Inked

they put down whatever they were holding—cameras, makeup, iced tea—and streamed past us to the door, exiting into the garden. The children followed, joined by Ernie. All of them, except him, stumbled when they saw Jean—staring at her with horror. Not a peep left their mouths, though. Too well trained.
    The man having sex with the Black Cat was the last to go. He strode out naked, still erect and holding himself in his fist. Not caring who watched. And perhaps, in this place, no one did care. But that still left behind a handful of Russian bodyguards—and the Black Cat, lounging on silk sheets. Her aura pulsed with a dark fire that I had only ever seen in one other demonic parasite—the Queen of them all, Blood Mama.
    This was not her. But the parasite was very old.
    Unlike its host—an unconventionally beautiful woman. Her jaw was a little too thick, her nose a bit too pointed. She had a wide mouth and a crooked smile. But there was something in that smile, and something in those features—energy, personality, a crackle—cemented by the pure, raw aggression in her blue eyes.
    Hard to know how much of that was from the demon—and how much was leaking through from the real woman, whoever she might have been.
    “Now this is a sight,” said the Black Cat softly. “Two Hunters, in one place. That just can’t be right.”
    “Run, if you like,” Jean said in a cold voice. “But don’t pretend you’re not frightened.”
    “I’m not,” replied the zombie, stretching sinuously. Her body was all woman, covered in dimples and curves that not even her tattoos could obscure. But those tattoos…Those tattoos were something else. As the eye traveled, so did each tattoo—claws becoming roses, fangs lengthening into thorns. Petals and vines dripped with sweat, curving in an inked tangle across her breasts, up to the base of her throat. Even her fingers had been tattooed, but the art stopped around her pubic hair. A fact that I found strangely reassuring—but no less unnerving. I felt as though I was looking at a bad copy of myself, as though someone had tried to re-create from memory the body of a Hunter—but gotten it wrong in ways that were disjointed, dizzying. Her tattoos shimmered in my vision.
    Something else, too. I could not name it, but I felt a burn on my tongue when I looked at her, as though tasting something bad in the air. And not just the parasite.
    The Black Cat leaned on her elbow, fingers digging through her brown hair, and pursed her lips into a cold, assessing smile. There was nothing kind in her eyes, no amusement. Just business. Dangerous fucking business.
    “You,” she said, looking at Jean. “It’s you I’ve felt all these months, creeping around my city. I knew you were close. I could smell you and the bastard Kings in the air. But you,” she added, fixing her gaze on me. “You don’t belong. And there’s only one thing I can think of that would have the power to bring you here.”
    She looked pointedly at my gloved right hand. I did not want to guess how she knew about the armor, though I had some idea. It had been worn before by one of my predecessors. No doubt she had also skipped through time.
    But all I said was, “You know how this is going to end.”
    “No,” she said, smiling coldly. “But you do. Or else you wouldn’t be here. Must be bad, I think. Bad for you.”
    Jean lunged. Men moved to intercept her, but I was right behind, grabbing the first thing within reach—a teacup—hurling it like a baseball at the nearest head. Glass shattered against a pale brow. I snatched apples, glasses of iced tea, throwing them with all my strength. It slowed down the men a little. I was surprised that none of them were using their guns—unless the Black Cat was worried about her host. Bullets ricocheting off our bodies.
    The woman threw out her hand just before Jean reached her. “If you kill me, the children will never be free.”
    Jean hesitated. One of the men slammed into her, both going down in a heap. I was there in two steps, grabbing his ears and hauling backward with all my strength. He screamed, and then shouted in Russian. Large bodies loomed behind me.
    “Stop,” said the Black Cat suddenly, her voice so quiet I was certain the men would not hear her. But they did, and quit all movement—standing so perfectly still I wondered if they were human. Only their chests moved—faintly, quickly, in shallow breaths that made their nostrils flare.
    I finished