Meanwhile, the path on the right would go to the canyon, forming a kind of kill chute. I wondered where Jameson was positioned. If Wyatt was right about the Holmwoods keeping him away as a precaution, I wasn’t sure where they would stash him—maybe he was coming later, after the show, but he could also be back in the canyon right now, getting things ready. I tried to picture him setting out guns and ammunition on a cheap folding table, preparing to execute the vampires as they entered the canyon and became human.
The whole idea made me shudder with disgust. Saying that all vampires were monsters, or even that they should all be put down, was one thing. But going through the actual steps to mass-murder them? It seemed so cold. So . . . well, inhuman, I guess. Could Jameson really do that? This wasn’t the first time they were throwing one of these “parties,” but I had no idea how involved he was. Did he stay back, extending his radius and letting Lucy and Arthur do the dirty work? Or did he pull the trigger himself?
Stop torturing yourself, Scarlett.
A couple of feet away from me, Wyatt suddenly jerked upright, looking around. He was in my radius at the moment, but he gave me a frantic look that I instantly understood. I pulled in my radius, cinching it as small as I could, and turned so I was facing the inside of the structure. Any threat would likely come from the boardinghouse behind the ruined wall.
I was reaching for the Glock when Wyatt swung his shotgun up at vampire speed. “Scarlett—” he cried, but I never heard what he was going to say. The sound of a gunshot cut him off just as something very fast struck me from behind.
Then everything went dark.
Chapter 31
I didn’t want to open my eyes. Judging from the extraordinary frickin’ pain radiating from my forehead, any kind of light was going to hurt like hell, and dammit, I had enough pain. In addition to the head thing, and my sore cheekbone from being pistol-whipped, my entire back ached from my shoulder blades to the base of my spine. And I was pretty sure my heels were gonna be cut to hell from being dragged backward like this.
Wait, what?
Reluctantly, I made my eyelids slit open. Someone—a vampire, judging by my radius—had picked me up under my arms and was pulling my body backward. My boots had come off, goddammit, and I could feel little stones cutting and burning my heels where they were dragging on gravel. I could distantly hear arguing voices, but I was still too fuzzy to make out the words. My face was wet, and I could feel a few strands of hair plastered to my cheek. The heavy weight on my hip was gone. They’d taken away the Glock. Or, more likely, I had dropped it when one of the Holmwoods’ people had shot me in the back, propelling me into the wall.
At least, that’s what I thought must have happened. The wetness on my face was probably blood from where my head had struck the stone, but I didn’t think it was bleeding anymore. I wondered about the little walkie-talkie, but instead of moving my hand to check if it was still on my belt, I forced my body to stay limp. I needed a few more minutes to pull my thoughts together before I could fight or even talk.
“Can’t just shoot someone without checking who it is first,” a female voice was complaining. “What if it had just been a lost hiker? I could have pressed her and this would be over in two seconds.” The lilting tone was familiar, and after a moment I realized it was Lucy Holmwood. Who was supposed to be at the show. Wait, how long had I been out? And where was Wyatt?
Another, male voice said defensively, “But it wasn’t just some hiker. And you know she’s not dead, right? She has a vest.”
“Of course I know,” Lucy snapped. “If she were dead, why would I want you to bring her inside? I’m just saying, in the future.” Under their bickering, I heard the creak of a door opening, and realized we were on the gravel just behind the boardinghouse.
Oh, shit. They were going to take me into the building. I couldn’t let that happen, not if I wanted Cliff and Laurel to be able to bail me out.
From behind me, Lucy’s impatient voice said, “Can’t you pick her up? She’s going to leave a mess all over the carpeting.” We paused, and the guy began to adjust his grip, preparing to lift me up. My head still ached, but I wasn’t going to get a better chance than this to get away.
While the guy was bending down to scoop up my legs, I planted my feet and launched myself backward and up, slamming the back of my head into his nose. It hurt me a little, but from the sound of it, it hurt him a lot. I started to stumble forward, back across the gravel. Then I heard the unfortunately familiar sound of a gun being cocked.
There was a loud pop, and gravel kicked up a foot away from me. “Stop moving,” Lucy Holmwood said calmly. I skidded to a halt, the gravel biting into my socks.
“Turn around, please. Hands in the air.”
Shit shit shit.
Raising my arms, I turned around slowly. Lucy was standing in the doorway of the boardinghouse, silhouetted against the gold-hued glow from the building’s exterior lights. I had to squint a little, but even with the backlighting, I couldn’t mistake the gun that Lucy was pointing at my head.
“So. You’re the null from Los Angeles,” she said. “Let’s see. Violet? Ruby?”
“Scarlett.” How had she known that? I hadn’t brought my ID.
“Right. We scouted you, of course. Ultimately we decided you were too comfortable in your position. Too . . . content with the status quo.” She wrinkled her nose, like “being content” was the new “doesn’t bathe.” Then she glanced down at the vampire squatting on the gravel between us, clutching his face. Blood was spurting between his fingers, but Lucy didn’t look particularly sympathetic. “Clay? The railing, if you would?”
He lowered his hands, and I realized that Clay had been the fish tank vampire in the show. “Great. Taken down by a backup dancer,” I muttered. Clay started to snarl at me, but a sharp look from Lucy warned him off. With my hands up, I glanced at my watch. It was a little after ten. I’d only been out for like ten minutes.
Well, that didn’t make sense.
Clay stepped forward and seized my wrist, dragging me into the boardinghouse with more force than was necessary. He might have been stuck as a human, but he was still strong, and I knew I was going to have some serious bruises . . . assuming I survived this.
As my free hand swung down, however, it brushed against the walkie-talkie. A spark of hope hit me, but I would need to look at it to find the right button, and Lucy Holmwood was about two feet away from me. Better to wait until we stopped.
We went through two sort of display rooms, both decorated in what I’d call Early Western Pilgrim, with lots of antiques fronted by little plaques. Finally we reached one that was big, large enough to be rented for private parties. This room had no decorations or furniture, other than curtains on the two side windows, but the far wall was recessed to make a special display spot for a stone bust. There was a bronze rail cordoning off the recessed area, and Clay dragged me straight for it.
Lucy, who had followed along behind us, tossed him something shiny. When he caught it, I saw it was a pair of handcuffs.
Until that moment I’d been able to cling to my natural belligerence, but now I felt an icy stab of fear. A few years earlier, a serial killer had chained me to the floor of his basement, and now I had a thing about handcuffs. I made an effort to keep that off my face.
Clay started to handcuff me to the railing, but Lucy made an impatient noise. “Search her first,” she said. She was standing in the doorway, still pointing the gun. Up close, she wasn’t terribly intimidating. She was shorter than me, though I was in my stocking feet, and she looked all of twenty years old. She was also even more beautiful than she’d looked onstage, with delicate features that would have been right at home on a porcelain doll. She wore black pants and a black button-down with black heels. Everything looked expensive, even the gun.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I asked. “Ninja Barbie?”
Lucy ignored me. “Get the vest off her,” she said to Clay. “No more mistakes.”
He had released me to catch the handcuffs, but he immediately took a step toward me. “I’ll do it,” I said quickly, not anxious to let this guy put his hands on me. He wasn’t looking very happy about the blood still trickling from his nose. While Clay watched, and Lucy held the gun, I peeled off my long-sleeved shirt, unbuckled my knife belt, and dropped it to the ancient hardwood floor. I unstrapped the Velcro on the Kevlar vest—a line of blood had snaked down my neck and soaked into the material—and pulled it over my head, dropping it on the floor in front of me. In my tee shirt, jeans, and bloody socks, I held up my hands, turning around in a slow circle.