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He turned and leaped for the window. Barbara fired just as he crashed through in a hail of shattered glass. Snow gusted in through the broken panes.
“Fuck!” Barbara glanced back at Tucker, who was sitting up groggily, face a mask of blood, nose oddly off angle but mostly intact.
He stared up at her. “Guh after him.”
Barbara didn’t need to be told twice. She ran for the door, fumbled it open and burst outside. She squinted against the storm, trying to take in the scene.
Christmas lights illuminated the street. Jacob crouched on all fours in the snow, dripping blood. A short distance away, another slight figure stood, motionless: Athelinda. Clad in tattered animal furs and hiking boots, blonde hair blowing around her porcelain face. She held a large axe in her hands.
“Hello, Isaac,” she said.
Jacob looked up at her and laughed bitterly. “Really? After everything they did to you?”
“This isn’t about them.”
He stood, swaying in the wind. “Then what?”
“Aaron and his kin are dead because of you.”
“No. Because of them.” He pointed back at Barbara. “They’re the ones who killed your kin.”
“You let the Colony take the blame for the boys. You used us.”
“I saved you.”
“And I’ll always be in your debt.”
“Then fuck them.” He raised his arms. “We could kill all of them. Right now.”
Athelinda smiled. “Believe me, I’ve wanted to.”
Jacob took a step toward her. “Then do it. You’re a killer, Athelinda. Like me.”
They stared at each other. Barbara raised the gun.
“No.” Athelinda shook her head. “I’m not like you. You are like them. This needs to end.”
Jacob sneered. “Vampyrs don’t kill vampyrs. It’s forbidden. I know the rules.”
“You’re no vampyr…” She lifted the axe. “And here, I make the fucking rules.”
He lunged toward her. Then stopped, jerked upright like a marionette yanked by its strings. A steel arrowhead burst through his chest, piercing his heart from behind. Jacob looked down in shock. He clutched at the arrow, realization dawning. Something like a smile spread across his ruined features, and he crumpled gently to the snow.
Beau Grainger walked out of the shadows, holding a heavy metal crossbow. He looked down at Jacob and wiped a trembling hand across his mouth. “Vampyr scum.”
Athelinda regarded him dispassionately. “Is it my turn now, old man?”
Beau turned to her. He looked bad, Barbara thought. Face gaunt, dark shadows beneath his eyes. Like he was already the walking dead.
“They told me to come here,” he croaked. “The voices in my head. They won’t give me any peace.”
Athelinda nodded. “You’re dying. That’s why you hear them—what you kill eventually becomes a part of you.”
“Make it stop.”
“I can’t.”
He pointed the crossbow at her. “Make it stop.”
