Circus of Blood by James R. Tuck Page A

multiple contusions and lacerations. Severe blood loss. Severe head trauma, initial X-rays indicate some swelling of the brain. She’s burning with fever. There is internal bleeding in her abdomen, but it seems to be closing on its own. Multiple deep puncture wounds. Six cracked ribs and micro-fractures on—”
    “Hold up.”
    He blinked, cornflower blue eyes fever-bright in dark hollows. “Yes?”
    “Tell me about these puncture wounds.”
    “Well, most of them aren’t clean. They don’t go in and then out like an ice pick. They’re torn and ripped on the entrance, making them look like lacerations. They only showed up in the body scan because they were between three and four inches deep so they read as black lines inside the body image.”
    The skin on the back of my neck was tightening.
    “Where are they?”
    “Arms, upper chest, neck, and her thighs.”
    “How many puncture wounds did you find?”
    He checked the chart. “Forty-two, but they consistently look like a repeating pattern of six pairs.”
    The nerve under my eye began to twitch.
    Fucking vampires.

2
    We were greeted by a wall of chaotic noise as the door opened. I followed Larson down the hall toward the sounds of people talking and children playing. His chair squeaked just slightly on the tile floor as he pushed on the wheels. I wanted to grab the handles and shove him to speed up, but I restrained myself.
    The hallway dumped us out into a square room full of people, almost exclusively women and children. It was the lobby for Larson’s clinic. People were waiting their turn to see him. I guess Fallene had cut in line since she was in such bad shape.
    The room hit me like a slap.
    I had my power pushed way down, knowing I was going to be around a lot of lycanthropes, but there were so many it still tried to flare up.
    A long time ago, in the hunt for the monster that killed my family, I rescued an Angel. Don’t look at me like that, she was an actual Angel of the Lord. Shortly after that I wound up dead. She appeared and returned the rescue, infusing me with her blood, essence, whatever. I resurrected a little more than human. I was faster, stronger, and harder to kill. And the Angel blood in my veins lets me sense things that were supernatural.
    Being in this room set that blood on fire.
    I was washed with sensory input. The slither of scales, the weight of thick-napped fur, the prickle of feathers in my wings pulling as the air pushed up on them . . .
    It can get weird.
    Sometimes it is helpful, most of the time it’s downright damn annoying. That’s why I had my power pulled tight and pushed down. Not that it did any damn good.
    As we entered the room, every mother’s eyes lifted, widening in hope that it was their turn. One by one they dimmed in realization that it wasn’t. They weren’t angry, more resigned. They all remembered before Larson came along when they didn’t have a doctor to look over their sick children. The days when they had to make do with home remedies and prayer.
    Lycanthrope immunity is off the charts. They can heal almost anything except injury by silver, and they don’t catch colds. But as children, their immunity is still developing, so when a lycanthrope child gets sick, the mother becomes frantic. Larson did a good business and gave a good service, so nobody bitched. Besides, they can’t go to a human doctor or hospital for fear that they would be discovered.
    Some humans know about the supernatural world, but most are ignorant. They live oblivious, and everything supernatural wants it to stay that way. If humans as a whole knew that lycanthropes existed, their fear would drive them to hunt and kill them all, or turn them into exhibits in zoos.
    Everything stays on the down low. That’s my job, hunting the supernatural down when they become a threat to mankind. I’ve been doing it since my family was taken.
    Larson stopped with a sudden jerk of his arms. I had to quickstep to the side to keep from plowing