Chapter 32
Something jabbed at Morrigan's temple, but she remained still, lost in the depths of unconsciousness. Another prod, sharper this time, finally pierced through the veil of sleep.
Her eyes snapped open, vision blurry as she focused on the figure looming over her. A woman, wrinkled and weathered, peered down with rheumy eyes. Matted grey hair framed a face etched with lines, telling tales of a hard life on the streets. The stench of cheap booze wafted from the half-empty bottle clutched in her gnarled hand.
"Shit, you ain't dead after all," the old woman slurred, taking a swig from her bottle. "Thought I'd scored me a fancy corpse."
Morrigan groaned, pushing herself up from the grimy pavement. Her head swam, memories of the night before crashing back like a tidal wave. The gunfight, the desperate escape, collapsing by the dumpster.
She glanced at the sky, squinting against the harsh morning light. Fuck. She'd been out for hours.
"Jesus H. Christ, girl," the homeless woman exclaimed, eyeing Morrigan's tattered dress. "You look like you went ten rounds with a wood chipper."
Morrigan looked down, grimacing at the state of her once-white dress. The fabric hung in tatters, exposing half her torso and a good portion of her bra. Blood stains, now dried to a rusty brown, decorated what remained of the garment.
"Yeah, no shit," she muttered. "You wouldn't happen to have any spare clothes, would you?"
The old woman cackled, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth. "Honey, does it look like I'm running a fucking Macy's over here?" She paused, considering. "Though I might be persuaded to part with my jacket... if the price is right."
Morrigan sighed, reaching into her pocket. By some miracle, she still had a wad of crumpled Euros. She peeled off a few notes and held them out. "This enough?"
The homeless woman's eyes lit up. She snatched the money and shrugged off her grimy jacket, tossing it to her. "Pleasure doing business with ya, sugar."
Morrigan caught the jacket, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell. But beggars couldn't be choosers. She slipped it on, grateful for the extra coverage. It was then she noticed her feet were bare, her shoes lost somewhere.
"Fuck me," she grumbled, looking around the alley. "You haven't seen a pair of heels lying around, have you?"
The old woman shook her head, already counting her newfound wealth. "Nah, but there's a secondhand shop 'bout two blocks that way," she said, jerking her thumb to the right. "Might find something there."
Morrigan nodded her thanks and set off, wincing as her bare feet met the rough pavement.
She kept herself at the side as much as possible, avoiding the curious stares of early morning commuters.
The secondhand store was a cramped, musty affair, racks of clothes crammed into every available space. A bored-looking teenager manned the counter, not even glancing up from his holopad as Morrigan entered.
She grabbed the first pair of jeans that looked like they might fit, along with a plain black t-shirt and a beat-up pair of sneakers. The whole ensemble probably cost less than a single button on her ruined dress, but it would do.
"Changing room?" she asked the clerk.
He pointed to a curtained-off area in the back without looking up.
Morrigan ducked inside, peeling off the remnants of her dress and the homeless woman's jacket. She pulled on the new clothes, grimacing at the stiff fabric of the jeans.
When she emerged, the clerk finally deigned to look at her. His eyes widened at her bedraggled appearance, but he said nothing as she approached the counter.
"Just these," Morrigan said, dropping the sneakers on the counter.
The boy rang up her purchases, still silent. Morrigan handed over the last of her euros, grabbed the shoes, and headed for the door.
"Hey," the clerk called out just as she reached for the handle. "You, uh... you okay?"
She paused, looking back at him. For a moment, she considered telling him everything - the gunfight, the injuries, waking up in an alley. But what was the point?
"Yeah, kid," she said instead, offering a tired smile. "Just a rough night."
Morrigan stepped out of the store with her new sneakers squeaking with each step. She scanned the street, searching for any signs of police activity.
Satisfied that she wasn't about to be swarmed by cops, Morrigan tapped her comm link. "Aris, you there?"
The response was immediate. "Holy shit! Where the fuck have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours!"
"Long story," she muttered, ducking into a side alley to avoid a passing patrol car. "Short version: target's dead, I got shot, passed out in an alley, woke up looking like I'd been through a meat grinder."
"Fuck me," Aris breathed. "You okay?"
"I'm walking and talking, aren't I?" Morrigan snapped. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Look, the job's done. You know what that means, right?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Yeah, yeah. I remember our deal. I join your merry band of bloodsuckers as your tech guy."
"Intelligence agent," Morrigan corrected. "And don't call us bloodsuckers. It's racist."
Aris snorted. "Right, because you're so politically correct. Fine, I'm in. Does this mean I get to see you naked now?"
Morrigan rolled her eyes. "In your dreams, perv."
"Oh, trust me, you already star in those," Aris chuckled. "But seriously, you need to get off the streets. Your little train adventure is all over the news. Every cop in Paris is looking for you."
"Shit," Morrigan muttered. She peered out of the alley, suddenly feeling exposed. "You got a safehouse nearby?"
"Yeah, I've got just the place."
"Where?"
"It depends. Do I get a date with you?"
"You know, if we're having this conversation face to face, I'd raised my middle finger at you."
"Geez, I'm just asking."
"And I'm responding. Now, give me the damn location."
"Ok, fine," he said. "Head north on Rue de la Villette. There's an old apartment building, looks like it should've been condemned a century ago. Number 42. Third floor, apartment 3C. Key's under the mat."
Morrigan started walking, following Aris's directions. "Sounds like a real shithole."
"Hey, beggars can't be choosers. Besides, it's off the grid. No surveillance, no nosy neighbors. Perfect place to lie low for a while."
"If you say so," Morrigan grumbled. She turned onto Rue de la Villette, keeping her head down as she passed a group of early morning joggers. "So, what's this place like?"
"Oh, you're gonna love it. It's got all the charm of a 1970s crack den, with the added bonus of probably being haunted."
"Fantastic. Any other surprises I should know about?"
"Well, the water only runs brown for the first five minutes, so that's a plus. And I'm pretty sure the roaches have formed their own government, but they mostly keep to themselves."
"Jesus, Aris. You couldn't find anything better?"
"On short notice? In a city where every cop is looking for you? Be grateful I found anything at all," Aris shot back. "Besides, it's not like you need to worry about tetanus or anything. Aren't vampires immune to all diseases?"
"Yes, we are," Morrigan muttered. She spotted the building up ahead, a decrepit structure that looked like it was held together by spite and pigeon shit. "I think I found it. Looks like it's about to collapse."
"That's the one. Remember, third floor, 3C. Key under the mat."
Morrigan approached the building, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "Alright, I'm going in. I'll contact you once I'm settled."
"Roger that. Oh, and Morrigan?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to let the bedbugs bite. I hear they have a taste for vampire blood."
Morrigan cut the connection, muttering curses under her breath as she entered the building. The stairwell smelled of piss and mold, and she could hear scurrying in the walls. By the time she reached the third floor, she was seriously considering finding a nice, comfy dumpster instead.
Apartment 3C looked no better than the rest of the building. The door hung slightly askew on its hinges, and the peeling paint revealed layers of graffiti underneath. Morrigan lifted the frayed welcome mat, grimacing at the grime underneath, and retrieved a rusted key.
The lock stuck at first, requiring a bit of strength to turn. The door creaked open, revealing a space that made her long for the alley she'd woken up in.
"Home sweet home," she muttered, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "Fuck my life."
Morrigan stepped further into the apartment, her nose wrinkling at the musty odor that permeated the air. She flicked a light switch, and a single bare bulb flickered to life, emanating weak light over the dingy living room.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered, taking in the scene.
The room was barely furnished - a sagging couch with mysterious stains occupied one wall, facing a cracked TV screen that looked like it hadn't worked since the 2050s. A rickety coffee table, its surface marred by cigarette burns and old beer rings, sat between them.
Then, she moved to the kitchen.
The refrigerator hummed ominously, and she was almost afraid to open it. When she did, she was hit with a wave of warm air and the smell of something long past its expiration date.
"What in the hell," she groaned, slamming the door shut.
The countertops were chipped and stained, and the sink was full of dishes that looked like they'd been there since the last century. She turned on the tap, and as Aris had warned, the water ran a rusty brown.
Next, she checked out the bathroom. The mirror was cracked, the toilet seat was missing, and the shower curtain had more holes than fabric. The bathtub was stained with what she hoped was just rust.
"I should've booked a five-star hotel," Morrigan grumbled, returning to the living room. She flopped onto the couch, wincing as a spring dug into her back.
She tapped her comm link. "Aris, you better have a damn good explanation for this shithole."
"Ah, I see you've arrived at Chateau de la Merde," Aris's voice crackled through the link. "What do you think? Charming, isn't it?"
"Charming? It's a fucking health hazard. How the hell did you even find this place?"
"I have my sources," Aris said cryptically. "Let's just say I know a guy who knows a guy who owes me a favor."
"Well, your guy needs better taste in real estate. There's mold in the bathroom that's probably older than I am."
"Hey, I told you it wasn't the Ritz," Aris defended. "But it's off the grid, and that's what matters right now. Unless you'd prefer a cozy cell in a Paris police station?"
"At this point, I'm not sure which would be worse," Morrigan muttered. She stood up, pacing the small room. "Seriously. How long am I supposed to stay here?"
"Just until things cool down. A few days, maybe a week tops."
"A week?" Morrigan exclaimed. "In this dump? I'll go insane."
"Look on the bright side. You've got a TV."
Morrigan glanced at the cracked screen. "Yeah, I'm sure it gets great reception. All two channels of static."
"Come on, it's not that bad. I bet if you clean it up a bit, it could be... livable."
"Livable? The roaches have more claim to this place than I do." Morrigan paused, eyeing a particularly large insect scuttling across the floor. "Speaking of which, I think I just met the roach president. Should I curtsy?"
Aris laughed. "See? You're making friends already. Look, I know it's not ideal, but it's the best I could do on short notice. Just try to make the best of it, okay?"
Morrigan sighed. "Fine. But you owe me big time for this. I mean it."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll buy you a drink when this is all over. Maybe even spring for the fancy synthetic blood."
"Make it a whole bottle and you've got a deal," Morrigan said, a small smile finally breaking through her frustration.
"Done. Now, try to get some rest. You've had a hell of a night."
"Rest? In this place? I'm more likely to catch tuberculosis than get any sleep."
"I thought vampires don't get sick?"
"It's the principle of the thing," Morrigan grumbled. "Alright, I'll try to make the best of it. But if I wake up with a family of rats nesting in my hair, I'm holding you personally responsible."
"Noted. Sweet dreams, princess," Aris chuckled before cutting the connection.
Morrigan looked around the apartment once more, shaking her head. "Sweet dreams, my ass," she muttered, eyeing the couch warily. "More like night terrors."
With a resigned sigh, she began to clear a space on the couch, brushing away what looked suspiciously like decades-old potato chip crumbs.
"Just another day in paradise," she mumbled.