This Side of the Grave (Night Huntress, #5)(61)

I thought I’d been furious before, but that didn’t compare to the rage filling me now. My hands trembled, the knife digging even higher into the ghoul’s head. He screamed as much as he could with the blade in the way.

“Cat.” Vlad’s voice was low but resonant. “Stop. We need him alive.”

I knew the wisdom in that. Knew that if I killed the ghoul, we wouldn’t find out if he knew where Apollyon was, and that was vitally important information. But my mind felt frozen with the urge to destroy anyone who’d been a part of such a horrible practice, and my knife kept on its upward path into the ghoul’s skull. Dermot couldn’t have been more than seventeen when he was tortured, killed, and then forced into this existence. The ghoul in front of me knew that. Allowed it to continue. He had to pay.

“Cat!”

My hand trembled again . . . and then I yanked the knife out, twisting it in the process, savoring the scream the ghoul made. I moved away from him, taking in a deep, long breath to remind myself that I’d made the right decision. Information was more important than revenge. I chanted it in my mind like a litany until I began to feel stable.

“Aren’t you supposed to be burning him to get more details?” I asked Vlad, my voice almost normal despite the anger still swelling in me.

Vlad gave me an unfathomable look, the faintest smile hovering on his lips. “If you live long enough, Reaper, one day you might scare even me.”

“Girl’s gotta have goals,” I replied shortly. “And he’s still not spilling where Apollyon is.”

“No, he’s not, is he?” Then Vlad made a series of odd motions with his hands, but no fire emanated from them.

“Are you having performance issues?” I asked in surprise.

“Bite your tongue,” Vlad said, with a snort. “I was seeing if Dermot understood sign language, but from the look on his face, it seems not.”

I glanced at the young ghoul, who’d been watching Vlad’s hands with a sort of morbid fascination. He picks kids who are young, not too bright . . . the other ghoul had said about Apollyon. Did Dermot know that there was an entire language he could learn that required no verbal or written words? How trapped he must feel, forced into this life, and denied any real means to even communicate.

“You’re going to be okay,” I said to Dermot. “We’re not going to hurt you, and you won’t have to live with those other people anymore, I promise.”

A little voice inside told me that Bones wasn’t going to like what I intended, but I pushed it back. He might not like it, but he’d understand.

Noise from dozens of cars combined with multiple groans as abruptly, the dialog from the four movies—and the exterior lights—cut off. It didn’t take more than a second of dropping my mental shields to catch the internal grumbling from the moviegoers over the sudden power failure at the drive-in.

Even if I hadn’t heard that, the loud voice of someone with a bullhorn began apologizing for the inconvenience, promising rain check tickets for the next night. Must be the manager. From how calm he sounded, I guessed that Mencheres had had a little talk with him using the power in his gaze. Otherwise, I’d expect him to be far more glum about all the money driving out of the theater and the promise of refunds later.

Maybe I’d make an anonymous donation to this theater. The manager shouldn’t have to take a financial hit just because warmongering, murderous ghouls had chosen this place to hold their get-together.

“Someone’s coming, and it’s not Mencheres,” Vlad said, jerking his head.

I drew out another knife as I headed in the direction he’d indicated, ducking to use the bushes as camouflage again. But when I was about twenty yards away, I caught familiar scents on the air, and my tenseness eased.

The sight of the vampires, one with gray streaks in his hair, the other so skinny that the bones of his shoulders all but jutted through his shirt, only confirmed who they were.

“Ed. Scratch,” I called out, not raising my voice. “Over here.”

I turned back around without waiting for them, not wanting to leave Vlad alone for long with the ghouls. Granted, the odds of Vlad being overcome were about nil, but the odds that he might decide to torch one—or both—of them in my absence were much higher.

To my relief, both Dermot and the other ghoul were still alive when I jogged back to Vlad, though in the few minutes that I’d been gone, the scarred ghoul looked like he’d passed through a volcano. Mencheres must have dropped his power from him, because he was on the ground, Vlad’s booted foot over his mouth. Must be why I hadn’t heard any yelling even though he’d obviously been burned.

“He doesn’t appear to know where Apollyon is,” Vlad stated. “I’m not surprised. Apollyon would have to be an idiot to tell where he was to anyone in a group such as this. They report in and receive instructions by e-mail. I have the address and passwords.”

Ed and Scratch appeared behind me in the next moment, one of them letting out a slow whistle as they took in the slain bodies that were still held upright, plus the still-alive, burnt ghoul under Vlad’s foot.

“Looks like we missed the party,” Ed observed.

Vlad’s smile was arch. “But you’re just in time for the cleanup.”

“How come I’m not surprised to hear that?” Scratch muttered, shaking his head. “What a mess, but better them than us.”