indication of how he wanted me to move.
“What the hell are you?” Tattoo asked. Fear colored his voice—a beautiful sound.
“Someone you shouldn’t have pissed off today,” Phin replied, the sound reedy, almost inhuman.
Tattoo’s breathing increased, so heavy my entire body moved with the force of it. Made it harder to breathe myself, with his arms so tight around me. I glared at Phin, hoping he got the gist of the silent message:
“Any closer and I’ll bite her,” Tattoo said, his breath hot against my ear. And reeking vaguely of dead fish.
Phin’s nostrils flared. “You’ll be dead before you taste a drop of blood.”
“If I get bit by a Halfie,” I said, gasping for air, “does that make me a Fourthie?”
“Eh?” Tattoo grunted. His hold loosened.
Phin blinked, twitched his head left. I kicked Tattoo’s left shin with all my might. Something snapped. He yelped, and his grip loosened more. I let my legs fold, let all my weight go, and dropped to the mat like a stone. Rolled sideways, even as Phin sailed over me, a streak of black and tan and long feathers.
Skin smacked against skin. Tattoo shrieked. I came up on my knees, sucking air into my starving lungs. My vision blurred briefly, and I nearly fell over sideways. Another shriek.
“Don’t kill him,” I said.
The scene cleared. Phin had Tattoo pinned to the wall, one hand curled tight around Tattoo’s throat like a bracket. Tattoo’s massive frame hung at least six inches off the ground, toes pointed, eyes bulging, his bald head starting to resemble a tomato. How the hell did Phin have enough strength in one arm to do that? I couldn’t fathom it. Almost didn’t believe I was seeing it.
“We need answers,” I said. I used the edge of a bench to lever to my feet. The world stayed upright this time. The stink of Tattoo’s sweat was all over me. Nasty.
“Ask anything,” Phin replied. “He’ll answer.”
“Not if you snap his neck. I have a better idea.”
Phin let go.
Tattoo slumped to the mat, gasping and choking. For a moment, I swore he was sobbing.
I found a long iron ladder in the rear corner of the locker room that went straight up to the roof. The key, stupidly enough, was on a nail right by the padlock that sealed the hatch on the inside. After Tattoo was secured, hands and feet, by half a roll of tape, Phin hauled him to the roof like a practiced fireman. He’d removed the tattered remains of the black polo, once again showing off a perfectly sculpted torso.
Maybe his secret day job was as a personal trainer.
Tattoo yelped and squealed beneath his tape gag the moment the afternoon sun scorched his skin. Phin dumped him on the soft tar roof and spread out his magnificent wings, creating a small space of shade. I watched, grinning, as Tattoo squirmed into a fetal position to stay out of the direct sun.
“Those have to hurt,” I said, pointing to the patches of blistered skin on his bare arms and legs.
He grunted something that could have been “Fuck you.”
Phin lowered one corner of his wing. A patch of light shone down on Tattoo’s thigh and added another blistered burn. Tattoo’s scream was muffled by the gag. He wiggled his leg out of reach of the deadly rays. It took more sunlight to kill Halfies than to kill a full vampire. That gave us plenty of time to play.
I squatted next to Tattoo’s head and thumped him between the eyes. “Play nice, asshole, or you’ll be sporting the world’s worst suntan.” He blinked, and I took that as an acceptance. “Do you know who I am?”
He cut his eyes down at the tape covering his mouth. I grabbed the edge and ripped it off. He hissed and licked raw lips.
“Answer her,” Phin said. The dangerous, inhuman tone was gone, but a sense of anger still lingered in his voice.
“Everyone’s talking,” Tattoo said. “New Hunter in town that no one can catch. She disappeared from a prison cell. Killed an elf mage. Some say she can fly, others say she knows magic.” He squinted up at me, hesitant. “You her?”
I cocked my head. “What do you think?”
“If you ain’t her, you’re crazy, walking into a room full of Fangs like you did.”
“Half-Fangs.”
“Fuck you.”
Phin shifted his wings. Sunlight struck Tattoo’s legs. He yelped. Skin scorched. He tried to roll but had nowhere to go except the slowly shrinking shade created by Phin. I let him twitch awhile longer and then tapped Phin’s leg. His wings went back up.
“So what have we learned?” I asked Tattoo.
He grunted. “Is he an angel?”
“Why? You hear a choir singing?”
He looked up, over, all around, as if actually listening for music. “No.”
So much for useful information from this guy. I snapped my fingers in front of him. “Back to me, okay? Have you seen a Halfie recently who wears a blue sports jersey and who was probably the one saying I disappeared from a prison cell?”
“Knew it was you,” he said. Awe seeped into his face, creating a truly disturbing sight, mixed with the tattoos and bloodlust. “Seen him last night. Came in with two other kids, bunch of punks looking for their balls, talking shit.”
“Why’d he try to kill me this morning?”
“Ask him.”
“I did, but I didn’t like his answer and killed him. So now I’m asking you.”
Tattoo flinched at the “killed him” part of my statement. “Bragging rights, probably. Looking to up his credit with his people, ’cause he’s so green.”
“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I’d buy that if he hadn’t brought along a hand grenade. It’s hard to make a name for yourself if you’re being scraped off the roof of an underground parking garage.”
“Is someone recruiting?” Phin asked.
Tattoo bared his teeth at Phin, confused. “Recruiting for what?”
“You tell us.”
“Nothing to tell.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I said. “Halfies like to brag, because you know you’ll never be as strong or powerful as real vampires. You have to make your bones by picking fights with the Triads. Anything to prove how badass you are. I want to know who’s been talking about the Triads.”
“Look,” Tattoo said, sweat beading on his upper lip, “the kid in the jersey was talking shit last night. He mentioned Park Place, near the old waterfront.”
I knew the area. Twenty blocks north of St. Eustachius, a half mile of abandoned shops and structures lined the west bank of the Anjean River, several blocks deep. They were representations of Mercy’s Lot’s heyday of yesteryear—brick buildings and turn-of-the-century architecture, two old stage theaters that closed when the river flooded its banks fifty years ago, dozens of acres of property no one could develop. Good place for Halfies and other unsavory sorts to hide from prying eyes.
“What about this place?” I asked.
Tattoo chewed his lower lip, drawing blood. His chin trembled. He looked positively sick. “Said anybody who wanted to be somebody should be there Saturday night, midnight, for a meeting. Open to any nonhumans who had a bone to pick with the Triads.”
Ding-ding-ding! We had a winner. Park Place, tomorrow. Midnight. “Where exactly?”
“Building on the corner of Park and Howard.”
“Who’s organizing this?” I asked.
“Don’t know.”
Phin lowered his entire right wing without my having to ask. Tattoo shrieked and wriggled like a fish on a hook. Anywhere he went, he couldn’t find enough shadow to avoid more second-degree burns. Burns that were quickly turning to third-degree, scorching naked flesh on his thighs and knees. The odor of burning meat made my
