Bitter Blood

all that tranquilized after all. He wasn’t fully healed, though, and that was all that saved Michael from having his arm ripped off as the other vamp came up off the floor, grabbed his wrist, and yanked hard enough to break the knife free. It clattered to the stone floor and bounced, and I scrambled after it as Michael punched Pennyfeather in the face a couple of times to try to break his grip, without success. Pennyfeather’s eyes had gone full-on red, and his fangs were down; he was trying to pull Michael down into biting range, and managed to score a long red scrape down his forearm before Michael wrenched backward. I grabbed the knife and headed back, and Pennyfeather knew the rules had changed; maybe it was the look on my face, and the fact that however much I might hesitate at knifing a helpless enemy, I wasn’t even going to hesitate when he was a threat to my friend.

He shoved Michael hard into a table behind him, but Mike was ready for it; he bounced forward again, directly into Pennyfeather, and body-slammed him flat into the floor.

“Shane!” he yelled. “Hurry up. I can’t hold him!”

I was hurrying, and that was a mistake, because one of Myrnin’s stupid always-scattered books slid under my foot and threw me off-balance, and during the second or two it took me to grab my balance again, Pennyfeather heaved Michael off him and almost levitated up to a standing position. He was by no means well; he was swaying in place, but somehow that made him seem more menacing, more inhuman, like some sinister demonic puppet with glowing eyes.

Instead of coming for me, he leaped backward, up onto a table, where he sent glass crashing and flying to the ground, and full-on hissed at us. He was still woozy, and maybe he really would come down for good from the silver, but not yet. Obviously.

Attacking a vampire who had the higher ground wasn’t smart, and I slowed my rush and stood shoulder to shoulder with Michael. If he decided to come at us from up there, we’d be fighting for our lives in earnest, and although the knife would help, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.

“You know,” I said to Michael, “my girlfriend took him down with a broken tree branch.”

“Too bad she isn’t here,” he said. “Watch—”

He was probably going to say out, but Pennyfeather did something neither of us was ready for: he backflipped off the table to the floor, and ran, zigzagging through the land mines of Myrnin’s lab, off into the shadows.

“Dammit,” I said. “What the hell do we do now? We can’t leave him here, not if the portals still work. He could show up in our house. And where the hell is Myrnin?”

“I don’t know,” Michael said, “but definitely not here. We have to get him. Once and for all.”

“We may not have much time.” I pointed toward the black doorway, which was still shimmering. Maybe Claire was holding it open for us, but it was starting to get an uneven look to it. I looked toward the stairs, where the other, non-magical exit was, and for a long moment couldn’t figure out why I was seeing a wall. “Um, Mikey?”

“What?”

“Where’s the regular door out of here?”

He turned and looked, too, and saw exactly what I did: a rough-poured mass of concrete that filled and blocked the stairs that led up and out.

“What the—?” He didn’t waste time on it, though, just turned back to the portal. “That’s our way out. Our only way.”

“Like I said, time’s ticking, man.” I was watching the portal nervously, because it seemed to be vibrating, rippling like silk in a strong wind. Not good, or at least I assumed it wasn’t good. “Either we go now or we’re stuck here, and my odds aren’t so good with two hungry vampires and no blood bank.”

“He’s not going to be easy to catch with what we’ve got here. We need something else!”

I looked around. There was surely no shortage of crap here that could be dangerous, but it was all a hopeless jumble…and as I opened up the first drawer I came to, Pennyfeather glided out of the shadows about twenty feet away, and pounced.

I almost got the knife in place, but he slapped it away, and it took everything I had—and Michael leaping on the other vamp’s back—to wrench free of his grip before he could start ripping pieces off me. I grabbed blindly and wrapped my hand around a heavy, solid piece of—well, something. It looked a little like a fancy camera, only really cumbersome. I didn’t try to do anything clever with it, just whacked it into the side of Pennyfeather’s albino head as hard as I could. It was substantial enough that it didn’t even bend, and he weaved as if I’d done some damage, which I followed up with a kick that doubled him over.

And we still couldn’t get him, because he dodged free of Michael and circled around, and Michael stalked after him, intent and focused and with his eyes glowing with vampire power. He was more concerned for me, and I appreciated that, but I got the distinct feeling that Pennyfeather wouldn’t mind adding Michael’s death to his scorecard, either.

I guess in trying to swing the thing I was holding at the attacking vampire again, I hit some kind of a switch, because I felt a heavy surge of energy crawl up my arm, and then I must have accidentally turned it on Michael, because he flinched as if something had hit him…

And then he just went maniac. He moved in a blur at Pennyfeather, screaming in fury, and Pennyfeather went down hard. Next thing I knew, Michael was holding him on the floor, punching him with vicious fury like I’d never known he was capable of feeling before. It was…scary.

I stared down at the machine humming in my hands and quickly, clumsily felt around for an off button. I pressed something that seemed switchlike, and the hum died.

Michael stopped, breathing hard, staring down at Pennyfeather with eyes that glowed so red they seemed to be swimming with hellfire. Pennyfeather wasn’t moving.

“Jesus,” I whispered, and put the weapon—because that was what it was, some kind of weapon—down fast on the nearest available table space. “Michael?”

“I—” His voice sounded rusty and strange, and he looked up at me with those fury-filled eyes, and I almost wished he hadn’t. “Give me the knife.”

“Um…dude…”

“Knife.”

I shook my head and put it away. “It’s not because I don’t want him dead. It’s because I don’t trust what you’re going to do with it right now.”

“He tried to kill Eve.” There was a kind of terrible eagerness to the way he said it that made me want to shudder.

“Okay, man, it’s great you got in touch with your inner serial killer and all, but no way.” I was serious. I wanted Pennyfeather dead; that was no problem at all. What I earnestly didn’t want was for Michael to wake up from this—whatever it was—and have the memory of what he was about to do. Besides, in the event he suddenly took an unhealthy interest in me, I wanted to be the one holding the knife.

It took another few seconds, but finally the glow faded out of his eyes to a more-normal bloody color—I hated that I could say it was normal—and he sat back, shaking all over. “What the hell was that? I just—”

“Went all evil superhero? Yeah. I don’t know. One of Myrnin’s fun little gadgets, I guess.” I poked at it, frowning, and it slid on top of a pile of books and nearly toppled to the floor until I grabbed it and settled it in place again.

Michael was still holding out his hand to me, and I realized he was still waiting for the knife. Calmly, now. Our eyes met and held, and I said, “Are you sure, man?”

“No,” he said. “But it’s got to be done.”

I handed it to him. Pennyfeather’s eyes were shut, and he looked lifeless already, stunned unconscious by Michael’s furious attack. Lying there silent, he seemed a lot…smaller. And with that androgynous bone structure, he could have just as easily been a strong-featured woman as a man, and that made the whole thing even more unsettling. I wasn’t sure I could have done it at all, honestly.

And just to make matters worse right then, the portal shimmered, shivered, and belched out Claire. My girlfriend was still running on adrenaline; it was obvious in her too-wide brown eyes, the color burning in her cheeks. She had a longbow in her hand that was almost as tall as she was, and an arrow nocked and ready to pull. The arrow had a barbed silver tip.

She skidded to a halt, but she didn’t drop her guard. “Is Pennyfeather—” She spotted Michael kneeling over the fallen vamp, and the knife, and she sucked her breath in hard.

“Has to be done,” I said. She bit her lip, but she didn’t try to argue. “Look, we need to get out of here. Myrnin