Bloodlands by Christine Cody

pointed toward the door through which the four newcomers had entered, and Gabriel’s vision went that much hotter, though he tried to dial it back, lest his irises reveal the change his body was battling.
    Annie.
    Abby?
    Either way, had Stamp and his crowd been instrumental in whatever had happened to her?
    Gabriel lowered his gaze to the ground while bringing his level of ferocity down to a manageable limit, then looked up again.
    The man-boy in charge of the newcomers leveled his gaze at all the other doors around the room, including Mariah’s.
    The old man was pointing at Annie’s door. “That ain’t your quarters.”
    Three of the men glanced at their apparent boss, seemingly for direction. But the youngster remained mute, refocusing his dark gaze from those doors to every single denizen instead.
    His employee—the smiley one wearing the whale-hide hat—spoke in his place. “Weer ur nu frndz.”
    We’re your new friends? Gabriel thought. This clown wasn’t gauging things so well, but that was no shock. Most times, Text speakers were better at reading screens than actual body cues.
    The oldster stared atWhale Hide for a tense moment, and the room itself seemed to slant during the rough pause.
    As Whale Hide opened his mouth to say something else, the old man chucked his canteen at the intruder, and it clipped him at the shoulder, splashing his shirt with water.
    The man and his cronies flinched, their lips parted as if to protest, and Gabriel hunched, ready for whatever came next.
    But he held back.
    No vamp powers if you end up fighting, he thought. Don’t let any of them know what’s in their midst. You’d be signing a death warrant for these people because Stamp would think they’re sheltering you.
    Ever so slowly, the youngster with the cold eyes turned to survey his comrade’s shirt.
    Chaplin seemed to chew on some muttered canine sounds as the three intruders looked to their boss once more. But the young guy merely sighed, hooked his thumbs into his suspenders, and stared at his boots for a moment.
    Zel and Sammy planted their hands on the crate table, as if bracing themselves. Gabriel’s body shuddered, still fighting his instincts.
    When the youngster finally glanced back up, his tone was even. “I find the waste of water to be more offensive than the gesture, sir.”
    Old American. Gabriel hadn’t expected to hear it from this kid’s mouth. But if he’d come out to the New Badlands to capitalize on the water, it’d make sense for a businessman, who’d still use the formality in the world at large.
    As the kid locked gazes with the oldster, Whale Hide pulled his watered shirt away from his chest, then bent to touch his tongue to the moisture. Without even glancing backward, the youngster’s hand whipped out to lightly smack the man.
    Gabriel’s shoulders hunched even more.
    The kid tore his gaze away from the oldster and addressed everyone else. “We’ve been looking high and low for neighbors, and just today, we happened upon an entrance in the ground. Cleverly hidden, all right, but finding it was inevitable.”
    “Did ya ever think,” the old man asked, hardly scared off, “that we weren’t making an effort to welcome you? Round these parts, housebreakers are shot.”
    “Around these parts,” the youngster said, “I imagine it’s survival of the fittest, just like everywhere else.” He was still visually taking inventory of every one of them, as if committing all details to memory.
    Then, just as if he’d deemed the lot of them safe, he switched gears, taking a step forward, sauntering toward Zel without a hint of menace, yet still as serious as could be, while he extended a hand toward her in greeting. Gabriel even thought that the kid was genuinely happy to find some fellow nonspastic humans of his own ilk out here.
    “Johnson Stamp,” he said.
    But Zel didn’t make a move to accept the strange gesture. Instead, she recoiled ever so slightly.
    From where Gabriel was