Hexed

me. He needs to feel like a hero.”
    “Why didn’t you plant things in my head? I was grieving, you idiot. You couldn’t at least have let me know you’d be all right?”
    “Because you needed to figure out the rest of it on your own. I can’t always be there to fix all your problems, Janet. But you smacked that demon down without using any of your Beneath magic. You did good, Stormwalker. I’m proud of you.”
    That did it. I ran at him, screaming. My fists met flesh, thudded on muscle.
    “Ow.” Coyote caught my hands. “Easy. Still healing.”
    I tried to jerk away, but he kept hold of my fists. “Just because it worked is no justification!” I shouted. “What if I hadn’t known what to do, and we’d all died? What if even one of us had? You’d have let Maya or Fremont die so I’d learn a lesson? For your principles?”
    “Not principles.” Coyote’s voice went stern, even harsh. “Life or death. The lesser or the greater evil. It’s the kind of choice I have to make every day.” He fixed me with his god stare, the one that terrified me. “It’s the kind of choice you will have to make.”
    I shook my head, kept shaking it. “No. I would never decide that one of my friends had to die.”
    “And yet you did. You chose me.”
    “Because I thought you would come back to life, you asshole! And I was right. You did.”
    “Because I chose to,” Coyote said. “Because you need me.”
    He finally let me go, and I backed away, jamming my arms over my cold chest. “I would never, ever sacrifice those I love for any reason. Ever. Do you hear me?”
    “Yes, I hear you.” His look was somber. “And yes, you will.”
    I unfolded my arms. “Bite me,” I said, and I turned and walked away.
    “Go on back to your lover,” Coyote said behind me, voice gentling. “Comfort each other the way you do.” A pause. “Hey, mind if I watch?”
    “In your dreams,” I called over my shoulder.
    “Or in yours. Whichever.” He chuckled. “You know, Janet, you do have the sweetest ass.”
    I flipped him off and kept walking.
    The dream faded and I woke in Mick’s arms, his blue eyes half open, his drowsy smile welcoming me.
    I could still hear Coyote’s laughter in the night. It dissolved into high-pitched coyote yips and then faded on the wind.

BLOOD DEBT
     

     
    JEANNE C. STEIN

ONE
     

     
    “I’VE GOT HIM.”
    I’m off like a bullet across the dark parking lot. The guy I’m chasing, a skip wanted in L.A. for drug trafficking, runs like he’s used to it. Head up, long strides, hands pumping. And he’s fast.
    Trouble is, he doesn’t know what’s chasing him.
    I hear my partners, David and Tracey, fall behind. Good. I can kick in with the vampire speed and—
    A car door opens right in front of me. Smacks me square in the chest and I go down like I’ve been shot.
    Shit.
    I jump up and shake my head clear. David and Tracey pound past me.
    “You okay?” David says over his shoulder.
    I’m looking at the guy who coldcocked me. “Yeah. Get Smith.”
    That guy is looking at the guy still running. “I’ll call the cops,” he yells, brandishing a cell phone.
    “What the hell are you doing?” I’ve grabbed his wrist, yanking the phone out of his hand. A car door can’t kill a vampire, but getting whacked by one can sure as hell cause pain. Right now my ribs are screaming like a son of a bitch.
    “Stopping a mugging,” he says, trying to free himself from my grip.
    He can’t. For the first time, a glimmer of uncertainty shadows his face. “You’re strong.”
    “Yeah, I know.” I release him, toss the phone into the lot. When I turn back, he’s eyeing me and I return the favor. Late thirties, good suit, good shoes, good haircut. Looks like he might be a salesman at Men’s Wearhouse.
    “We weren’t mugging that guy. We were trying to arrest him.”
    His eyes narrow. “You guys are cops?”
    “Not exactly.”
    He takes a step backward. “Not exactly? You’re either cops or you’re not.”
    I’m looking for David and Tracey. As a vampire, I have excellent night vision. But I can’t see through buildings, and from the echo of running feet they’re around the corner of a building in the far end of the lot.
    “Shit. I’ve got to go.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    I turn and find myself staring into the barrel of a nice little .22. The guy has it pointed at my chest. I release a breath of exasperation. “Look. I told you I’m not a mugger. I’m a fugitive apprehension