White Witch, Black Curse

I hesitated at the edge of the crowd, gaze fixed on the placid vamp being led under the yellow tape to the waiting I.S. cruisers at the curb. "I don't know," the cuffed man said, sounding bewildered. "I don't give a fuck what a Were thinks of my mom. He pissed me off."

The undead vamp's response was mostly unheard, and I watched the two meld into the lights and excitement of six I.S. cruisers, two news vans, eight FIB vehicles, and all the people who went with them. Everyone's lights were on, revolving if they could. The cold night air had the feeling of wrap-up, and I sighed. I hated being late to a riot.

I wasn't going to wait for Marshal, who was still parking his car. They wouldn't let him in. I'd be surprised if I got in without some trouble; invited or not, the FIB didn't trust me anymore. Stupid-ass prejudice. How many times did I have to prove myself?

Chin high and eyes scanning, I edged through the crowd to where the yellow ribbon met the wall, deciding I would just slip under the line and hope for the best. My motion to dip under the tape was halted, however, when I almost knocked heads with a familiar face doing the same thing.

"Hi, Tom," I said acerbically as I drew back. "We just keep running into each other."

The former I.S. agent dropped the tape, his shocked expression turning to frustration. He took a breath to say something, then clenched his jaw. Silent, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

Surprised, I stared after him until the snow and the crowd took him. "Huh," I muttered, then, sort of disappointed he hadn't stuck around to exchange barbs, I dipped under the yellow tape and yanked the closest door open, eager to get out of the cold. The air was still between the twin sets of doors, and I could hear voices echoing, raised in anger and frustration. A cluster of FIB uniforms gathered past the second set of doors, and I decided that was my best bet.

"Sorry, ma'am," a low voice said, and I jerked my hand from the inner door, instinct pulling me back before a thick-fingered hand could touch me.

It was a dead vampire, a fairly young one by the looks of him, set to be door guard. Heart pounding, I cocked my hip and gave him an up-and-down look. "I'm with the FIB," I said, and he laughed, the rim of his blue eyes thinning as he started to pull an aura.

"Witches don't work for the FIB," he said. "You look more like a reporter. Get behind the line, ma'am."

"I work outside the lines, and I'm not a reporter," I said, looking up at his clean-shaven face. Any other time, I would have stopped to enjoy the view, but I was in a hurry. "And knock off the aura crap," I said, ticked. "My roommate could eat you for breakfast."

The vamp's eyes went full black. The background noise of angry people abruptly vanished. The blood drained from my face, and I found my back against the outer doors. "I'd rather sip you for breakfast," the undead vampire murmured, his voice running like cool fog through my soul. A pulse from my scar sent a shock of reality through me. Damn it, I hated it when vampires didn't recognize me.

My gloved hand had covered my neck, and I forced it down and my eyes to open. "Go find a rat," I said, even as his playing on my scar felt really good. My thoughts went to Ivy, and I swallowed. This was so not what I needed.

Vamp boy blinked at my unusual resistance, and with that slight show of confusion, his hold on me broke. Damn, I had to quit teasing the dead ones.

"Hey, Farcus!" a masculine voice shouted from beyond the glass, and he turned, even as he kept me in his vision. "Leave the witch alone. That's Morgan, the FIB's whore."

Farcus, apparently, dropped back, the rim of his blue eyes growing in surprise. "You're Rachel Morgan?" he said, then started to laugh, showing his pointed canines. Somehow that irritated me more than him playing on my scar had.

I pushed forward. "And you're Farcus, rhymes with Marcus, another lame-ass vampire. Get out of my way." His laughter cut off as I bumped him, and he growled when I leaned on the door and passed into the warmth of the mall.

As far as malls go, it was nice, with the food court up front, wide aisles, and two stories to make a fun place to shop. I slowly loosened my coat and scarf as I scanned the open area. I was too late to do anything. Thick in the air was the choking scent of angry Were and the spicy tang of angry vampire, all mixing with the aroma of burgers, fries, and Asian food ruined by too much grease. Over it all was the sound of eighties pop done instrumentally. Surreal.