Blood Day Read Online Free Page B

was dark as well and fell rakishly over his forehead. He wore a suit and tie and from a distance could be mistaken for a businessman.
         “You are the one called Mike Novak?”
         “Depends who's asking.”
         “You must go,” said the man. “I will have need of you soon.” He started loosening his tie. Mike stared as he unbuttoned his jacket.
         “I'm supposed to talk to Tess,” said Mike, finally finding his voice. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
         The man's face stayed expressionless, but he shifted his weight and breathed out his nose noisily, as though annoyed by the effort of talking to Mike. “My name is not important,” he said. “But if you must address me, address me as Joshua Flynn.”
         “How do you know my name, Joshua Flynn?”
         Flynn arched an eyebrow, the first movement he had shown on his face. “You are with The Post. The whole city knows your name.”
         “Right,” said Mike. “Who's in there?”
         “Government officials,” said Flynn. “Three of them. Your superior called them.”
         “Tess? Why?” said Mike, but knowing the answer already. Tess was driven, career-minded, but surely she wasn't heartless. Reporting someone to the Revs was a death sentence. Or worse, if the stories were true.  
         “I think you know,” said Flynn.
         “My story,” said Mike. “About the junkies.”
         He nodded. “You must leave.”
         “Why should I trust you? I don't know you.”
         Joshua Flynn looked at him for a long moment, his dark eyes unmoving. It made Mike uncomfortable to look at him; there was something about the man that he couldn't quite place. Then Flynn hunched his shoulders and opened his mouth and his features shifted. High cheekbones smoothed flat. Red lips darkened, sharp gray teeth emerged and covered the straight white ones in his mouth, stopping as razor-sharp points. His spine crackled and buttons on his shirt popped as he stretched and hunched. Flynn's almond-shaped eyes widened and flattened as he let out a hiss.
         Mike felt his bowels turn liquid. “Jesus,” he whispered, stumbling backwards and falling on the carpet, without taking his eyes off the monster in front of him. “You're one of them,” he said, his voice hoarse and high. He struggled to stand. He was shaking and his legs seemed to be made of rubber. “How? They can't change. Not anymore.”
         “I'm not one of them,” Flynn said, his voice guttural.  
         Mike could feel his heartbeat in his throat. He tried to make his feet move, but he was frozen. He was afraid he might piss himself.
         “Go,” hissed Flynn. Mike heard the scrape of Tess's chair behind the door and footsteps. Several soft muffled voices. Flynn's nightmare-face stared back at him, the eyes reptilian, the nose flat and slitted. “The Revenants are here. Run.”  
         Mike didn't ask any more questions. He ran.

Three

    Genevieve White woke up with a sob still on her lips, just as she did every morning. She had been dreaming of Hunter again. But there had been a woman there. She played the violin and Hunter laughed and laughed and laughed with blood soaking his tiny tee shirt…
         She made a pot of watered-down coffee and sat on the small, ratty couch in the living room to drink it. As she sipped she stared at The Book.  
         She thought of The Book more and more these days. She could no longer fool herself into thinking it was simply a book like any other. Ever since she opened it— looking for that poem Griff would recite at the strangest moments—it had become The Book. The poem still thundered through her mind, even now.  
         “ Paralyzed force, gesture without motion, ” she muttered into her cup, not taking her eyes from the spine of The Book. She finished her coffee. “Damn you, Griff. Why didn't you take it with you?” Of course no one answered her in the empty apartment,