Death's Rival by Faith Hunter Page A

franchise store that
     was trying to close, I purchased a third container and shipping materials for the
     bladed weapons. The fifty I tipped the manager ensured that he stopped making noises
     about needing to close the store and got helpful, handing me padding and foam and
     layers of cardboard to keep the knives from shifting in transit. I kept only two weapons—two
     wooden stakes that I could use as hair sticks. If I got stopped by airport security,
     I wouldn’t mind tossing them, and I’d feel safer if I had something on hand to defend
     myself.
    I paid for insurance and overnight shipping to New Orleans and though it was an exorbitant
     price, I didn’t blink at the cost. Another way the vamps had ruined me. Money meant
     a lot less now, was a lot less dear.
Blink. Bloody body. Open eyes
. I put the latest blood vials into a bubble-wrap envelope without telling the helpful
     clerk about the blood, and then secured them into the shipping container so they wouldn’t
     roll around and burst.
    I saw my reflection in the windows against the night outside. I looked like I’d been
     crying, my face strained and flushed. I took my receipts and left.
    Inside the little town I also found a pay phone. I hadn’t seen one of those in forever.
     I went back to the UPS store and held a twenty up to the locked door, mouthing, “Change?
     Please?” Maybe it was the tear streaks on my face, but something worked because he
     cleared all the change out of his cash register for me. I tipped him another five.
     He was a happy camper. But he’d surely remember me.
    Standing in the dark, I inserted coins and called Bruiser on the pay phone. He answered
     with a simple hello. He sounded very British in that moment, though he hadn’t been
     British since the early nineteen hundreds. He also sounded distant and unapproachable.
     If Leo told him to kill me, would he do it? I honestly didn’t know, and it was dangerous
     to be attracted to a man whose loyalties lay elsewhere. “Hello?” he repeated.
Blink. Bloody body. Open eyes.
    “Your pilot is dead,” I said. “Stuck to the bulkhead wall by nails just like a bug
     on display. His blood was sprayed all over the Lear.” My voice sounded hollow, empty,
     and rough as broken stone. “Your new first mate was drained and left on the bunk I
     slept on. The air traffic controller was injured. It was done by two blood-servants,
     one vamp. They knew where I’d be.” I placed a hand over the envelope in my pocket,
     the one I had taken from the drained body of the new first mate. It bent under the
     pressure but didn’t crinkle, a heavy cotton fiber paper. Bruiser started to reply
     but I interrupted with “You have a serious leak. I’ll get home on my own. We’ll talk
     then.” I hung up, walked back to the bike, and lifted the helmet. The phone rang.
     Dang caller ID. I walked over and picked up. “What?”
    “You, little girl, are not human. And I have the security tape.”
    I chuckled. “Reach. I
know
that was not a threat. Your clients would be horrified if they ever learned you could
     be enticed to blackmail.”
    “Not blackmail. Self-protection. I don’t know what you are, but if I feel threatened,
     this will go viral so fast that cheap, pixeled-out video of you carrying a dead cop
     out of a cave will look like child’s play.”
    My past was always coming back to haunt me, ghosts of the dead. I had nearly died
     killing off a whacked-out family of vamps in a closed gem mine in the Appalachian
     Mountains. I had survived but hadn’t been able to save the cop. Another failure I
     carried on my shoulders. A camper had caught the video on his camera as Molly and
     I exited the cave, the dead cop over my shoulder. “I’m not your enemy, Reach. But
     Leo would be, should I tell him you’re monitoring his incoming and outgoing calls.
     For now, let’s just call it even. I’ll keep your secrets. You keep mine.” I hung up
     again and got on the bike. The phone