Blade was confused.
His face was swollen like overproofed dough, and his eyelids looked like they had two eggs stuffed beneath them. Even so, he forced them open, straining to focus on the gray-white powder scattered across the hangar floor.
Ash.
Mixed into it were two golden fangs, gleaming unnaturally under the harsh lights. A silver sword lay nearby, close enough to suggest a final strike.
Fangs. Sword.
Vampire followed by me?
Wait.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"This is…" His voice came out rough. "…Deacon?"
One of the tactical officers had already crouched down and was carefully extracting the two fangs from the ashes before sealing them in an evidence bag and handing them to Debbie. Another officer reached for the fallen sword.
Blade sucked in a breath.
"Wait. Don't touch that."
The officer froze mid-motion and looked over at him.
Blade didn't waste words. He staggered forward, each step unsteady but deliberate, and picked up the long sword himself. He glanced once at the suspicious tactical officer watching him, then silently twisted a mechanism near the hilt.
Clang.
Two razor-edged bloodletting grooves snapped outward from both sides of the handle.
"If someone else had grabbed this," Blade said hoarsely, "they'd have lost a wrist."
The officer felt phantom pain just imagining it. For a split second, he pictured his own hand hitting the floor, separated cleanly at the joint. He exhaled slowly.
"Thanks."
If his wrist had been severed, even if surgeons reattached it, his career would be over. And while he didn't love his job, he loved it more than bankruptcy. Two ex-wives meant brutal monthly alimony. No job meant no payments. No payments meant court. Court meant ruin.
Blade's warning had probably saved him from a chain reaction that ended with sleeping in his car.
Blade didn't respond. He flicked the mechanism closed and secured the sword.
By now, Locke's complexion had recovered noticeably. He walked over, eyes drifting to the evidence bag in Debbie's hand before shifting to Blade.
"Is it Deacon?"
Blade looked back at the ashes. "Feels like him. The aura's the same."
Locke nodded once.
"Thanks."
Blade blinked. "For what?"
His memory was fragmented. The last thing he clearly remembered was the Sentinel unit arriving. After that, darkness. Now he was standing over Deacon's ashes, surrounded by armed officers.
Locke tilted his head slightly, letting a trace of doubt show in his expression.
"You didn't kill him?"
Blade's eyes widened.
"What? I thought you did. Didn't you?"
Locke and Brown exchanged a glance.
Debbie stepped in. "When we arrived, it was already like this. You were the only one inside the hangar. The boss, Brown, and the rest of our team were unconscious outside."
Blade looked down at his sword again, then back at the ashes.
Everyone else was out cold.
He was the only one standing inside.
Could it be…
Did I actually kill him?
His battered face made it hard to read his expression, but confusion was practically radiating off him. He blinked his swollen eyes slowly, trying to reconstruct the missing moments.
Outside, the distant wail of an approaching ambulance grew louder.
Locke watched the doubt settle into Blade's posture and smiled inwardly. Then he spoke in a measured, calm tone.
"Doesn't matter how it happened. The result's good. You should get that checked out."
Blade looked up at him, then shook his head.
"I'm not going to a hospital."
Locke frowned slightly. "Your injuries—"
He stopped himself mid-sentence, as if remembering something.
Blade wasn't fully human.
Locke paused, then asked again. "You're sure?"
"Yeah."
Blade slid the sword back over his shoulder. He walked a few steps, picked up his second blade from the floor, and then retrieved the sunglasses Deacon had crushed earlier. He adjusted them over his swollen face without comment and started toward the hangar exit.
Debbie glanced at Locke. "Boss…"
Locke's eyes followed Blade's retreating figure for a moment before he shook his head.
"Let him go."
It wasn't his place to force someone else into treatment. Everyone owned their own consequences.
Blade disappeared into the darkness beyond the hangar just as the ambulance pulled into view.
Debbie turned back to Locke. "Boss, you should go too. Just to be safe."
Locke waved a hand lightly. He pointed toward several Sentinel officers nearby who were sitting on the ground with vacant expressions.
"I'm fine. Get them checked first."
Some of the men looked like their brains were still rebooting. Deacon's sonic shriek might have scrambled more than just balance.
Debbie frowned. "Boss…"
"I'll head out after this," Locke cut in gently. He patted her shoulder, then looked at Brown. "After overtime, want to grab a drink?"
Brown's lips twitched. "Yeah. Sounds good."
"Let's go."
Locke turned back to Debbie. "You've got this."
She hesitated. She wanted to say, You need a hospital, not a bar. But Brown would be with him. If something went wrong, someone competent would be there.
"…Okay, Boss."
Locke gave a small nod, removed his suit jacket, and walked out of the hangar.
Brown exchanged a few quick words with his team, waited until the more dazed officers were loaded into the ambulance, then jogged to catch up.
"Where to?"
"Puzzle."
Brown grinned. "Haven't been there in over a month."
"Yeah."
The past several weeks had been nothing but vampire clean-up runs. Long nights, lists, and blood. It had been a while since they'd ended a shift with something normal.
Puzzle Bar sat not far from the Sentinel Special Service building, tucked along 75th Street. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't famous. It was just theirs.
Brown had once asked the owner, Carl McLaren, why it was called Puzzle.
The answer hadn't helped.
Because it's a puzzle.
Because it's a mystery.
And somehow, that had made perfect sense.
...
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