Hell on Heels by John G. Hartness

Author:John G. Hartness
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John G. Hartness
Published: 2017-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

“Go ahead, Agent Harper,” Van Helsing said. “Tell me your name again.” The Colt didn’t waver, not even a little. Pretty impressive for a slight woman who had been getting the shit beat out of her by vampires less than two minutes before.

I sighed and took the gun from her. It was a lot harder than it should have been because she’s really strong and fast. For a human. But since I’m not exactly human, it still wasn’t that hard. I ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber, and handed it back to her.

“Point that thing at me again and I’ll slap the taste out of your mouth,” I said. “I usually don’t hit women, but you’re better armed and a better fighter than most men, so I’ll make an exception if I have to.” I took a deep breath. “My name is Quincy Holmwood Harker. Yes, I am that Quincy, born from that Jonathan Harker and Mina Murray. I am the apparently immortal or at least stupidly long-lived son of two parents that Dracula fed on, shared blood with, but didn’t turn. That does something to your DNA, we’re not exactly sure what.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

“About a hundred-twenty,” I said. “And yes, I knew your great-grandfather. He was very nice to me when I was a little boy. He let me pull on his beard and gave me sweets when my parents weren’t looking. Visiting with him was one of the bright spots of my childhood.”

“What kind of monster are you?” she asked. At least she put the gun away.

“I don’t think I am a monster,” I said. “I’m not a vampire, a were of any flavor, or a demon. I guess you could call me a wizard if you felt the need, but I guess I’d prefer the term magic-user.”

“You lied to me,” she said, and the betrayal in her eyes hurt more than the bruises Gus had left.

I tried to weasel out of it, but I knew it was useless. “Technically, I didn’t lie to you. My ID badge was misprinted, and I just didn’t correct you.”

“You’re an asshole,” she hissed.

“No arguments there,” Flynn chimed in.

“Not helping,” I said.

“Not trying to,” Flynn said, and I could feel her grin through our mental connection. Having a hitchhiker in your head pretty much always sucks, but it sucks worse when the hitchhiker is an insufferable smartass.

“You’re a monster,” Van Helsing growled, and I could feel the situation slipping away from me.

“I’m not a monster, I’m a guy. We’re all assholes, and we all lie, but that doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid.” I held out my hands, palms out, trying to calm her down. I had my usual level of success in calming down angry women, which is to say none.

“You lied to me to keep me from know what you were, and now I find out that not only are you part vampire, but the bloodsucker that my great-grandfather thought he’d killed all those

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