Kiss Me Deadly Page 8

  Perfect.

  I crack my knuckles and slip through shadows pooled around the edges of the street, careful to avoid the light from the closest lamp. I sniff the air, stiffening when I detect a faint animal scent. I spot the mangy-looking fox out the corner of my eye as it pokes its nose into a trash can. Urban foxes are apparently common in London, but I am still strangely invigorated by the sight. It’s like a magical encounter; a shamanic meeting with my totem animal, or something romantic like that. Our eyes meet and we exchange a long look; she’s a tough cookie, this little fox, but I’m a lot tougher.

  She turns tail and runs.

  I crouch by the hatch and test it. Of course it’s bolted from the inside—maybe with more than one set of locks—but that doesn’t stop me from sitting on the ground and setting the soles of my boots against the forest green paint at the top of the hatch. I lean back on my forearms, using them for leverage, and push with both legs, trying to break the little door.

  It’s trickier than I thought it would be; there’s nothing to hold onto. No conveniently placed lamppost or bicycle rail. My arms keep slipping backward on the cold ground, but I dig in with my elbows and kick my legs again, one final time.

  The hatch crashes inward with a crack that echoes along the quiet street.

  Cringing, I glance in both directions before flipping myself over and wriggling through the ragged opening on my belly. It reminds me of my favorite scene in Star Wars when Princess Leia uses a laser rifle to blast an entrance into the trash compactor, then throws herself through the gap without a second thought.

  I heart Princess Leia. Sue me.

  “Into the garbage chute, flyboy,” I mutter, before tumbling down into darkness.

  ***

  The wooden delivery slide turns out to be badly made from shabby plywood, and I’m glad that good sense won out and I’d chosen jeans for this expedition. As it is, I still have to pull several splinters from my hands at the bottom of the makeshift chute, wincing as I wait for the tiny wounds to close up on their own.

  There are some benefits to being a Creature of the Night.

  I roll my eyes at my own morbid sense of humor and rub my sore palms together. I am in some kind of dispatch room. Piles of books are scattered around on the desks, and almost every inch of floor space is taken up with boxes upon boxes. A machine that looks like it might be for weighing and stamping outgoing mail is precariously balanced on a tall cabinet against one wall, while the other is covered with crooked shelves that have seen better days.

  The whole place stinks of something stale and sort of musty, as though a giant wet dog has taken up residence.

  I jump down from the edge of the chute and tiptoe to the doorway that leads into the shop. I’d scoped out the shop during the day, wandering among the browsing patrons and tourists but, obviously, hadn’t actually been able to get inside the delivery area until now.

  The door is locked, but with nothing more than bolts on the outside—top and bottom. I’d noticed that earlier.

  I take a few steps back and then run at the door, aiming my flying kick toward the bottom where one of the bolts should be. There is a satisfying crunch and I feel the shock of impact all the way up both legs and into my hips. I set my shoulder against the door and heave it the rest of the way open—at least enough so I can slip through the gap. I am leaving more of a mess behind than I normally do, but that can’t be helped. It’s not like there’ll be fingerprints that can be traced, and nobody is going to hear the noise way down here in the basement. Not to mention the fact that I’ll be long gone before anyone is even aware that there’s been a break-in.

  Of course, I have been known to speak too soon—

  Which is when I come face-to-face with a young guy who looks as shocked to see me as I am to see him. We stand staring at each other for an uncomfortable moment, under the faint yellow glow of the tiny spotlights set into the ceiling around the single display case.

  He isn’t very tall, though still taller than me—not exactly difficult given that I’m pretty slight. His shoulders indicate a wiry strength, though, and his hands are clenched into fists.

  The boy has beautiful tanned skin and hazel eyes that are so luminous they almost appear gold. His black hair is short but messy, and it looks like it would curl if left to grow any longer. It makes me think suddenly of Theo, and how this is what his hair might be like if he ever cut it.

  Irritated at myself for thinking of my Maker at a time like this, I attempt to look fierce and give this interloper my best glare. “How the hell did you get in here?”

  The guy raises black brows. “I’d ask you the same question, but it seems pretty obvious how you got inside.” He nods at the half-destroyed door to the dispatch room behind me. “Subtle.”

  He has an English accent that I might think was sexy under other circumstances, but I refuse to get sidetracked by the fact that he’s totally cute. And young—maybe around seventeen.

  It feels as though I’ve already lost control of this situation, and there’s nothing that makes me madder than being out of control. Especially when the kid standing in front of me seems strangely composed after seeing a girl-in-black burst through the door She-Hulk style.

  “You’re staring,” he says with a sudden grin. “Didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

  “My mother is dead,” I snap and then immediately wish I hadn’t. Why am I telling this stranger something like that?

  I shake my head and then sniff the air, narrowing my eyes against the sudden whiff of magic. “What are you?”

  The boy is still smiling. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I have work to do. Stay out of my way and this doesn’t have to get unpleasant.”

  “If you’re going to threaten me, I think it’s only fair that I know who I’m dealing with. What’s your name?” I have a sneaking suspicion that he might be laughing at me.

  “You first,” I counter.

  He shrugs. “I’m Adam.”

  “Moth.”

  “Interesting name,” Adam says. “Did your parents have a sense of humor?”

  I bite back a sudden smile. This is crazy, but I can’t stop the feeling that this guy—Adam—isn’t someone I want to hurt. He seems harmless enough.

  My eyes flicker to the display case. It is filled with books, but even a fleeting glance confirms that the particular tome I came to steal is gone. Dammit! I was only here this afternoon, and it was right there. Don’t tell me someone bought it already—not at the price these people were selling it for. The book didn’t even belong in a place like this—an occult bookstore on the backstreets of London. It should be in a freaking museum.

  I look at the boy’s hands and my stomach clenches. This is the first time I even notice that he’s holding something. A book.

  The book?

  “Give it to me,” I say, before I can even think about it. I don’t know who he is or what he might be able to do to me, but I don’t care. I need that book or I’ll never get away from Theo. Each failure is cataloged; every time I don’t quite achieve the impossible tasks he sets me is just one more reason for him to keep me close.

  I don’t let myself think of the alternative: that each success also ties me more securely to his side. Why would he ever let me go if I am so damn good at retrieving the items he sends me to find? If I think about that too often, I’ll go crazy. I have to stay strong. The minute I let myself feel the creeping despair, I will lose myself. I will lose the part of me that is Marie—and I’ll always be only Moth.

  Adam raises an eyebrow. What is it about the men in my life that they all seem to know that trick? It’s a weakness of mine. My mind wanders to a brief image of Jason Murdoch—all golden hair and deep brown eyes. I push it away and slam the door on it; he is my enemy, and I would do well to remember that.

  I have the scars to prove it.

  I wonder if the same can be sa
id for the kid standing in front of me right now, with the amused expression tugging at his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. Is he my enemy?

  “You want this?” he says, holding up a slim leather-bound volume that has seen better days.

  The door to the display case is open. The weak light from above glints on the glass and shows me Adam’s reflection. I take a step back, wondering if he has noticed the fact that I don’t have one. Another part of me that slowly slips away as each day passes.

  “I need that book,” I say, trying to sound like a tough guy but only managing petulance.

  “You’re telling me,” he says, taking a step forward, “that we’re both here for the same book? I find that a little too much of a coincidence. Don’t you?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” I say, even though I’ve never given it a thought. It’s just something to say; something that might distract him. “I only know that you’re holding what I came here for. I’m not leaving without it.”

  Adam licks his lips. “I need this book far more than you could ever know.” He looks almost regretful. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to make do without this one. There are plenty more to choose from.”

  This can’t happen, I won’t let it. Rolling my shoulders and cracking my knuckles—a nervous habit that Theo has tried to encourage me to lose—I feel the satisfying creak of my leather jacket and set my booted feet more widely apart.

  “You’re not leaving with that book,” I say. “Save yourself some pain and put it down. I’ll let you go and we never have to give this unfortunate incident another thought.”

  Adam sneers. “That’s very generous of you,” he says, “but I think you’ll find I don’t scare so easy.”

  What a shame, I can’t help thinking. And then I launch myself at him, running the few steps between us and leaping at the last possible moment to make the most of what little momentum I can build up in the restricted space.

  We tumble to the ground and the book flies out of his grasp. His hands come up to try to push me off him, but I have my fists gripping the collar of his denim jacket and a knee on either side of his torso. I drag him into a sitting position and bring his face toward mine. Our noses are practically touching.

  He doesn’t look surprised that I’m so strong, but I don’t let that phase me. I grin at him and give him a quick flash of fang—let him think he imagined it later, if he wants. He can’t prove anything.

  “I tried to do this nicely, Adam,” I say, shaking my head as though I am genuinely sorry that things have come to this. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will be taking that book with me.”

  “What do you want with it?” His eyes are a little wide, and he’s lost some of his color; his bravado seems to be drying up. Maybe he got more than just a fleeting glimpse of my fangs.

  I brace my left foot on the floor and give him a shake. “That’s none of your business, kid.”

  “I think it is my business if you’re going to take the book I’ve worked so hard to find. I don’t just want it—I need it. If you’re determined to ruin my life I deserve to know why.”

  “‘Ruin your life’?” I echo. “Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic?” I can’t help the frown that crosses my face. What is with this dude? He seems so sincere, and something about the quiet desperation in his voice is making my conscience prickle and my stomach hurt. I feel like I’m doing something terrible to him, but that’s ridiculous under the circumstances. After all, we’re both thieves.

  His voice is suddenly much harder. “Let me go, Moth.”

  I shake him again, just because I can.

  “Let me go,” he says again, “or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Right, kiddo,” I reply, unable to resist the opportunity to bug him. “What are you going to do? Threaten me to death? Take it from me, Adam, if you’re going to make threats you sure as hell better be able to follow up on them, otherwise—”

  And then he just ... disappears. My hands are left clutching empty air, and I stumble forward, partly because he’s no longer there but mostly because I’m in a state of shock.

  What? Where did he—?

  Adam is right behind me and grabs a clump of my curls. My head is wrenched back, and my neck feels like it’s about to snap. He’s stronger than he looks—maybe not as strong as me, but way stronger than his skinny frame would have you believe. He certainly had me fooled.

  This time I topple backward as he releases me and steps out of the way, moving faster than any human should move. I’m sprawled on my ass, and for a moment I don’t even care about the indignity of it. I’m curious about this kid. He smells human enough, but there’s something other about him, after all.

  “That’s quite a trick,” I say, trying to catch my breath and keep him occupied so he doesn’t think to snatch the book immediately. It’s lying just out of reach. I could stretch and snag it, but there’s no way I’ll be able to do it before Adam stops me.

  “I told you not to take it,” he says. He’s not smiling anymore, no longer mocking or smirking. He doesn’t look happy to have proved me wrong.

  I watch him carefully, as though he’s an exotic new species I’ve discovered. There’s something fascinating about the way his eyes are shining in the half-light; now I know what people see when they catch sight of my eyes in all their silver glory. We are like two sides of different coins, this boy and me. He’s all fire and nervous energy, and I’m ice and barely restrained power.

  I sit up and rub the back of my head where I banged it on the floor. My hair is wild around my face.

  “Tell me how you did that,” I say, genuinely curious now.

  “What,” he replies, “ this?”

  And he disappears again.

  Now you see me, now you don’t. Just blinks out of existence and then reappears a second later, right next to the damn book. He bends and scoops it up, cradling it in his arms as though it is something truly precious—a treasure way beyond its monetary value.

  I lick my lips and wonder if I could try to glamour him, but I’m wearing the damn contacts and I doubt it would do me much good even if I weren’t. If he’s not fully human, I have no idea if my vampiric gaze will work on him. It’s not like I’m much good at it yet, anyway.

  I flip onto all fours and crouch, glaring at this kid who has dared to get in the way of my mission. I have to give that book to Theo. I have to prove to him that he can trust me to do what he wants, that I’m not just waiting for any opportunity to escape him forever. No matter how much you love someone, they aren’t always good for you. Theo is a beautiful drug; he’s like prescription medication I genuinely needed for a while, otherwise I would have died—for real. Now I’m hooked and I can’t stop.

  I can survive without him. I have to try.

  But maybe he can’t survive without me. I know too little about the way things work between a Maker and the vampires he creates. Theo doesn’t make many new vamps anymore. As far as I’m aware there haven’t been any others in the decade since he made me. And before me? I don’t know. The others in our Family tell me it has been a long time, and they were surprised that Theo turned me—especially given how young I was at the time. They still don’t know why.

  All this is whirling in my mind as I watch Adam watching me. His black hair holds blue tones under the flickering light of the display cabinet; his skin the color of pale golden sand, and his eyes almost matching. I wonder where his family came from, originally.

  He is edging toward the stairs. I remember that I don’t know how he got inside the store in the first place. Of course, he probably just did that handy teleportation thing. What was he? Some sort of spirit? I had to speak to Theo about this.