When he didn’t respond, Zel sighed.
“Chaplin just now told us that there was another killing tonight,” she said. “Chompers, the thug who was taking the dog to Stamp’s place. Chaplin says that, after he got free, he came across Chompers’s mutilated body and then got as far away as he could.”
At first, Gabriel just stood there under the onslaught of the news. Another death . . . ?
Then he realized Chaplin hadn’t said anything about it to him on the way back.
Then
the weight in the room seemed to lift right off Gabriel altogether.
Wait . . . He hadn’t blacked out tonight.
He
couldn’t have killed Chompers. . . .
As Zel shifted, Gabriel was able to see Chaplin, who was assessing him, his head against Mariah’s.
He wished he’d been close enough to scent tonight’s carnage, wished he could’ve done some investigation to see what was killing Stamp’s men. After all, not long ago, these people had looked
to
him, not
at
him, and the difference mattered.
He wandered over to the crate table and took a seat on it. Zel looked at him as if he were thick in the head. And maybe he was, determination-wise.
Chaplin spoke, his mind opened for Gabriel, his thoughts a bit slurred, though they were articulate.
Nobody’s accusing you of doing this, Gabriel.
Support. Thank-all, it was about time from his familiar. But when the dog talked, including the group now, Gabriel rethought everything.
Normally,
Chaplin said,
I would be the first to tell Gabriel to get himself out of here.
It was as if the dog were trying to persuade his neighbors of Gabriel’s worth. But Gabriel tried to come off as if he didn’t understand the dog without a translation. At the same time, he accepted the dog’s statement to meahat if Gabriel hadn’t taken on Chaplin as his familiar, the canine would’ve rejected him.
The dog, who was pressing his head against Mariah’s cheek, glanced at Zel as she frowned; it was almost as though she didn’t understand where he was going with this.
But,
Chaplin added, his sounds lazy with the remnants of the drugs,
we know that we might need all the help we can get with Stamp now that it’s too late to do anything about the trouble and it’s come to a peak. There’s no turning back what’s already happened, so we need to strengthen up in whatever way possible.
Reluctantly, as if she didn’t agree with what Chaplin was suggesting, Zel translated for the group. Meanwhile, Gabriel dwelled on what Chaplin had only hinted at with his comments.
The dog was hoping that Gabriel would eventually reveal his vampiric side when the time was right, wasn’t he? Was he also hoping Gabriel would spring the surprise on Stamp when there was no other recourse? But surely Chaplin knew that his new master wasn’t about to do that. If Stamp were as tech-savvy as Gabriel suspected, he probably had high-grade viszes all over his property, and if recorded images of a vampire attacking his place were to ever surface beyond the Badlands . . .
Well, the Badlanders could kiss their secure existences good-bye. They’d be on the run forevermore for associating with him, and Gabriel wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do it to himself, either. Not after what he’d accomplished out here as another person. A vampire learning to be a man.
From her spot against Chaplin’s head, Mariah subtly glanced at Gabriel, and a burst of disturbing blood-need made him look away.
A man,
he reminded himself.
Not a vampire.
When Zel had finished translating, the oldster nodded, as if agreeing with Chaplin’s comment about strengthening up, even if they kept a stranger like Gabriel around to do it. “The times,” he said. “They are a changin’. Chaplin’s right. We need to face Stamp, and if need be, face him with whatever we have.”
Sammy shook his head, his eyes flashing with the same growing terror he’d seen in Mariah’s earlier.
The oldster addressed the younger man. “Stamp’s gonna pay us a nasty visit—that’s the reality, Sammy. We’re done with the way things were. Now we have to do whatever it takes to get ready for the inevitable.”
“And risk being assaulted from this night forward, even if we were to win any kind of fight with Stamp?” Sammy asked. “He’s an urban, oldster. He isn’t hiding out in the New Badlands as much as retreating from something in the hubs. He’ll still know people there, and if we prove to be trouble for Stamp, they’ll come out here to find us . . . and our valuable resources, just like all bad guys do. It’s safer to stay quiet.”
Chaplin garbled out a series of sounds, causing Mariah to startle. Then she shared a glance with Zel. They both seemed resigned now.
But resignation wasn’t what these people needed.
“Then what comes next?” Gabriel asked. “What do you intend to do besides sitting around here talking about it?”
When the oldster glared, Gabriel knew he’d gotten somewhere.
“You think your smart mouth gave Stamp any thoughts about backing off when he first visited?” he asked. “He was intrigued by your sass, I’ll give you that, but he wouldn’t hesitate to whip you silly again.”
The oldster’s skin flushed, and he turned his back on Zel, as if he didn’t want the woman to see it.
Gabriel addressed her now. “And you. The ex-cop. The one who should be doing more than firing warning shots at these morons. Do you get all your frustration out by running around these rooms, exercising, wishing you could gut up enough to make Stamp leave you alone for good? How’s that been working for you?”
She seemed to resent his words—and maybe even herself.
“If you’re trying to shame us into action,” Sammy said, the visz still in his palm, “you’re—”
“Doing a fine job,” the oldster finished. He glanced at his neighbors. “Gabriel took it upon himself to be the only one to rationally confront Stamp last time the kid was here. It seemed to work, too. I was even hoping Gabriel might do us a favor and voluntarily keep being the one who takes the chance of facing down our troubles while we just stand by. Truth to tell, I was still hoping he’d keep on doing it since it’d allow us to stay where we like to be—out of sight, out of mind.”
The instinct to sit taller claimed Gabriel, but he didn’t do it. He only watched Mariah, who hadn’t contributed anything. But Chaplin kept looking at her with those big brown eyes.
Again, the faint discomfort of cowardice defined her in Gabriel’s thoughts. Why wasn’t she saying something? Where was that gumption he’d seen on the night she’d stuck a crossbow in his face?
From the back, a lazy voice cut the conversation. “This is nonsense.”
Everyone focused on the tall man with the wide chest who’d draped his arm over the scarf-wearing woman.
“I’ve never heard this kind of discussion here before,” he added, “and I can’t believe I’m hearing it now.”
Zel spoke. “Well then, Pucci, I suppose you have a better idea about how to handle matters? And you haven’t exactly been round much to hear us talking before now.”
“Dmitri gave me and Hana a visz, just like each of you, so we’ve been listening in.” He hugged the woman to him. “I say we can mollify this guy Stamp in some way so he’ll step off. If we show him that we want to work with him, he’ll be more receptive.”
The oldster rolled his eyes. “Genius idea. Why didn’t I ever think of it? Negotiating with bad guys always leads to success.”
Hana joined the conversation, her voice smooth, unruffled, even what some would call sisterly. Her tone carried an exotic accent, and if Gabriel had to guess, he would’ve said she was from somewhere in Africa.
“As far as Stamp thinks,” she said, “
we
are the bad guys. He needs to see we are not. If we could bridge an understanding—”
“You don’t know how this kid builds bridges,” the oldster said, rubbing his hand against his neck, as if the taserwhip were still there. He had his collar buttoned up tonight, so any burn marks he might’ve had weren’t visible. “Besides, who’s gonna go over to his place to bow before him, apologizing for the troubles with his men? You, Pucci? You, Hana?”
She actually seemed to consider taking up the option, but the tall man pulled her closer to him, as if telling her not to commit.
At least the oldster, Zel tone carrSammy were actually looking as if they were sick and tired of Stamp’s shit. That was a start.
Even Mariah, who was so quiet in her corner while petting Chaplin with the dedication of someone who’d almost lost a vital part of herself, seemed as if she could be open to new ideas.
If she was capable of it. . . .
Any way you sliced it, Gabriel thought, these people would have to decide to do something he could back them up on. Something that wouldn’t involve using a vampire, and he trusted that Chaplin was keeping quiet right now about who Gabriel really was because he knew the group would turn on a monster, even if it could aid them.
Maybe the dog also thought Gabriel would have to be the one to volunteer his services after a battle with Stamp was in progress, and, at that point, the community wouldn’t mind the kind of defense Gabriel could bring. . . .
The Intel Dog, with his strong, secretive mind, made so much more sense to Gabriel now. And here he’d thought that he’d swayed Chaplin into welcoming an injured fellow into his home. But the canine had turned the situation to his advantage, hadn’t he? That was probably why they called them
Intel Dogs
.
Typical. He’d had to go and get himself a familiar who might just be controlling him more than the other way around.
Gabriel tried to take back some of that control. “Seems to me that you all are taking up a whole lot of time to come up with a plan of action.”
Pucci grunted out a laugh, and Gabriel concentrated on him—the seed of complacency in the group.
Maybe he could slap that useless quality down a little. “Power can be lost easier than most might think. First you suspect there’s something bad going on out there, but you only hear about it—you haven’t so much run into it yourself. You think that your life can never be taken over, and trouble’s gonna pass you right by if you’re just quiet enough. Then, while you’re sitting there, hoping time is going to take care of the situation, what power you took for granted is replaced by something bigger. Something worse.” Gabriel looked around the room. “Together, you guys can make a stand before it’s too late.”
Pucci and Hana stayed mute. Mariah kept holding Chaplin to her. Zel and Sammy meandered away from the crate table. But the oldster’s lips were pursed, as if he remembered times Before.
It wasn’t lost on Gabriel that though he’d been preaching “take back your power,” he didn’t intend to do any such thing himself by using his abilities. Hypocrite.
The oldster finally tossed his hands up. “We’re just gonna sit here?”
Pucci sounded off from his and Hana’s corner. “I think just sitting here would’ve solved our troubles very nicely before we got into this pretty fix.”
What did that mean?
With a loaded look toward the rest of the crowd, especially at Chaplin and Mariah, he guided Hana toward a door, which he opened.
At the same time, Hana gave a helpless shrug.
They left and, one by one, the others ultimately retreated, too—Sammy to his door, Zel to hers—leaving just the oldster, Gabriel, Chaplin, and Mariah, who pulled the blanket closer around her as the dog laid himself down, his adrenaline no doubt spent and the drugs taking over.
She’d been under the blanket for such a long time that Gabriel started to wonder if, maybe, she’d gone through some trauma, and he’d been too quick to judge her.
Just as he was about to try communicating silently with Chaplin to find out if she was okay, the oldster hunkered down on a crate, his expression serious.
Gabriel quietly asked him, “What did Pucci mean by just sitting here—and that it might’ve been a good thing if you’d done just that?”
He heard Chaplin stir, but the oldster was already answering.
“Pucci’s a malcontent. He’s . . . not happy about letting in new people”—the old man jerked a thumb toward Gabriel—“or new situations.”
The explanation didn’t sit quite right with Gabriel, but the oldster was changing the subject. “So if we were to do anything about Stamp, what would be your way of going about it?”
He was asking for guidance, and Gabriel was gratified.
“Seeing as I’ve never played four-star general before,” he said, “why don’t you just lay it out?”
The oldster did so, and Gabriel listened to what amounted to a bunch of crazy revenge fantasies. But at least it was a start.
Especially since Mariah sat there listening, too, just as if she were hanging on every idea and considering it, even if it would require going outside.
15
Mariah