Blane Bloodworth's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Blane followed the blood trail out of the briars, but it faded on the open road. Corvin had cut himself a head start. Blane's shoulder still bled, and his fangs, sharp as they were, had failed once at the throat. Next time Corvin would set a better trap. Blane needed more than teeth. He needed a weapon that bit deeper. So he went where blood and metal both gathered: the vampire punk club, its windows glowing green and red through the dark. Inside the Crimson Echo, the crowd thought his fangs were a costume. He pushed past them to a back booth where a werewolf sat tuning a guitar. Eddie Howlwood. Blane knew him by reputation. A rockabilly player whose hands got faster the closer the moon came to full. Right now his fingers trembled on the strings, and his orange eyes had a wild edge. "You're the one hunting the bunny man," Eddie said. He did not look up. "Word travels." "He'll kill me with the next chain," Blane said. "My teeth cut steel. They didn't cut him." Eddie set the guitar down. "Chains are his thing. You break his range, you break him." He reached under the booth and dragged out a long case. Inside lay a vehicle key and a folded map. "My grandfather's hot rod. The hunter in the orchards shot at me in it. He knows that car." Blane frowned. "Why give it to me?" "Because a car he fears is a car he watches," Eddie said, level. "Drive it near his briars and he comes to you. No trap set. He hunts hunters who drive what he hates. Then you've got him in the open, where no chain beats your speed." Blane took the key. They walked out back. The hot rod waited under a flickering bulb, battered and dark, green sap crawling across its dash like something alive. Fat green fireflies drifted off the hood when Blane opened the door. A small winged creature clung to the mirror, the same fat shape he'd seen in Corvin's den. It squeaked and flapped to his shoulder. "That thing follows blood," Eddie said. "Yours. His. It'll point you to him." Blane started the engine. It caught hard and loud. The headlights threw two cones of light down the road toward the briars. The winged creature settled against his neck, then stiffened and pointed its nose west. Toward the orchards. Toward the wounded hunter. "One more thing," Eddie said through the window. "Full moon's Friday. If you want backup, I won't be a man by then." He almost smiled. "So do it before." Blane drove. The car ate the road. His fangs had failed at the throat, but speed would not. Now he would not wait for Corvin to set a chain. He would run the hunter down before the next trap existed, and this time close the distance himself.