The man having sex with the Black Cat was the last to go. He strode out naked, still erect and holding himself in his fist. Not caring who watched. And perhaps, in this place, no one did care. But that still left behind a handful of Russian bodyguards—and the Black Cat, lounging on silk sheets. Her aura pulsed with a dark fire that I had only ever seen in one other demonic parasite—the Queen of them all, Blood Mama.
This was not her. But the parasite was very old.
Unlike its host—an unconventionally beautiful woman. Her jaw was a little too thick, her nose a bit too pointed. She had a wide mouth and a crooked smile. But there was something in that smile, and something in those features—energy, personality, a crackle—cemented by the pure, raw aggression in her blue eyes.
Hard to know how much of that was from the demon—and how much was leaking through from the real woman, whoever she might have been.
“Now this is a sight,” said the Black Cat softly. “Two Hunters, in one place. That just can’t be right.”
“Run, if you like,” Jean said in a cold voice. “But don’t pretend you’re not frightened.”
“I’m not,” replied the zombie, stretching sinuously. Her body was all woman, covered in dimples and curves that not even her tattoos could obscure. But those tattoos…Those tattoos were something else. As the eye traveled, so did each tattoo—claws becoming roses, fangs lengthening into thorns. Petals and vines dripped with sweat, curving in an inked tangle across her breasts, up to the base of her throat. Even her fingers had been tattooed, but the art stopped around her pubic hair. A fact that I found strangely reassuring—but no less unnerving. I felt as though I was looking at a bad copy of myself, as though someone had tried to re-create from memory the body of a Hunter—but gotten it wrong in ways that were disjointed, dizzying. Her tattoos shimmered in my vision.
Something else, too. I could not name it, but I felt a burn on my tongue when I looked at her, as though tasting something bad in the air. And not just the parasite.
The Black Cat leaned on her elbow, fingers digging through her brown hair, and pursed her lips into a cold, assessing smile. There was nothing kind in her eyes, no amusement. Just business. Dangerous fucking business.
“You,” she said, looking at Jean. “It’s you I’ve felt all these months, creeping around my city. I knew you were close. I could smell you and the bastard Kings in the air. But you,” she added, fixing her gaze on me. “You don’t belong. And there’s only one thing I can think of that would have the power to bring you here.”
She looked pointedly at my gloved right hand. I did not want to guess how she knew about the armor, though I had some idea. It had been worn before by one of my predecessors. No doubt she had also skipped through time.
But all I said was, “You know how this is going to end.”
“No,” she said, smiling coldly. “But you do. Or else you wouldn’t be here. Must be bad, I think. Bad for you.”
Jean lunged. Men moved to intercept her, but I was right behind, grabbing the first thing within reach—a teacup—hurling it like a baseball at the nearest head. Glass shattered against a pale brow. I snatched apples, glasses of iced tea, throwing them with all my strength. It slowed down the men a little. I was surprised that none of them were using their guns—unless the Black Cat was worried about her host. Bullets ricocheting off our bodies.
The woman threw out her hand just before Jean reached her. “If you kill me, the children will never be free.”
Jean hesitated. One of the men slammed into her, both going down in a heap. I was there in two steps, grabbing his ears and hauling backward with all my strength. He screamed, and then shouted in Russian. Large bodies loomed behind me.
“Stop,” said the Black Cat suddenly, her voice so quiet I was certain the men would not hear her. But they did, and quit all movement—standing so perfectly still I wondered if they were human. Only their chests moved—faintly, quickly, in shallow breaths that made their nostrils flare.
I finished hauling the man off Jean. He fell on his knees, clutching at his ears. She hardly seemed to notice—staring only at the Black Cat. “What the hell do you mean they won’t be free?”
“So naïve, little Hunter.” The zombie smiled as she looked from Jean to me. “But that one…she’ll understand.”
“Cut the crap,” I said. Or tried to. Because just at that moment, I saw a flash in the zombie’s eyes, and it was not emotion, but actual light. Inhuman, golden light.
Jean gasped. I took a step closer, a cold hard knot forming in my gut. The Black Cat’s smile widened, and the golden light in her eyes flared brighter, hotter. She seemed to swell in size, and gazed down upon my grandmother with a patronizing smile. “There were Gods once, little Hunter. Just so you know. They fought my kind and put us inside the prison. But not all. Those who were free left their spore in human flesh. Passed down and down and down. Until we have this.” She trailed her hand across her tattooed hip. “Her name was Antonina before I found her. Known for being…odd in the head. Premonitions, dreams. Not afraid of spilling a little blood. She saw my true form, and welcomed me into her skin. Her extraordinarily powerful skin. She had no idea what she could do with her gifts until I stepped in.”
“And the tattoos?” I asked.
“Charms,” she replied, her aura thunderous, dancing with bolts of crimson light. “And irony. Because I care for you so.”
I ignored that. “You use those marks to bind people to you. How?”
“How does a parasite feed on pain?” countered the Black Cat, gazing lovingly upon her tattooed arm. “How did those gods of old, our dear enemies, manipulate the flesh of humankind with nothing but a thought? How, dear Hunters, did they make you?”
She smiled. “A mystery, yes? But, truth. Here, truth. The tattoos are merely an anchor that I use to bind their spirits to mine.” The Black Cat raked her nails across a petal etched into her stomach. One of the Russians standing behind me cried out in pain, clawing at his eyes. The Black Cat closed her eyes, shivering. Tasting his pain, no doubt. Like having straws stuck into her body, I thought. Every time the parasite hungered, it needed only to…poke herself.
“If you kill this body,” she said breathlessly, digging her nails deeper into the petal, speaking over the Russian’s cries as he dropped to his knees, “everyone I have marked will die, as well. Here, inside, in their hearts. Those children you care so much about will never live full lives. The world will be gray to them.”
“Unless,” she added, “they die first. But then, I don’t suppose it would matter, anyhow.”
“All we have to do is get rid of you,” Jean said, though she sounded shaken.
The Black Cat gave her a disdainful look. “Forever? You’ll never keep me away from this host. And you can’t kill me.”
Jean snarled, staggering to her feet. This time, the guards used their guns.
Chapter 9
The boys raged in their dreams, surging over my skin to cover my face. Split second, less than a heartbeat. I glimpsed movement against Jean’s cheeks, a shadow bursting—and then she was protected, as well. Both of us, wearing our demon masks.
None too soon. A bullet bounced off my forehead, the impact making me stagger. I heard other pings, and then a meaty thud, a low cry. One of the shooters bent over, clutching his stomach.
Hands grabbed my throat from behind, trying to choke me. I felt nothing, and slammed my elbow backward, sending it deep into a hard gut. Fingers loosened. I turned and drove my fist into the man’s sternum. Heard a crack. He fell backward, screaming.
I looked for Jean, and found her already at the bed. Her torn blouse was gaping down the front. Somewhere she had found a knife—perhaps from the fallen men at her feet.