“Only to be replaced by another.”
“And that’s job security,” Fang said. “I end rubbish. Your survival alone should be enough evidence that my job is necessary.”
“These are people, not rubbish. Human beings make mistakes, Fang. We can’t go around killing people just for the choices they make.”
“They make the choice to be rubbish, to act like rubbish. To be thrown away like rubbish.”
“Redemption, Fang. We have the courts and the law, which summon them to face the consequences of their actions. People can come back from their mistakes,” Coyle said.
“Those meaty fists of that piece of trash back there would have erased you if I didn’t pull the trigger,” Fang said. “Redemption for the wicked serves up an empty plate for the righteous dead. Maybe his heart could have turned into a pile of gold while the hangman’s noose slipped over his eyes, but really, what would that matter if pennies are covering yours? Doesn’t the good book say God slays the wicked with the word of his mouth? Is it true his vessels of clay are smashed against the rocks of injustice on a regular basis? Good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. All without any input from us lowly jars of clay. But some of us”—she pointed to her own chest—“were created to make sure bad things happen to bad people.”
“Is it always your first inclination to kill?”
“Just the bad ones, remember?” Fang packed away her supplies, stood and offered a hand.
Coyle grabbed Fang’s hand, and the vampire pulled her up. She grunted, tightening her straps together. “I suppose we’re always going to have this issue, aren’t we?”
“What, bleeding and bandaged?”
“Justification for our actions,” Coyle said.
“It can’t be easy being a constable, surrounded by men who don’t appreciate you. Why do you help those who don’t like you?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do and it’s what I do best. Nothing’s going to stop me from achieving my goals.”
“I know what I’m trained for and what I can do. And I do it very well,” Fang said. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t care about people—or you, for that matter. I’m not all bad.” Fang moved her attention to a corner of the room and gave the slightest smile.
Coyle followed Fang’s curious smile and glanced at the empty space in the corner. She was smiling at nothing.
Or was she?
Coyle thought for a moment and was struck again by memories of Treece’s journal. There was a name that appeared on page after page. It was the name she had just heard upon waking: Embeth. Part of her wanted to know more, if just to understand or possibly help Fang. But, Coyle opted to keep quiet about the dead girl. But she did want to touch on their past.
“I suppose we all have things, or people, that have shaped us into who we are today,” Coyle said. “Forged in the fires of passion or malevolence.”
Fang said nothing.
“Our experiences of youth prevent or protect us from discovering the answers we seek,” Coyle said. “The answers we deserve.”
Fang nodded. “And that’s how we take our first step along the path we find ourselves on.”
“And we don’t know how to get back,” Coyle said.
“Maybe some of us choose not to go back,” Fang said.
Coyle nodded, reflecting on Fang’s words. The moving pictures replayed in her mind. The haunting dark eyes staring at the camera. The madness etched into the expressions of a young woman who was experimented and tortured and sent around the world to kill.
“Some of us choose not to go back.”
Coyle had spent hours poring through the journal. All the words and plans Treece had written about were manifested in the woman next to her. Tragedy and accomplishment. Fears and failures. Madness and betrayal.
“I could help you,” Coyle said. “When the time is right.”
“And I could help you find him,” Fang said.
“Who?”
“The one who let you live.”
Coyle raised her hand to her chest, fingers tracing the bumpy path that would remain with her until she died.
“How’s your balance?” Fang asked.
Coyle shifted her feet and flexed her knees and arms and hands.
“Lots of pain.” Coyle glanced at Fang’s bandaged arm. “What happened to you?”
Fang smiled. “I’m dying is all. Been through this a thousand times, only this time it just may happen. Here, take this.” She handed her a small vial of opaque, golden liquid.
“What is it?”
“It makes you good as new for about an hour, but the side effects will put you in bed for a couple of weeks. We used it when we were almost at death’s door and needed to finish a mission.”
“Why don’t you take it?”
“You’re more important, and I’m expendable. Besides, I have aurorium running through me. Most of my strength is gone, and I feel as if I’m existing on vapors. But I can manage the simple things.”
Coyle glanced at Fang before downing the contents. A bizarre combination of heat and ice rushed through her veins, followed by tingling warmth. The swelling of her wounds subsided rapidly, strength returned to her joints and the pain in her aching ribs melted to nothing.
“Better?” Fang asked.
“Packs quite the punch,” Coyle answered, flexing her hands. She took a couple of deep breaths without pain.
“You look miles better, but it’s just for an hour. That means we need to get this finished. Now, Moreci sent Veiul to kill me—”
“How do I know you’re not Veiul?”
“Don’t start— Wait. That’s an excellent point. Maybe you should confront Moreci and let me take care of the remaining passengers and crew. He’s infused with aurorium. I would die within a few feet of him.”
“Or else you’d shoot him on sight.”
“Oh, I would, yes, right. And you don’t want him dead, so that’s out. You’ll have to pretend you’re Veiul and get close to Moreci by yourself. Think you can handle that?”
“The man who already threatened to
