"You're not supposed to invoke until we know for sure someone's hurt, or there's a hostage situation," Perry said. He was all about the rules, our Clive.
"We have to assume the officers are hurt, or worse, Clive," Zerbrowski said. "Anita's within her rights to invoke the Preternatural Endangerment Act, which means she, and anyone with her, can use lethal force to save human lives without waiting for a warrant of execution." Zerbrowski was the highest-ranking officer on site, and he was backing me. Clive did what the rule-lovers do, he followed the rules. Later he could tell himself he'd tried to prevent the bloodshed, but he was technically clean on it. He nodded, and said, "You're in charge, Sergeant."
Zerbrowski let it go at that, and turned to me. "Sic 'em, Anita."
I raised an eyebrow at the phrasing, but let it go. His grin was enough; he'd make a joke with his last breath, and after a while you had to let the smart-ass remarks go, or he wore you down.
"Give me a minute," I said. If we'd been trying to sneak up on the vampires I couldn't have searched for them using my necromancy because they might sense the power, and then they'd know we were coming, but with the marked police cars, it wasn't like we were hiding.
In the interrogation room it had been an accident, a little power leaking out, and only after that on purpose. There was nothing accidental about this. Most people who raise the dead - animators if you're being polite, zombie queens or kings if you're being rude - have to do ritual to raise the dead. They need a circle of power, ointment, ritual tools, a blood sacrifice, and even then, they're lucky to raise one zombie a night. I used a circle of power to keep wandering bad powers out of my zombies, and the blood sacrifice just meant I could raise more and better zombies, but with nothing but my power I could raise the dead. If I used all the accoutrements of the profession I could raise cemeteries. I'd kept that part to myself as much as possible, because no one, absolutely no one, should be able to do that - not even me.
I didn't so much try to conjure up my necromancy as release it. The best I could describe it was like having a fist in my diaphragm, a fist that I kept clenched tight, holding on to my power so it didn't escape. This was unfolding my fingers, spreading my hand wide, letting go that tension that was almost always there just under my ribs. It was like letting out a breath I always had to hold, and finally being able to be free.
Maybe for some it was magic and that was why they needed all the tools and ointments, but for me it was a psychic ability, and all I had to do was unleash it. My necromancy was like a cool breeze flowing outward from me. It didn't actually move so much as a hair on anyone's head, so maybe breeze wasn't the right word, but I could feel it seeking outward from me almost like the rings in water when you throw a pebble into it, except I was the pebble, and the power tended to be a little more powerful and directed in the direction I was facing. I could "feel" behind me, but it wasn't as strong. I had no idea why.
Smith shivered beside me, and Clive Perry actually took a step back from all of us. He didn't really feel anything, but I'd learned that his grandmother, like mine, had practiced as a Vaudun priestess, except his had been a bad person and mine hadn't been. It had made him skittish around me, but not have a problem with Smith.
I searched for the undead. My power never even hesitated at a truly dead body. It was as if my power saw it the same as a table or chair: inert. Then I caught a hint of vampire, like something tugged at the edge of my attention, and I'd learned to direct my power so that it was like a scenting hound. I followed that "feeling," that energy, and if the pull got stronger, then it was vampires; if not, it could be ghouls, or zombies, or just a place where vampires had been recently. The feeling got stronger, and stronger, and now my power was being pulled.
"This way," I said. They'd all been with me before on hunts; they knew that once the power found the vampires it was a race. A race to see if we found them before they fled, or found us. We got our guns out and we ran. Running over the brick in the stilettos made me curse under my breath. The men couldn't go first, because I was the only one who knew where we were going. I moved up on the balls of my feet, so the heels didn't touch, and I ran, gun pointed at the ground. I loved Nathaniel, but I was going to have to stop letting my stripper boyfriend dress me for work. I had a moment to realize I hadn't cleaned off the one heel after it went in the vampire's chest. They'd smell the blood on me; they might even know it was Barney's blood. I wondered if they'd think I killed him; I wondered if I cared.
A scream sounded, high and piteous, echoing off the buildings. We ran faster, and somehow I knew the "feel" of vampires would be in the same direction as the scream.
I HATE IT when the bad guys are in upper stories because there are only two ways up, elevator or stairs, and either way they know you're coming and can ambush you. The huge, rickety freight elevator, which was the only elevator in the place, was a metal cage - a kill box, if they had guns. No way.
That left the stairs, which were so narrow, dark, and dank that given a choice I'd not have gone into them. Another scream sounded from above us and there was no choice, so we went up. The steps were so narrow and steep I had to kick the stilettos off, and the moment my bare feet touched the chilled, damp steps, I slipped because of the hose. Shit!
There was just enough room for Smith and Perry to ease past us, while I sat down on the steps and unfastened the hose from the garters. Zerbrowski stood beside me, gun in hand, watching up and down the stairs. He never made one smart-ass flirting remark as I slid the hose down and left them crumpled on the steps. When Zerbrowski missed a chance to make some inappropriate remark, things were serious.
I stood up, my bare feet feeling the grime on the steps, but I didn't slip as I followed Zerbrowski up. Still, I went up with my gun in a one-handed grip, the other hand on the wall, just in case. I smelled blood, a lot of it. I grabbed his arm and moved up beside him, our bodies almost pressed together by the narrow stone walls. I used two fingers to point not at my eyes, but at the tip of my nose. He knew that meant I'd smelled something, and that something was usually blood. He let me ease around him and go first. Zerbrowski also knew that I was harder to hurt than he was, and let me go forward as if I were the big bruiser of a guy, the meat shield. I was small, but I had become f**king tough thanks to the vampire marks.
Blood was drying on the steps in a thick, darkening pool; at the top of that pool was a uniformed officer I didn't know on sight. I was glad I didn't know him, and felt instantly bad about thinking it. His pale eyes stared wide and sightless, his face frozen in death. His throat was savaged on one side so there was no way to check for a pulse; it was gone, torn out.
Shoe prints marked up the sticky blood; Perry and Smith had gotten past this point. I tried not to step in the blood with my bare feet, but couldn't avoid it all unless I wanted to climb over the dead officer. I wasn't willing to do that, and the blood was thick and squishy. I forced myself not to think about it, but just to think about getting up the steps to help the others. There was at least one more officer on site, maybe two more, depending on whether he'd been riding with a partner. I concentrated on the living and left the dead for later, but it was hard to ignore the blood sticking to the stone with every step I took. Perry and Smith's bloody footprints went up, too. There was no way not to track the crime scene up, no way to avoid the blood, no way... Another high-pitched scream sounded and this time I knew it was a girl, and I could hear words: "Don't hurt them! Don't hurt anyone else!"
I didn't look back at Zerbrowski to check, I just started running up the steps. They were so steep, my center of gravity so low, that it was faster to use my free hand to help me run up them. I climbed up the steps like you'd go up a stone hill, so that when I suddenly spilled out the opening into the huge room at the top I was on hands and knees, which was why the gunshot shattered the stone above my head, and not me.
I flinched, but was already turning to find the shot and return fire. I saw the standing figure, gun in hand, and had already sighted and fired at his chest before my mind had caught up to the fact that his other hand held the girl's arm, while she struggled to get away from him. He fell backward, taking the girl with him. I felt movement in time to see another man launching himself at me, but there wasn't time to bring my gun around. Another gun exploded in the room and the vampire fell beside me, a hole in his chest, but still reaching for me. I put a bullet in his head without thinking about it. He stopped trying to grab me, mouth open, so his fangs glistened. Zerbrowski was standing in the doorway, gun pointed at the fallen vampire. I wasn't sure if he'd shot him, or... Smith was kneeling behind a huge industrial-sized metal cog that was to one side of the door. His gun was pointed that way, too. I caught a glimpse of Perry lying on the ground beside him. Smith had him behind cover, which was more than Zerbrowski and I had. Another gunshot made Zerbrowski duck back through the doorway, but I was too far away; I turned and found a boy with a gun in his hand. He was standing there, so straight, so tall, so arrogant, as he took his time and aimed at me. I shot him in the chest before he could finish. He crumpled around the wound and then fell to his side. Another teenager rushed forward to grab the gun from his hand.