Drink Deep

CHAPTER TWELVE

HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN
I looked down at the dark, cold steel now pointed at my chest. The weapon was longer and stockier than a handgun, closer in shape to a sawed-off shotgun with a single, wide barrel.
I glanced up. McKetrick smiled smugly. He was a handsome man, with short dark hair, sculpted ch,edh a sineekbones, and a body that wouldn't quit. His eyes were wide and exotic-looking, but his mouth was twisted with cruelty - and there was a new scar across his upper lip that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him.
"Hands in the air, please," he pleasantly said.
For the second time in a night, I lifted my hands into the air. Ironic, wasn't it, that I'd left my sword in the car so I wouldn't scare off any humans? And here he was, pointing a gun at my chest.
"McKetrick," I said by way of greeting. "Could you move that gun, please?"
"When it's so effective at getting your attention? I don't think so. And in case you have any thought of taking a shot for the good of the cause, we're using a new variety of bul et. Something a little less iron-and-steel. Something a bit woodier. A new process that combines the shock of a bul et with the chemical reaction of aspen. It's proven very effective."
A chil ran through me. If he'd managed to turn aspen wood - the one thing that, shot through the heart of a vampire, would turn us to dust - into bul ets, and he knew it was "effective," how many vampires had died in the testing?
"Is that how you got the scar?" I wondered aloud.
His upper lip curled. "I am none of your concern."
"You are when you've got a gun pointed at me," I said, and mul ed my options. Trying to knock the gun from his hand with a wel -timed kick might be successful, but he was former military and undoubtedly skil ed at hand-to-hand.
Besides, the "might" carried a pretty high risk - that I'd take a sliver of aspen to the heart and end up a cone of ashes.
There was also a pretty solid chance he had minions waiting in the wings with similar weapons.
There'd been too much death lately, so I quickly decided playing martyr wasn't an option. Instead, I opted to gather what information I could.
"I'm surprised you're out tonight," I told him. "Shouldn't you be warning folks about the apocalypse? Or maybe hanging out with the mayor? We saw you at the press conference."
"She's a woman with a plan for the city."
"She's a moron who's easily manipulated."
He smiled. "Your words, not mine. Although she has certainly proved receptive to my position on vampires."
certainly proved receptive to my position on vampires."
"So I've seen. I assume you're one of the brains behind the registration law?"
"I'm not a fan," he said.
"Real y? It seemed like keeping close tabs on our activities would be right up your al ey."
"That's only short-term thinking, Merit. If you al ow supernatural aberrations to register themselves, you condone their existence." He shook his head like a lecturing pastor. "No, thank you. That's a step in the wrong direction."
I wasn't real y eager to hear what McKetrick thought the
"right direction" for the city might be, but he didn't afford me the luxury of his silence.
"There's only one solution for the city - cleaning it out.
Ridding it of vampires. That solves the apocalypse problem. In order to clean up the city, we need a catalyst. If we rid the city of a vampire who's known to the public, we might be able to make some headway."
My stomach sanky slys. McKetrick wasn't just looking to kick vamps out of the city.
He wanted to exterminate them, starting with me.
With the gun pointed at me, I didn't have a lot of options. I couldn't grab my cel phone, and cal ing out for humans within hearing range would only put them in the line of fire. I couldn't take that risk. With my increased vampire strength, I might be able to best McKetrick in hand-to-hand combat, but he rarely traveled alone. He usual y came with a pack of equal y brawny guys in unrelieved black, and although I hadn't seen them yet, I couldn't imagine they weren't out there waiting for me.
So I opted to use one of my best talents - stubbornness.
"What exactly do you think taking me out is going to accomplish? You're only going to piss off vampires and incite humans who don't want murder in their city."
McKetrick looked hurt by the accusation. "That's incredibly na?ve. Sure, there may be a few in Chicago who don't realize the breadth of the vampire problem. But that's what this is al about. People need something to ral y around, Merit. You're the ral ying point."
"You mean the ashes I'l become? You know that's al that wil be left, right? A cone of ashes, there on the sidewalk." I gestured down to the concrete below us. "It's not as if you'l be standing over the dead body of a fal en vampire. Believe me - I've seen it."
I said a silent prayer of apology to Ethan's memory for my cal ousness, but given the twitch in McKetrick's jaw, I kept going. "It'l look more like you emptied a vacuum cleaner than staked a vampire, and that's not exactly going to make great television. You aren't even at the front lines."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means there's a mess of humans outside Cadogan House right now protesting our existence, and the National Guard is on its way. Why aren't you out there with them?
Getting to know them? Recruiting like-minded souls? Oh," I said, nodding my head. "I get it. You don't real y like people any more than you like vampires. You just like playing the hero. Or what you imagine to be a hero. I personal y don't think genocide is terribly heroic."
He slapped me across the cheek hard enough to make my head ring, and I immediately tasted blood.
"I wil not," he menacingly said, stepping even closer to me, "let some little fanged bitch turn me from my mission."
My anger - aided by my knife-edge hunger - began to spread through my limbs in a gloriously warm rush that pushed the chil from my bones.
"Your mission? Your mission is murder, McKetrick, plain and simple. Let's not forget that. And I'd reckon that what you know about me - or vampires - would fit on the head of a pin."
"Check the sky," he said, pushing the barrel of the gun into my chest. "You think that doesn't have something to do with you?"
"Actual y, it has nothing to do with us," I told him, but spared him the details about the other groups it might have had something to do with. There was no point in putting them on McKetrick's radar, too.
"How could it not have something to do with you? What else could be responsible for this?"
"Global warming?" I suggested. "Have you recycled today?"
That earn="3"
"You're a sadist," I spat out.
"No," he patiently said, "I'm a realist. You make me violent. You make me fight a war I shouldn't have to fight."
"Blaming the victim is so last year," I told him. I braced for a kick, but nothing came. Instead, he crouched down on his knees, his brows furrowed in concern.
"You don't understand."
"I do. You're an egoist, and you think you know more than anyone else in Chicago. But real y, McKetrick, you're an ignorant coward. You're fighting to take away our rights, and we're the ones trying to solve the problem. Your ego has blinded you. I feel sorry for you, actual y."
That was apparently the end of his patience. He stood up again, stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Two men in black fatigues ran toward us. One pointed another wide-barreled gun at me, while the other wrenched me to my feet and pul ed my arms behind my back.
I cursed him - loudly - and stomped on his foot, but McKetrick's barrel at my chin was a pretty good deterrent for more violence.
"Put her in the vehicle," McKetrick said. "We'l take her back to the facility."
Seeing "the facility" would definitely help me close McKetrick's operations, but it seemed unlikely I'd ultimately survive the visit. Getting into that car was a death sentence, so I fought with al my might. I squirmed in the goon's arms, and as he struggled to keep me upright, shifted my weight and kicked out at McKetrick's gun. It flew from his hand. He immediately went after it.
The goon's grip loosened in the chaos, and with a quick back kick to the jewels and a low roundhouse that connected squarely, I put him flat on his back.
"That's one of my favorite moves," I told him, thinking of a conversation Ethan and I'd had. Too bad I was fighting this one solo.
"Get her," McKetrick said, having plucked up the gun a few feet away and begun walking back to me, arms outstretched.
I turned to run and ran squarely into goon number two. I looked up at him, smiled a little, and offered another below-the-belt kick. This one was smart enough to anticipate the move. He blocked it, but he wasn't the first man who'd blocked one of my kicks. I ducked a punch, and while I was down pounded a fist into his shin. When he hopped in pain, I jumped up and executed a picture-perfect crescent kick that put him on the ground.
That was two goons on the ground with wel -executed kicks, but I didn't even have time to enjoy the victory before a jab to my kidney put me on the ground again.
I looked behind me.
McKetrick stood there, gun outstretched, arm shaking with obvious fury.
"I have had it with you," he said, trigger finger shaking.
After being beaten down by Celina on another rainy night, I'd made a promise to myself. So I stood up and gazed back at him, forcing myself to look calm - and locking my legs skint sizeo they didn't tremble.
"If you're going to stake me," I told him, "you'l do it while looking me in the eye." I prepared myself for the shock: to feel the sharp sting of splinters if he happened to miss my heart, or to lose myself completely if his aim was true. I was brave enough to admit that either end was a possibility.
He extended the gun toward my chest, just above my heart.
I tried one final ploy. "I appreciate this, you know."
I watched him fight the urge, but he stil asked the question. "Appreciate what?"
"What you're doing." I took a miniscule step forward, pushing my chest into the muzzle of the gun. "Making me a martyr. I mean, I get that you'l have to make up some tale about how I tried to hurt you and you saved the city of Chicago from me." I lowered my voice a bit. "But the supernaturals wil know, McKetrick. The vampires. The shifters. They like me. And they won't believe you."
I stood up on tiptoes and looked him in the eye. "They'l find you."
Funny thing about anger - it could help you, or it could hurt you. It could ruin your composure, and make you blink.
McKetrick blinked.
"You bitch," he said, teeth gritted. "I wil not let you ruin this city." The gun wavered, shaking in his hand just a bit. I took the opportunity, striking up beneath the gun and pushing it out of his hand. It flew through the air and skittered across the concrete.
He dived for it.
I could give credit where credit was due: McKetrick was bigger and brawnier than me. But I was faster.
I got there before he did, scraped fingers against asphalt to ensure the gun was safely in hand, and by the time he reached me, turned it on him.
His eyes widened. "You are ruining this city."
"Yeah, you said that. I'd like to point out, though, that vamps aren't pul ing over civilians and threatening them, nor are we pointing guns in their faces."
He growled, spit out a few more curses, and moved to his knees. "Does this make you feel powerful? With me down on my knees before you like some sycophantic human?"
"No. And you know why not?" I gave him a pistol-whipping to the temple that put him on the ground and knocked him out cold. "Because I'm not you."
I closed my eyes just for a moment - just for a moment to breathe - and then opened them again at the sound of squealing tires.
I looked back. The two goons had disappeared, and the black SUV was peeling down the street.
"So much for loyalty," I muttered, then looked down at McKetrick and around the neighborhood. The bus stop was a few yards away, but the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. I didn't have much time, so I was going to need backup.
Lightning stil flashing around us, I dragged McKetrick into the bus stop and propped him up against the bench. I pul ed out my phone.
Catcher answered with a question. "What do you want, Merit?"
That entire house was testy this week, and I was beginning to reach the end of my patience with the Bel /Carmichael clan. Stil , I had work to do.
I gaveizes week, a him my address. "If you can get here fast enough, you'l find McKetrick in the bus stop, out cold."
"McKetrick?" he asked, his voice suddenly suffused with a lot less snark. "What happened?"
"He and two of his goons surprised me in the Loop.
Same song and dance about hating vampires and wanting them out of Chicago. But with a real y bad twist. He has, or at least claims to have, aspen bul ets. I managed to grab one of his guns, but not his goons, who took off. He also mentioned he has some kind of facility. I'm hoping he'l give you some details."
"That would be helpful. You interested in pressing charges against him for assault and battery?"
"Only if it's necessary to keep him locked up."
"Shouldn't be," Catcher said. "If you'l recal , we're no longer affiliated with the city. This is just a couple of guys having a friendly conversation off the record. Funny how the Constitution is no longer an issue."
Maybe not, but that didn't mean my grandfather couldn't stil end up in hot water for kidnapping. "That's your cal . But I don't know how long he's going to be out, and since the city's going to start stirring pretty soon, you might want to give Detective Jacobs a heads-up. You don't want a random CPD uniform finding him before you get here."
Jacobs knew my grandfather, and had interrogated me after a dose of V, the drug Tate manufactured for vampires, had turned the Cadogan House bar into a deadly mosh pit.
Jacobs was cautious and detail oriented, and he was honestly on the side of truth and justice. There weren't a lot of people like that around anymore, so I'l deemed him an al y.
"I'l float the idea to Chuck, see which direction he wants to take. I know he wants to stay on the good side of the CPD, but there's something to be said for testing this newfound freedom the mayor has given us."
I heard the sounds of shuffling. "We're leaving now," he added. "Should be there in twenty."
"It's nearly dawn, so I'm heading back to the House. And speaking of your newfound freedom, any luck arranging a second meeting with Tate?"
"I'm working on it. I'm cashing in the political capital we've got, but the bureaucrats are greedy. Kowalczyk's made them nervous. I'l let you know tomorrow night."
"I would appreciate it. Hey - while I've got you on the phone, have you ever smel ed anything weird around Tate?"
"I make it a habit not to smel politicians or convicts."
"I'm serious. Whenever I'm around him, I smel lemon and sugar. And a little while ago, after the downpour, I smel ed it again - like there was some sort of similar magic flowing from the rain. Like he'd been involved in it somehow."
"We got a little rain out here, but I didn't smel anything. I wouldn't put a lot of stock in smel s. Besides, Tate's locked up. What could he do?"
So he said. I knew there was something in it, but I let it go. "Take care. Be gentle with our soldier."
"Not that he deserves it," Catcher said, and he hung up the cal .
The edge of the sky now searing yel ow, I put the phone away again and left McKetrick in his bus stop, looking like a partygoer who'd had a little too much fun.
Lucky him.