"Stupid bitch," he said. "You think one little stab wound is going to stop me? I'll enjoy making you pay for that. "
He came at me again, fist drawn back, but I didn't hesitate.
Before he could hit me, I lurched forward and stabbed him again. I felt the blade slide off something in his chest.
A rib, maybe, or some other bone. The sensation made me want to retch.
Douglas screamed again, louder this time, and his beefy hand tangled in my brown hair, yanking my head back until I thought my neck would break. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the glitter of yellowish fangs in his mouth. A vampire.
He was a giant, and he was vampire. One who wanted to drink my blood to replace his own.
Panic filled me. Before he could sink his teeth into my neck, I wrested the knife out of his massive chest and plunged it into his body again.
And again.
And again.
Over and over I stabbed him, blood and tears and mucus covering me like a second skin. Someone was screaming. Me.
Douglas let go of my hair and slid to the floor, but I didn't stop my assault. He kicked out, catching my leg. My knee buckled, and I stumbled back, grabbing the edge of the cash register for support. My shoulder burned with pain, just like my palms had when the Fire elemental who'd murdered my family had tortured me by making me hold onto my own spider rune medallion. The giant vampire flopped on his stomach and crawled around the counter. Some small part of my mind realized that he wasn't fighting me anymore, that he was actually trying to get away from me.
But I still went after him.
I threw myself onto his back and plunged the knife in between his shoulder blades. With my weight behind it, the weapon sank up to the hilt in his flesh. This time, Douglas didn't scream. Something seemed to give in his body, and he stilled. I raised the knife and stabbed him again -
Rough hands settled on my shoulders. I flailed against them, but they were stronger, pinning my arms to my sides.
He pulled me close to his chest, and the smell of chicory coffee washed over me, penetrating the coppery stench of fresh blood.
"It's over, Gin," Fletcher said in my ear. "It's over. He's dead. You can quit stabbing him. "
Fletcher crooned soft words into my ear, still cradling me in his arms. The knife slipped from my cramping hand and clattered onto the floor -
The sound might have only been in my dream, but its sharp echo woke me. So suddenly, that I was standing in the middle of my bedroom headed for the door before I realized it was only a dream, another one of my ugly memories manifesting itself. For a moment, I felt that hysterical rage burning through me, that gut-deep, primal need to survive no matter what the cost or consequences.
The instinct that had dictated so much of my life.
I sighed and rubbed the gritty crud out of the corners of my eyes. My psych professor at the community college would have said the dreams, the flashes of my past, were my psyche's way of dealing with the trauma. Of healing.
Quack. To me, the dreams, the memories, were tiring trials, like Marley's ghost rattling his heavy chains at Scrooge. I'd lived through the events once already. I didn't need the Technicolor replay at night.
And I certainly didn't need to dwell on them now.
So I crawled into bed, snuggled back into the warm spot underneath the flannel sheets, and forced myself to relax. To let my body sink into the mattress. To unclench my jaw, uncurl my fists, and forget about the night I'd so brutally killed a man inside the Pork Pit. One of many.
But despite my best efforts, it was still a long, long time before I drifted off to sleep once more.
Chapter Thirteen
"This is getting to be an annoying occurrence," I said.
Just before noon the next day, I stood in the storefront of the Pork Pit. Once more, the restaurant was as empty as a church on Saturday night, except for Sophia Deveraux, who was at the back counter mixing white vinegar, sugar, mayonnaise, and black pepper to make the dressing for a batch of coleslaw. The Goth dwarf had lightened up her wardrobe a bit today. Instead of her usual black T-shirt, she wore one that was blood red - and decorated with lacy cutouts of white coffins. The collar around her neck resembled a thick garnet snake, with chunky square rhinestones for scales.
My eyes flicked over the empty booths, the abandoned tables, the deserted stools. Normally, Wednesday was a busy day, with people coming in to get their midweek barbecue fix. But not today. I knew Jonah McAllister was Mab Monroe's number two guru, that he was a slick, powerful, corrupt lawyer in his own right, but he must have had more influence than I'd realized, if he could convince people to stay away from the Pork Pit two days in a row. I wondered how long the lawyer could keep up the pressure - and what I could do about it. Other than kill the bastard. Which would only cause more problems for me, in the end.
"Did you send everyone home with pay already?" I asked. "Is that why there's nobody here but you?"
"Um-mmm. " Sophia's grunt for yes.