Bloodstone by Nancy Holzner

By Nancy Holzner

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Oh, right. My dagger in its sheath. How odd that I’d strap on a dagger before taking a nap. I adjusted the sheath so it wasn’t directly under my leg. There, that felt better. I let my consciousness sink toward oblivion. It felt good, so good, to rest. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn’t. A strong, unpleasant smell, like dirty diapers mixed with month-old body odor, wrinkled my nose. I forced my eyes open, but I could barely see through the warm, gray mist that clung to my face. Tendrils slithered into my nose and down my throat.

Kane and Nick talked about basketball for several minutes. Nick was enthusiastic, certain the Celts would go all the way this year. Kane made some informed comments, but mostly he listened to Nick, who glowed with pleasure as he reeled off statistics. Gwen, on the other hand, seemed to have lost her appetite, pushing food around her plate. Kane kept glancing her way. He wrapped up the conversation with Nick by inviting him to a game—courtside seats again—in a couple of weeks. Whoa. Courtside seats.

Asshole,” he muttered. I knew what he was thinking. Kane was trying to get a paranormal-rights case in front of the Supreme Court, to establish federal-level rights for PAs (short for “Paranormal Americans,” Kane’s preferred term for what everyone else called “monsters”). His case had been postponed when the court’s chief justice, Carol Frederickson, was murdered. But if the case went forward and Kane won—a big if, in my opinion—PAs could live anywhere. We could vote, travel, do anything the norms could do.

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