Circus of Sins Read online

  First published 2010 by Solaris

  an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd,

  Riverside House, Osney Mead,

  Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

  www.solarisbooks.com

  ISBN: (epub) 978-1-84997-168-3

  ISBN: (mobi) 978-1-84997-169-0

  Copyright © Natasha Rhodes 2010

  Cover Art by Luke Preece

  The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of he copyright owners.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  To Chris Rohner, with love.

  'Well behaved women rarely make history.'

  – Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

  FUNNY THING ABOUT Apocalypses. They always strike out of the blue, when you're least expecting them. Just when you think you're starting to get a handle on the world, getting a few of life's notches on your belt, then—boom. Apocalypse.

  Life can be like that sometimes.

  I stood on a high ledge on the roof of the church, gazing out at the bright lights of Los Angeles as I waited for the world to end. My chestnut hair streamed out in the hot blast of the Santa Ana winds, wrapping around me like a living cloak as the clock ticked ever closer to that final hour.

  I wiped the sweat off my face as I looked around me, grumbling softly under my breath. It was almost November, but the night air was hot and oppressive. It tasted of the grit and ash which rained on the city from the annual LA wildfires, drifting gently down from on high like papery black snow.

  I turned to the East, studied the burning skyline. Every hilltop and canyon surrounding the city was ablaze, from the lofty peaks of Malibu to the scrub-covered hills of the Valley, fanned by the hot winds which rolled down from the desert and torched the hillside McMansion homes of the rich and famous with alarming regularity.

  They would rebuild. They always did.

  But the fires always came back.

  I spat flakes of ash from my tongue and glanced down at my military-style watch for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, gently stroking its glossy face. It was a gift from the man I loved, a man whose life had ended less than four weeks earlier.

  But more about him later.

  It was ten past nine.

  My lips moved swiftly as I did the calculations. If it was ten past nine, then that meant I had exactly two days, two hours and fifty minutes until the official End of the World.

  Great.

  I paused in my obsessive pacing and took a deep, calming breath. Panicking wouldn't help at this point, although it would probably make me feel a hell of a lot better.

  Almost unconsciously, my hand dropped down to touch the warm steel hilt of the Smith and Wesson handgun hidden in my belt, then slid along to stroke the bandolier of silver stakes strapped on either side of it. The weapons should have reassured me, but knowing what I was up against, they didn't.

  I stepped forward and looked downwards, scanning the crowd that thronged in the night-time streets below.

  Beneath me lay the seedy sprawl of West Hollywood— entertainment capital of the world, my home for the last year and a half. A place where it was famously said they'd pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul. A place where half the town was dying to be discovered, and the other half was afraid they would be.

  I peered downwards, blinking against the wind. On the streets surrounding the church, the annual Halloween parade was well under way. Five entire blocks of Santa Monica Boulevard had been cordoned off, and the night-time streets were alive with thousands of costumed revelers: vampires, werewolves, aliens, movie villains and presidential candidates. Ferris wheels danced and spun, children screamed, multicolored lights bathed the streets in a hallucinogenic blaze of color, the neon candy-bulbs burning bright enough to rival the spinning lights in the heads of the drug-addled street peddlers that roamed the backstreets nearby. From the safety of a tenement building an evangelical preacher screamed eternal damnation at the happy revelers through a bullhorn, while a woman in the opposite block shouted sleep-deprived obscenities back at him.

  The year's biggest party was well underway.

  I checked my watch again and scanned the skies above me.

  Everything looked normal.

  Cheerful, even.

  Not even so much as a whiff of brimstone or a rain of flaming toads to disturb a perfectly ordinary Thursday night in Hollywood.

  I snorted. The way my life was going right now, the world ending might actually come as a relief. At least then I'd have some reprieve from the fear and the guilt, from the endless, terrible worry that had consumed me ever since the terrible events of one month ago, when...

  I mentally slapped myself, slamming the brakes on that particular line of thought. Focus, Kayla. There would be time enough for regret later. And besides, it was bad enough feeling like this without remembering that the coming Apocalypse was probably all my fault...

  I slid a hand under my hair and pressed a finger to my ear, more out of habit than hope. White static hissed up from the tiny modified Bluetooth earpiece I wore clipped to my right ear. I strained my hearing to no avail. The channel which only days before had been awash with shouting voices, barked commands and coded bleeps was utterly and chillingly silent. Not wanting to think about what this meant, I turned off the earpiece, raised my infra-red binoculars and started scanning the crowd again, biding my time.

  Then—

  There!

  Every muscle in my body tensed as I stared down at the dark figure far below me.

  A vampire. It had to be. The man stood out in cool shades of blue and black in my heat-sensitive binoculars, a dark outline amid the yellow-red masses of warm-blooded people that surrounded him. Vamps have an internal body temperature of around fifty degrees, slightly higher if they've just fed.

  The man was moving purposefully through the milling crowds, in stark contrast to the aimlessly drunken revelers all around him. He was dragging a young teenage boy with him. I snapped off the infra red on my binoculars, hit the zoom. The boy was dressed as a zombie, with painted bloody bite-marks on his face and neck. He was drunk, stumbling every couple of feet, forcing the man to practically carry him as he fought and shoved his way through the crowd.

  In West Hollywood it was a common enough sight in the after-hours club scene, but something in the boy's demeanor made me take a second look. I zoomed in with my binoculars, and my free hand tightened on the ledge as I saw his panicked expression.

  Ten bucks said those bite marks weren't fake.

  Adrenaline flushed through me as I readied myself for action. My heart sped up as I ghosted along the roofline, tracking the path of the pair as they cut across behind the main band stage.

  As I reached the corner of the roof, the vampire's head snapped suddenly up and he looked directly up at me. He immediately spun away and sped up, doubling back and vanishing into the dark mouth of the street beside the church as though spooked, dragging the young boy with him. Shit.

  I memorized the name of the street—San Vincente street—then with a burst of mad energy I turned and sprinted across the church rooftop, darted through the fire door and pelted down the fire escape, my metal-capped biker boots clanging on the metal staircase. I'd been up on the roof for well over five hours now, and this was the only vamp I'd managed to ID. I couldn't let him get away. The lights in the disused stairwell were out, smashed and flickering, so I found my way downwards by touch, moving as fast as I dared in the darkness. I had only minutes to get to the boy in time, to save him, or it would all be over.

  No time for screw-ups...

  I yelped as someone leaped off the staircase above and slammed into me with bruising force. I dropped instantly, letting the weight of my attacker roll us both down the stairs until I was clear of him. It hurt but it was worth it. I hit the bottom with a jarring bump, grabbed the cold steel railing and heaved myself up with all my strength. My hand flew to my belt and I ripped my hammerless pistol from my hip-holster, spinning to aim it double-handed down at—

  I sagged, letting out my breath in a rush of relief and anger. The broken light cast flickering shadows over my face as I jammed my gun back into my belt, spun on my heel and headed for the next set of steps.

  I jerked to a halt, and sighed.

  'Mutt,' I said, with strained patience. 'You have a choice. Either you let go of my arm, or—'

  'We all have a choice, kitten. That's what makes us human.'

  'You're a fine one to talk.'

  Mutt tugged gently on my arm, turning me back around to face him. I felt the awesome power in the young man's grip and flashed him a warning look, squaring off against him in the semi-darkness. Mutt grinned and backed up a pace or two, looking me over with cautious amusement. He didn't relax his grip.

  'So... what? We're not even friends now?' he asked lightly.

  'I didn't think you knew that word.'

  Mutt's smile faltered a little. He scratched at his three-day stubble, eyeing me warily, then let go of my arm, his expression becoming strangely intent. The svelte muscles beneath his T-shirt rippled and bunched as he backed off a pace or two
and circled me like a jungle cat, as though searching for an angle to attack. In the unearthly green light of the stairwell EXIT sign his amber eyes looked bright yellow, burning with a fierce flame. For a moment Mutt looked very alien to me.

  I felt my heart thump with sudden fear in the enclosed space. I abruptly shoved my way past him, heading on down the stairwell without a word.

  Words were wasted on Mutt. I knew that much by now.

  'You know you can't do this by yourself,' he called after me.

  I stopped halfway down the steps and paused, staring into the pitch blackness.

  'Who else is going to stop them?' I asked.

  Mutt shrugged, running a hand through his mop of thick dark hair. He pushed himself off the wall and started moving towards me with a slink of jean-clad hips. My hand slid silently down as I checked my handgun, making sure the safety catch was off.

  Just one shot, and all of this would be over.

  I felt the surprising heat of Mutt's body as he stepped up behind me, felt the gentle touch of his hand on my shoulder as he lightly stroked my bare skin, caressing the muscle beneath. It was all an act, I knew, these 'accidental' meetings. A calculated ploy to undo me, to start me thinking about things I didn't want to think about.

  Not now. Not then.

  Not ever.

  I closed my eyes as he moved in close—too close— and started gently kneading the tense muscles on either side of my neck.

  'Let me help you,' Mutt said softly, pushing my hair away from my face. 'I promised Karrel I'd protect you, if anything ever... you know.'

  His fingers slid down my arm, traveled lightly up my forearm. Paused at the now-tarnished engagement ring on my left hand. Tactfully drew back. I followed his gaze as I stared down at that ring, feeling a knot rise in my throat at the sight of it.

  The man who gave me that ring was dead, killed by werewolves less than a month ago.

  I sharply pulled away, disarming my pistol with a stab of my thumb.

  'How can you help me when you're one of them?' I asked quietly.

  Mutt's smile faded as he stared down at me, stunned.

  I dropped my pistol back into its holster, then turned my back on him and quickly headed for the stairwell, leaving Mutt staring after me in the darkness.

  IT WAS HOT down in the crowd. The air tasted of soot and ash from the wildfires, clinging to the back of my throat and leaving a gritty taste in my mouth with each breath.

  I swore as I shoved a creature from one of the less popular Star Wars movies out of my way, my gaze fixed on the dark mouth of the alleyway. There was hardly room to stand on the packed streets, let alone to try to get somewhere in a hurry.

  I tightened my grip on my hidden pistol and made my way with frustrating slowness through the heart of the crowd. I passed the big band stage, shoved a path through the horde of sweaty, dancing humanity who had formed a seething mosh pit in front of the stage. Beer splashed on my costume and drunken hands grabbed at me, but I was oblivious to everything but the rapidly approaching alleyway, and the job I knew I must do.

  For I was a Hunter, the newest recruit of a secret underground fighting force who devoted their lives to ridding the streets of LA of the supernatural menace. Our destiny: to fight the forces of darkness, to do the unthinkable, to say the unsayable, to wear the frequently unwearable. To stand boldly alone against the creatures of the night, and make the world a safer place for the unwashed and traditionally ungrateful masses.

  I just wished that I'd had more than thirty days of training, and longer than forty minutes of sleep the previous night.

  It was also a shame that all the other Hunters were dead, their base blown up by a mass-murdering master vampire just a week earlier.

  No matter.

  I scratched at the black bandana that was tied tightly around my left wrist as I forced my way through the crowd. It had been itching like crazy all day. Just the thought of what lay underneath caused a black knife of dread to push its way a little deeper into my heart. Even if by some miracle I managed to sort out the impending Apocalypse, I still had that little problem to sort out...

  I picked up my pace, trying to push thoughts of my rather unique injury out of my head. I'd been bitten by a werewolf just over a week ago when our base was attacked, and had since been holding the change at bay with a complex cocktail of drugs developed by the Hunters. ADHT was the Hunters' new 'wonder drug.' When injected, the compound temporarily halted the change, keeping a Hunter human long enough after being bitten to go get help. The effects lasted a bare twelve hours before it wore off again, but the upshot of all this was that as long as I had a canister of the stuff on me when the moon was full, I could buy myself some precious time.

  But my supply had almost run out. I'd been lucky to find this canister, after returning to the Hunters' base to scavenge what we could from the charred rubble. When the canister ran dry, I wouldn't be able to put off the change any longer...

  Don't think. Just move.

  As I neared the alley I'd seen the vampire run down, a pale boy dressed as a zombie spun out of the crowd and grabbed at me with clammy hands. He stared into my eyes with drugged-out pin-prick pupils.

  'It's you,' he said, his voice filled with wonder.

  I gave him a strange look before shoving him aside. Day or night, Hollywood was rife with whack-jobs, and I didn't have time or patience to deal with this one. I hadn't gone far before a second hand fell on my shoulder. I growled and spun around to see a tall, thin man dressed as Jack Skellington staring down at me. His mouth fell open as he drew me close, his expression a mixture of fear and awe.

  'It's you!' he breathed. 'You killed them, Kayla!'

  'Huh?'

  The man silently stepped aside with a sweep of his arm, and my heart almost stopped. Scrawled on the wall behind him, in amateurish, blood-red graffiti, were three numbers.

  Three-Five-Nine.

  Fear crawled in the pit of my stomach like a march of acid spiders. How could he know? Nobody knew my horrible secret. Hell, if I drank enough, some days even I didn't remember what I had done. And how the hell had he known my name?

  I pushed 'Jack' away without a word. Someone was trying to freak me out, throw me off the scent. Probably the vamp I was tracking. Mind control was a common vampire trick, and these drunken folk must be easy prey. I hadn't gone more than ten feet before the phrase was picked up by the young kids nearby, traveling back through the crowd in a creepy hushed chant.

  'It's you... it's you... it's you...'

  The revelers' faces were expressionless, their eyes unfocused as they turned to watch me pass like zombies. I felt the tiny hairs on my arms rise as a legion of plastic demons and witches stared at me, through me, their lips moving in spooky synchrony.

  'Hell yeah, it's me,' I said, trying not to show my fear. 'I can't be anybody else.'

  I turned a corner and gave a grunt of triumph as I finally spied the mouth of the alleyway. Breaking free of the stifling crowd, I darted down the alleyway in pursuit of the vampire. Just a couple more blocks and I'd catch up with him, and then I'd show them. I'd show them all.

  For I was unstoppable. I was an animal, a living, breathing tracking machine, and nobody and nothing was going to stand in my way...

  'Ow!'

  I clutched at my forehead, which had just struck something hard and immovable. My vision swam for a moment before refocusing on the face of the winged man I'd just walked into. Alarm bells clanged in my mind and I leaped back, automatically reaching for my pistol.

  The man was an angel!

  My gaze fell on the cryptic tattoo on the man's pale white shoulder and I relaxed, although not much. As far as I knew, real angels couldn't get tattoos.

  'Organized Religion,' I read. 'Same Guilt, Different Holidays.'

  The Angel Guy turned around and beamed at me, revealing a set of stained, oddly pointed teeth. I recoiled at the stench of alcohol on his breath. He held a steaming hot-dog in one huge hand, and wore a thick pair of silvered sunshades, even though it was night-time. Poser.

  'You like mah tattoo?' he asked, in a thick, strange-sounding accent. 'Mah mother did it for me.'

  'Oh really? That's nice.'