off in the lock.
I opened the door, pushing Rabbit back on instinct, as I realized the entire apartment was dark—and I could smell blood. A lot of it. Fresh and true.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
“Don’t cuss,” Rabbit said, surely in imitation of his mother.
Without thinking, I grabbed him, and ran.
We flew to the end of the hall and I took the stairs two by two, Rabbit struggling all the while. “Put me down!”
“Stop it,” I said, and shook him for emphasis. Parts of me I wanted to ignore forever said I could easily make him stop squirming with a bite.
I raced across the parking lot with him under one arm until we reached Paco’s car, where Paco was already rolling the window down. “What’s wrong?”
I was about to announce that someone was dead when I remembered who I was holding. I opened up the back of Paco’s sedan and tossed Rabbit in back. “Go to sleep, now,” I growled. He landed, and whirled, almost clambering back out.
“GO TO SLEEP,” I commanded, with all of my will—and Rabbit slumped into the wheel well behind Paco’s seat.
“What the fuck, Jack?” Paco growled.
“Get somewhere safe, fast, and call 911. I smelled blood—someone’s dead up there.”
Paco started. “Who?”
“Grandma, I’m afraid—if she’s still alive, I’ll see what I can do but,” I quickly shook my head.
“You can’t go back up there alone!” Paco’s lips pulled into a thin line and his expression became determined.
“I’m not alone. Someone gave me a silver knife.” I slammed the car door. As I ran back the way I’d come I heard Paco’s car squeal out of the parking lot—and I was sure I saw someone peeking out from in-between Angela’s blinds above.
The door was open like we’d left it, the scent of blood still wafting in the air.
My eyes adjusted to the near dark instantly and I listened for any signs of human life, hisses of breath, the desperate thudding of a low-blooded heart—but nothing.
And when I reached the living room, I knew why—Angela’s mother was crumpled on the floor, her head at an odd angle, almost twisted off. Bastards.
I knelt down, the scent of blood an almost overwhelming temptation—except for the fact that it was cut with slightly sour dog.
I heard a rustle behind me, one any mortal would’ve missed, and it was hard not to whirl—but my advantage was that whichever Pack member stayed behind thought that I was human. I carefully knelt down as if considering the corpse.
The man behind me came up in an eager rush—I threw myself sideways and kicked out, catching his legs, sending him sprawling to the bloody ground for a moment before he bounced back up, trying to catch me before I could rise.
I rolled sideways and lunged at him. He feinted and jumped behind the couch, and I realized I had another advantage as well—I was between him and the door.
He was one of the men I’d seen at the were-bar—the older seeming one, Daziel. “What the hell do you want with Angela?” I asked, matching each of his movements like a mirror, ready to stop his escape.
“This doesn’t concern you—get the fuck out of the way.
” He grabbed hold of the short side of the couch and hefted it—it went up and over lengthwise, clunking to lean against the wall, as he tried to run.
I threw myself after him, taking him down by his legs.
He kicked and caught me in my chest, and I felt ribs break and begin to instantly reknit.
I yanked him back bodily, as he scrabbled at an end table, sending a lamp crashing to the ground.
“Tell me!” I compelled him, inching him back.
“It’s the boy!” he shouted, then wriggled one leg free to kick at my jaw. My head snapped back, reeling, but I refused to let go of the other leg, so he redoubled over himself like a snake, coming to wrestle, wrapping both his hands around my throat.
Once again, I remembered pain. I punched him in his side, in his ribs and gut, but he held on, and I could feel my windpipe crunching—but I didn’t really need to breathe. I scrabbled my knee up beside him, reached into my boot and freed the knife.
I plunged it into his side—I could feel it fight to get through the leather of his coat, but when it reached his flesh it made it part like warm butter.
He howled and released me, arcing back, one hand instinctively going for his wounded side, the other out for balance and I—I sliced at it.
The knife fell between his fingers, cleaving his ringfinger and pinkie right off.
His anger surged, I could feel it like an oncoming storm—but then sirens began wailing outside. He leapt and raced for the door, faster than I could react, as I heard boots stomping up the outside stairs.
I had just enough time to put the knife away and move to a kneel as the cops came in, guns and flashlights blazing.
I could feel blood soaking in through the denim of my jeans—the werewolf’s or Angela’s mother, I didn’t know—all I could think of was water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink—before I was tackled.