Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [19]
Good.
The advantage was once again mine. If he’d had any special night-vision glasses, my intruder wouldn’t have turned the bulb on in the first place. So now he was blind, and I was in my element. We were on my turf, surrounded by my belongings. The setting was homey to me, and unfamiliar to him. It was only a matter of time before he blew it and I turned him inside out.
So why the hell couldn’t I find him?
Back in sneak mode, I crouched down low and went tiptoeing across the slightly cleared expanse between two rows of shelving units.
I saw boxes and books, and open crates with files, and old pieces of manufacturing equipment that had come with the building. I’d left them, because they were too heavy to move without assistance, and I didn’t want any assistance. Let ’em sit there and rust, that’s what I figured. They weren’t hurting anything.
Except now they were providing cover to my intruder.
I sniffed the air like a dog—which is not a comparison I’m fond of, but it’s accurate. I can’t smell as effectively as a dog can, but my nose is comparable to a cat’s, and I can learn a lot about a room by tipping my nostrils into the air.
For example, even though I couldn’t see her, I knew that Pepper was off to my left—burrowed back inside the old air system. I can’t always be so specific, but the scent of freshly disturbed aluminum and stale air gave away her hiding place. I felt a twinge of admiration for her. She’d found a good spot, and she was following directions. Hold still. Stay quiet. Done.
And I knew that there had been a man paused roughly beneath the now-broken lightbulb not thirty seconds earlier.
I couldn’t tell much about him, though. No after-odor of shampoo or cologne lingering in his wake. No eau de guy funk. All he left was a trace of minty-smelling astringent.
My nervousness was climbing to new heights.
A professional jimmy-job. Super-quiet movement. Prepared for the prospect of a superhuman nose, or at least a propensity toward mouthwash. This was Not Good.
And I still hadn’t gotten a good look at him yet. I didn’t even know where he was, but I didn’t think he’d left.
Pepper was still hiding, and even if she didn’t have my hearing or eyesight, she had exceptional instincts. I hunkered myself against a wall, taking preemptive cover between an old rubber-cutting device the size of a compact car and a set of steel shelves that reached halfway to the ceiling. There was nothing behind me but a brick wall. I was as safe as I was going to get.
But I felt like I was wide open, standing in a clearing, holding up a sign that said, COME AND GET ME.
I was straining for all I was worth—to hear something, or smell something, or see something. It’s not another vampire, I thought. He wouldn’t have turned on the lights. Whoever he was, he was mortal enough to die. And I was immortal enough to take quite a beating before going down, so what exactly was I so afraid of?
Again I tried to run a scan with my mind. My psychic powers aren’t profound, and I’m lucky I have any at all. Some vampires don’t, and those who do tend to be women—though nobody knows why. It’s kind of like how men are more likely to be left-handed or color-blind; it’s not a hard, fast rule, but a generality. My abilities aren’t very good, but they give me a slight leg up.
I can usually scope a room and pinpoint the places where everyone was standing. Or sitting.
Or …
I looked up.
There he was, doing his best bat impression—hanging from a square iron beam that used to be part of a ceiling track for machinery. He was clinging to the support at the other end of the room like a baby monkey on its mama’s back.
And he saw me.
He’d probably seen me come bursting in, smashing up the light, and squatting behind my inherited machinery. He’d been watching the whole time, and now he could see me, seeing him.
I did not wait for him to make the first move. He’d already made the first move by breaking into my building. If that isn’t a grievous act of aggression, then I just don’t know what is.
With a scramble worthy of