Dead Shifter Walking (10 page)

“Olie, Olie!” Jerry screamed as I walked into
oncoming traffic around the mall’s parking lot.

I turned, finding my vision leaving me
completely. What I saw forced me into action; I ran, seeing only
the horror movie in my head. Dimly I was aware of Jerry starting
the Beast to follow as I jumped the wall between the homes and the
mall. I spun in a circle, trying desperately to latch onto the
screams or the scent of blood.

In my mind’s eye, I held her by her dark tan
throat, disgusted by her pathetic attempt to plead for her life and
her half-blood brood she called children. Not wanting to waste
time, I lowered my fangs, sinking them bone-deep into her flesh
before shredding her jugular. She babbled endlessly as I made my
way to the children’s room. She had been intelligent enough to have
a separate lock on their door, but it made no difference. I was the
dominate life form in this pathetically small living quarters.

In my real body, I fell to my knees, unable to
move, unable to help as I watched their execution. It was the same
as the mother’s: throats torn from their delicate frames. I willed
myself to move, screamed inside my head, and thought I heard it
echo in my deaf ears.

He chuckled in my mind, he—I screamed at
myself—was a male. The fucker might be making me helplessly watch
his murders, but I was in his head, and I would find out who the
sick fuck was. He felt me turning from helplessness and pulled
quickly away, leaving me with a dim vision of a parking lot and
stairs directly in front of me.

Like a drunk who had lost motor function, I
crawled up the stairs using the handrail for support. At some
point, Jerry arrived. “Call for help,” I whispered.

He did as instructed as I finally reached the
top, listening to Jerry scream at the 911 operator that he didn’t
know what happened.

“Murders,” I whispered as I touched the beat-up
brass doorknob, cold against my feverish skin. I again wanted to
whimper, but swallowed instead, pushing the knob slowly.

I heard Jerry’s intake of breath and rapid-fire
instructions to the operator again, this time it seemed he wasn’t
receiving any talkback.

I felt more than heard the little gasps for
life; running into the children’s room, three forms lay still,
while a fourth was struggling, a teenage girl.

I floundered for something to stop the bleeding,
tearing off my shirt and pulling her up right against me in an
attempt to stop her rapid heart from pumping her life force out
onto the pale brown carpet. The air was a thick with fear a
tangible emotion in the room, her own mixed with it, having watched
her siblings die in front of her with no skills to save them.

The tears flowed down without my noticing as I
soothed her damage soul, she would never make it. I felt deathly
cold skin under my fingers. A cold I knew all too well. It was all
I could do to ease her transition. Pushing my own wrecked emotions
down deep, I pulled contentment and joy wrapping it around her
limbs. Her erratic movements stopped and her breathing evened out
while her blood soaked my t-shirt and ran down my stomach to
slither off my leather pants.

Still I held her, promising over and over I
would get the son of a bitch and make him pay dearly.

It felt like hours later, Jerry was pulling me
away as the paramedic put her small body into a black coroner
bad.

Mercer rushed in. “Olivia,” he repeated. My eyes
refused to leave the small bags lining up to leave.

“Get her out of here,” he told Jerry, who began
leading me out.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to collect your
clothing,” said an investigator.

Both Jerry and Mercer went to tell the guy to
screw off, but I waived them off, depositing everything but my
underwear into the bags he had labeled.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, careful to keep eye
contact.

“How the fuck do I get her out now?” Jerry
asked. “Mercer watch her; I have new clothing in the car.”

Mercer nodded, wrapping his black blazer around
my shoulder. I shivered involuntary. Mistaking it for cold, Mercer
rubbed my shoulders. “Kid, come back to me,” he whispered.

I pulled my eyes from the bag into pale blue
eyes. “I felt him, Mercer,” I said, grabbing my biceps shaking. “I
felt the sick fuck rip their throats out. He enjoyed it, called
them half-bloods.” I shook my head, my breathing irregular, looking
back to the small bags. “These aren’t murders, Mercer,” I said,
returning to his eyes. “This is genocide.”

Mercer’s hands stilled on my forearms, dark
alarm crossing his eyes as Jerry returned with soft jeans and a
pink V-neck. “We’ll get this fucker,” Mercer said to me.

I searched his eyes, not finding any hint of
deceit or false bravo. I nodded. “Call me if you find anything.
I’ll do the same,” I said, turning into Jerry’s embrace.

“Take care, kid,” he said so softly, I thought I
imagined it.

The police had efficiently set up a barricade
where the neighbors waited. An older woman with the same eyes as
the dead woman cried into a policeman’s shoulder; another woman,
younger than the first, just let the tears fall, patting the older
woman’s back with her hand. Family, I thought quietly. My eyes
landed on the demigod from the mall. He raised a dark blond
eyebrow. I shook my head, pushing closer to Jerry.

Firmly buckling me in the Beast, Jerry went
around to the driver’s side. I stared at my hands, seeing the blood
I had already washed off. It was my fault. I was out shopping while
they were being hunted and eliminated. What were they? I asked
myself bowing my head into my hands. Every indicator said human,
plain old basic human. What made them so special that they needed
their throats torn out?

I let the darkness close over me, drowning out
all other emotions, watching their deaths play out over and over
again.

Hours later, I assumed by the night sky out the
window at Jerry’s small but comfortable home, I buried the
memories, having replayed them and tormented myself enough. I
didn’t get a look at him in any mirror or reflective surface,
nothing. Not a scrap of seeing through his eyes gave me any idea
how he had been able to manipulate me either.

Jerry placed a cup of coffee in front of me,
sitting across the table in his pale yellow and green kitchen. I
took a sip, shaking my head.

“I can’t see anything that helps us know who did
this or how he would be able to manipulate my vision.” I rubbed my
temples, feeling overwhelmed.

Jerry cleared this throat, his vision lost to
the brown surface of the coffee. When he finally gained the courage
to meet my eyes, he said, “I have an idea on that.”

I set my cup down and crossed my arms over my
pink shirt, waiting for him to elaborate.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Before you
go jumpin’ to conclusions, I had nothing to do with it, nor did I
even know it was actually possible.”

I relaxed my arms into my lap, noticing the
softness of the denim, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He
leaned his dark lean frame forward, pushing his usually immaculate
suit against the whitewashed table. “This is old magic,” he said,
using his pointer finger to tap the table, adding emphasis to his
revelation.

I didn’t tamper in magic aside from what was
naturally gifted to me. “What’s the difference between old and
new?” I asked.

Jerry blew out a breath, leaning back against
the white chair. “You got a few decades?” he asked seriously.

I smirked. “No. What are the main features that
make you think this is old magic?”

“Well for one,” he said, leaning forward bracing
his elbows on the table, “it ain’t been seen in a century.”

I braced my elbows on the table, mirroring his
stance. “How is it, on occasion, you are well-spoken individual,
while on others, your grammar leaves much to be desired?” I asked,
honestly interested in a break from the turmoil in my head.

He smiled a wide carefree gesture, brushing
pretend dust from his shoulder. “It’s all about presentation.
Sometimes, I need to be a well-educated individual; other times, a
hood rat be betta.”

I smiled, leaning back against the chair. “Very
true.”

“Now,” he said, leaning forward
conspiratorially, “back to this being older magic than my
granddad.” He cast a look behind me and my back stiffened, waiting
for the attack. When he turned his gaze back to mine, I relaxed.
“There are ancient stories of mortals walking in the realms of the
gods, learning and bringing back that knowledge to the people. That
is the first and last time it is ever mentioned. So for this fucker
to be able to do it to you, he has to be old and powerful…” He
paused on that word, searching my eyes with an uncomfortable
intenseness. “So do not think you can handle him alone,” he stated
slowly.

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, got it,” I said
sarcastically. Before he was able to scold me again, the kitchen
door opened.

I reached in my boot for one of my hidden
daggers, while Jerry, on the other hand without looking at the open
door just waved in Mark from out of the rain, expecting him. Oh
geez, how much did I miss? I had been out of the loop for only a
few days, wasn’t it?

I shook that out of my head, focusing back on
the matter on hand. I raised a now red eyebrow at Jerry, silently
asking if Mark could be trusted.

He nodded, getting back into his explanation.
“The second reason is that it is a very high level of magic, which
takes, oh, maybe a century to master until the wielder is no longer
frying the subject’s eye sockets.”

I sat back hard against the chair, crossing my
arms over my chest. Fantastic, not only did I have a psycho on my
hands, I had a well-educated mage psycho. The key was to figure out
what the similarities were between the two families, and that was
Mercer’s court not mine.

Mark opened the fridge, grabbing a beer and
sitting to my left at the table. “Interesting day at work?” he
asked Jerry.

Jerry now raised his own eyebrow, silently
inquiring if I trusted Mark enough to share the day’s events. I
nodded. “It’s either from you or on the news, I would guess,” I
said, shrugging and rubbing my temple.

Jerry relayed the events that led to my being in
his kitchen, while I checked my cell phone. There was nothing from
Mercer, but I did need to share with him what Jerry had said.

The thing that is killing is old magic, and
experienced. Be careful, I sent, grabbing my own beer from the
fridge and sitting back at the table.

Jerry went to the drawer next to the sink,
pulling out takeout menus. “Well darlings, what will it be?”

We finally decided on Chinese. I ordered the
chicken lettuce wraps without chicken. Jerry was properly scolded
on the phone for that request. He pulled the phone away, glaring at
me.

“What?” I said, pretending innocence. “I like
the sauce!”

Jerry made an annoyed sound after hanging up the
phone. “Oh,” he said, turning from the wall kitchen drawer,
“whoever is getting into your head has your blood. That is the only
way to make this connection.”

I nodded. “That list has to be very small. I can
start there tomorrow and work backwards.”

After dinner and a report from Mark that Kass,
Darren, and Hannah had been successful moved into the safe house
and Darren had an offer in on another home not far from our manor,
I took my leave.

Jerry let me drive the Beast to my hotel,
partially to conceal where I was staying and partially to allow him
and Mark to have some time together; besides, I still hadn’t come
clean with the details of my own personal hit squad and I didn’t
relish getting either of them involved. Steven was mine.

Pulling out of the older, quiet neighborhood, I
took a few side streets and turns I didn’t need to in order to
ensure no one was following me.

A lonely night bellman helped me with my
numerous purchases. I tipped him and closed my door, wanting a
shower to forget this day, but knowing full well my night would be
short and terror driven.

I pulled the new pink V-neck over my head,
tossing it on the couch following by my boots and jeans. Reaching a
hand to release my bra clasps, I stopped dead in my tracks, shocked
at the undead sitting on my bed.

“What the fuck?” I spat, mildly humiliated in my
underwear, and annoyed that Tate had found me.

Eventually, his brown eyes made it back to my
own dark green ones. “We need to talk,” he said softly, the
attraction plain on his face.

I scowled, crossing my arms over bare skin,
watching his eyes track back down for a moment. He cleared his
throat. “We heard what happened.”

I sighed walking towards the shower. “You are
going to need to clarify which incident you’re talking about,” I
said, starting the hot water for a shower. “And furthermore, you
can either wait until I get a shower or talk to me while I’m in
it,” I said stripping out of my undergarments, leaving the door
partially cracked. “It’s been a long fucking day,” I whispered to
myself, stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain, glad it was
only transparent to my shoulders before becoming a solid white.

“Why is that?” Tate asked, his voice coming from
just outside the bathroom.

Damn vamp hearing; I forgot how annoyingly
impressive it was. I sighed letting the hot water run rampant over
my body. The bruises from the hit and run had healed along with the
cut. I slammed my hand against the tiled shower stall; that’s how
my blood became open to the general public. I just left that
vehicle in the fucking street. Idiot!

“Are you alright?” Tate said, now in the
bathroom with me.

Rubbing my hand and checking if I had cracked
any tiles, I glared at him until he resumed his previous post
outside the bathroom.

“What incident did you need to talk about?” I
asked Tate, the exhaustion perfectly evident in my voice.