“Bronze for witches, silver for werewolves, iron for Fae and elves, and . . . what for vampires?” She waved a hand through the air. “They’re only al ergic to daylight—oh, you’re using a sunbeam spel as part of the explosion in the explosive round.”
“Yep.” Ejecting a bul et from the magazine, he handed it to her. For most people, it wouldn’t look any different from a regular bul et, but if Chloe tested the material inside with her magic, she’d sense something entirely different. “There’s not enough to damage a Magickal like a pure round made from the one thing they’re al ergic to would, but it’l slow any Magickal down, regardless of species, and emptying a clip into someone wil do the job.”
Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the bul et, turning it this way and that in her hand. She glanced up at him for a brief moment. “I’m not going to ask if you know that from personal experience.”
“Good, don’t ask.” He snagged the round from her hand, slid it back into the clip, and set the clip on the nightstand next to his weapon. He handed Chloe the revolver.
“Crap. You do know.” She checked the safety on the gun as he had shown her, ignoring the incredulous brow he arched in her direction. “The bul et I pul ed from Alex was pure silver.”
“Yeah, that shot was just for him.” He’d thought of this too, had come to only one conclusion. “I’m guessing they wanted to incapacitate him so he was easier to manage while they took care of us.” It also meant they hadn’t real y cared if they kil ed the boy, as long as they delivered to Smith one of the two people who had the information he wanted.
She swal owed, bal ed her fingers in the sheet, and gave him a smile edged in desperation. “Right. So.
You have to have very specialized ammunition. What are you going to do?”
He shrugged and gathered his pile of clothes. “An old friend of Selina’s in the area wil probably give me whatever he has lying around.”
“So, no one they could connect you to.” She laid the revolver beside her on the bed, drew her knees up, and rested her chin on them. “But stopping in Phoenix wasn’t just a random choice.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He bent to brush a kiss over her cheek, then turned for the bathroom. “But believe me, no one would connect me to this person.”
Laughter tinged her voice. “That good, huh?”
“We met. Once.” He glanced back. “It wasn’t pleasant.”
She took a breath, her face sobering. “How do you know he’l help you?”
“I don’t.” He was pretty sure. Mostly. The vision he had of events before him was hazy, but that he could see anything told him Alex and Chloe weren’t directly involved with what he was going to do. In any case, if he was wrong, he didn’t want them with him. “If everything goes according to plan, I’l pick up groceries on the way back. If I’m not back by nightfal —”
“You’l be back.” Her face set in stubborn lines.
“Chloe.” He made the word a warning, an admonishment.
She averted her face, refusing to look at him. “I know what to do, Merek. I wil if I have to, but I won’t have to. You’l be back.”
Arguing with her wouldn’t help, so he left it at that and got down to business. Chloe had a grocery list ready for him when he got out of the shower, and a solemn nod from Alex was al he got from the wolf before he was out the door with a slice of cold pizza in his hand.
Time to see the most obnoxious Normal the gods had ever cursed the earth with.
11
An hour later, Merek was circling the car around a block on the outskirts of Phoenix. The route he’d taken here had been as circuitous as he could make it, and he took his time checking out the address he was looking for.
The place was modest and unassuming. A tidy little house on a tidy little street. Nothing special or different about it except the very abnormal Normal man who lived inside.
Theodore Holmes.
The last living vampire hunter.
Or, the last one Merek had ever heard of, and only then because Selina had told him. Assuming the old bastard was stil among the living, but he thought Selina would have mentioned his dying, if for no other reason than the man had hated Merek’s guts on sight and it amused the hel out of her. That he got on Merek’s last nerve amused her even more.
He parked the car several blocks away and walked back to the house. Stepping onto the porch, he kept his hands loose at his sides and in plain sight. If Holmes stil lived here, he already knew Merek was there, and probably had a weapon or five trained on him.
Something wavered on the edge of his senses, an irritating scrape over his nerves. “I know you’re there, Holmes.”
“What the hel do you want?” The voice emerged from an intercom next to the door. It was gruff with age, but didn’t betray a creak of weakness.
“Your help.” Merek huffed out a laugh, glancing up into a video camera mounted to the porch roof. If anyone had told him a month ago he’d be here, he’d have told them to get their precognition retested.
Holmes’s door swung open, his sharp blue eyes sweeping over Merek and the street behind him. As Merek had suspected, there was a compact pistol leveled on his chest. “Did Grayson send you?”
“What do you think?” Merek didn’t so much as twitch, taking a long moment to look Holmes over as thoroughly as he’d been inspected. It was none of Holmes’s concern that adrenaline hummed in Merek’s veins, his heart leaping at seeing the business end of a weapon, a dozen defensive spel s swirling into his mind, ready to disarm and dismantle the threat.
“I think you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest.” Holmes lowered the weapon slightly. “There’s nothing I can do to bail you out of that much trouble.”
“Let’s make this conversation more private.” Merek nodded his head toward the shadowy interior of the house. He wasn’t saying any more than he already had out in the open.
The old man grunted. “Fine.”
Stepping back, Holmes al owed Merek to pass in front of him and shut the door behind them, reengaging whatever security systems were in place. That little pistol remained trained on Merek while they walked through the house to a smal kitchen. He sat at a scarred wooden table, scanning the room for the exits should he need to make a quick escape.
Everything in the place was functional, if shabby around the edges. A feminine touch showed in some of the decorations, and Merek wondered if Holmes had ever been married. Then he banished the thought. He didn’t want to know about the man’s personal life, and Holmes would probably shoot him just for wondering.
Merek’s clairvoyance leaped at the hint of a question, and his time with Alex and Chloe had loosened his grip on his power, so a vision exploded through his mind. He saw a woman . . . years ago, when the furnishing had been new. A wife. Pretty, with a wry smile. Not a hunter, but she handed a rifle to Holmes and kissed him good-bye, so not ignorant of his profession. Sweat gathered along Merek’s hairline, his hands fisting on the tabletop. His vision dragged him into the near future, two options stabbing themselves into his thoughts. A wiry teenage girl dancing around this kitchen before hugging the old man tight. She had Holmes’s sharp blue eyes and the wife’s wry grin. Something about her face was familiar, as if Merek had seen it before, but he couldn’t put his finger on where. Merek shook his head, and the vision crashed into the second option. Selina’s dead face blew past his eyes, the same scene he’d seen the day he’d met Chloe, but now the view expanded and he saw Holmes’s broken body beside his partner’s, a neat bul et hole between the old man’s eyes.