Chaos Bites (8 page)

“Shift,” I ordered.

“Can’t.” The word came out choked, full of pain. Whatever they’d done, it had not only incapacitated Luther but kept him from changing.

I counted four shadows. Big and hulking. Maybe men, maybe not.

“I’m going to kill you for this,” I said. Although not right now. Right now I was going to lie here and ache.

Someone laughed. A man. “All we want is the kid, and then we’ll leave y’all alone.”

Smooth and southern, nearly genteel, the voice was at odds with the size of the shadow and the behavior of its owner.

I took a deep breath, trying to catch a whiff of lion. The shifters who’d killed Luther’s parents were still searching for him. He’d killed a few, but I was sure there were more, and I figured these were them. How else would they know the secret that would keep this boy from sprouting claws?

“You should have thought of that before you broke his nose,” I said.

“Not him. Her.”

“Her, who?” I asked.

Another shadow backhanded me. My teeth sliced my lip, and I tasted blood. My stomach rumbled. My collar might contain the demon, but it still crouched inside me, and blood called to it like a siren on the deep blue sea.

I wished I knew enough magic to take off my collar without benefit of hands. There wouldn’t be anything left of these guys but toenails. Unfortunately, once my demon was loose there wouldn’t be much left of Faith or Luther, either.

“We came for the baby.”

“Do I look like someone who’d drag a baby around?”

“Then what’s that?” He jabbed a gun at the lump on the bed. A third shadow grabbed the comforter and yanked it from the mattress. The lump beneath the kitty-cat blanket wiggled. The sound of a gun being cocked echoed in the sudden heavy silence of the room.

“Are you insane?” I must have surprised whoever was holding my leash because I managed to throw myself over the lump just as the gun went off.

Agony stabbed my shoulder. I had no time to dwell on the pain since the chain around my neck tightened, effectively cutting off my air, scalding my skin, and dragging me off the bed.

I twisted and kicked and wound up slamming face-first into the carpet. My nose went crunch, too, and blood flowed like rain.

The room went silent. My shoulder stung, but whatever had been in the gun had not been gold, so the pain was bearable. I scrambled to my knees—not easy when bound hand, foot, and neck—and discovered that when they’d dragged me off the mattress, I’d dragged the blanket off the baby. Now everyone could see that she wasn’t a baby at all.

The adorable black kitten yawned, blinked into the bright light, then began to wash a paw with her pretty pink tongue.

“It’s a . . . cat. Where’s the baby?”

“I don’t know who gives you your info, pal, but that”—I lifted my chin toward the kitten, and a few droplets of blood arced through the air—“is the closest thing to a baby I’ve seen in years.”

Luckily I’d repacked the diaper bag, which now sat on the dresser looking like just another ugly purse. Of course, if they checked the garbage they’d find a used diaper. I’d try to BS my way out of that somehow, but I didn’t think they’d buy it.

“Why would you believe I had a baby?” I asked quickly. If I kept them talking, they weren’t searching the place. “And why do you want one?”

“I do what I’m told, sweetheart. I don’t ask questions. That’s how I’ve lived this long.”

I frowned. “How long?”

The man laughed again. I could make out nothing but the shape of his face, his height. The spotlight in my eyes kept me from seeing specifics like hair color or nose size. But I’d remember that voice and that laugh for a very long time.

“Let’s go, boys.”

“Shouldn’t we—” one of the others began, but he cut them off.

“I wasn’t paid to do anything but take that baby.”

I twitched my shoulder—the one with the bullet still inside. “You weren’t paid to take her. You were paid to kill her.”

“They told me you were smart,” he said, and then he was gone.

As soon as the door shut behind them, I was up and hurrying toward Luther, who lay on the bed, still as death but snarling. Faith stretched, yawned, tucked her nose beneath her tail, and went back to sleep.

“Why didn’t you see them coming?” I asked. “Didn’t Ruthie warn you?”

My hands and ankles were bound with golden cuffs. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever get them off, but first things first. I needed to free Luther.

I had to use both my fingers and my teeth on the ropes—and thank God they were ropes, not chains. Still, they tasted like mud soup seasoned with pepper. The blood from my broken nose dried on my skin and began to flake off, casting onto the white sheets like rust-colored dust. As soon as Luther was loose, he unwound the golden chain from my neck.

“You need to go after them,” I said. “I’ll”—I lifted my cuffed hands—“call a locksmith.”

Luther grabbed his knife and began to pick the locks. I pulled away. “Luther! Go.”

He shook his head, curls bobbing. Since he still hadn’t answered any of my questions, I asked one again. “What did Ruthie say they were?”

“She didn’t.”

Panic made my heart race. “What did they do to you?” Something that had made him unable to change into a lion, but what if—“Did they take all your powers?”

“No. Just put the kava-kava on the ropes to keep me from shifting.”

“What’s kava-kava?”

“Herb from the South Pacific. Mostly used for stress relief. With shifters, it makes the muscles too lax to change.”

How did he know this stuff when I didn’t? It was infuriating.

“If you’ve still got all your powers, why don’t you know what they were?”

“Oh, I know what they were,” Luther muttered.
Click
. The handcuffs fell to the floor, and Luther lifted his blazing amber eyes to mine. “They were human, Liz. Not Nephilim at all.”

CHAPTER 8

“Human?” Luther nodded, lips tight as he picked at the lock on my ankle cuffs. “You’re sure?”

“Did you feel any vibe? Because I didn’t.”

When evil’s near there’s a buzz. Nothing too flashy, just a vibration, both tactile and auditory, like a thousand bees around your head or a very large lawn mower idling right next to you. But I hadn’t felt it and neither had Luther.

My ankle cuffs fell to the carpet with a muted
clank.
“Not bad,” I said. The kid obviously had experience.

I rushed to the door, glanced outside. The power was still out, but the sliver of a moon reflected off the concrete lot, as well as the hoods of all the cars—just enough to reveal that no one was there.

“You’re bleeding, Liz.” Luther stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. His eyes shone dark topaz, and his nostrils flared as he scented the night. He shook his head. He didn’t think anyone was there, either.

“So are you.” His nose was crooked. I was going to have to fix that. It was going to hurt.

“I’ve got a flashlight.” He turned away from the door, which I shut and locked. However they’d gotten in, it hadn’t been by breaking anything.

I was tempted to tell Luther to forget about first aid until morning. With only a flashlight, I doubted he’d be able to dig the bullet out of my shoulder anyway. Then the power went on with a
thunk
. The TV flashed blue flame at the center of the screen before an infomercial detailing the one hundred greatest hard-rock love songs—were there a hundred?—began.

Luther’s fist shot out and crunched the off button as he went past. I had a feeling that TV was never going to go on again.

I glanced outside once more. The parking lot was now lit like a carnival. On the road, a municipal light and power truck idled.

In the bathroom, Luther and I stood side by side in front of the mirror. Both our noses were crooked and swollen, our faces flecked with blood. If we were human we’d have black eyes tomorrow. Because we weren’t, the swelling had already stopped.

To heal even faster, we’d need to shape-shift, and I planned to once we were put back together. By morning no one would ever suspect Luther and I had passed anything other than an uneventful night.

Before I could think about it too much, I jerked my nose into place. Shards of pain pierced my brain, and I bent over, breathing through my mouth as my eyes streamed. “Damn, that smarts.” But when I straightened, my face was back the way it should be.

I’d been told often enough that I was exotically beautiful. Probably because of the contrast between my bright blue eyes and darker-than-Caucasian skin. My cheekbones were high, my nose—usually—a straight blade. I was tall and slim, with a decent-sized rack. Guys liked me even though, more often than not, I had little use for them.

I’d known since I was old enough to know such things that appearances deceive. A pretty outside often covers a very ugly inside. People who took one look at me and decided they wanted to get to know me because of my appearance never got to.

“Here.” I reached for Luther’s mashed nose.

He lifted his upper lip in a silent snarl and twitched his nose into place himself. The bone made an audible
crack
, and his snarl became decidedly un-silent.

I pulled off my ruined gauze top and turned so I could see my shoulder. The skin was already knitting back together over the hole. “The bullet has to come out.”

I wouldn’t die from an infection, but I wouldn’t feel too great while my body fought one, either.

My gaze met Luther’s in the mirror. “I don’t think I can do it myself.”

I carried a heavy-duty first-aid kit in my duffel. Luther sterilized the scalpel with alcohol then pressed a soaked piece of gauze to the hole. I clenched my teeth until the fiery sting faded.

“Better sit, Liz.” Luther indicated the toilet seat. “You might want to take off the bra or it’ll be ruined.”

“Nice try, big boy. The bra stays on.”

Luther snorted then hissed in a sharp breath. His nose might seem fine, but it obviously wasn’t. Not yet.

The kid still hesitated, and I glanced up. “Just do it, Luther. Quicker the better, okay?” He nodded, and then he did it. If I’d thought putting my nose back in place hurt, I’d been mistaken. That had been a bug bite in comparison.

At least the boy was quick. Less than a minute later the bullet pinged into the sink, and he pressed another alcohol-laced gauze pad to my shoulder. I muttered curses until the bright shiny lights at the edge of my vision went away.

Luther grabbed a roll of gauze, but I held up my hand. There was a better way.

My mother’s initial death had given me life—only one phoenix at a time, born from the ashes of the last. But a combination of black and white magic had kept my mother in limbo—dead enough to give birth, with the promise of resurrection as Doomsday moved toward Armageddon. Because of that magic, her powers had remained with her, leaving me clueless as to my heritage.

But now I was
the
Phoenix, among other things. While I should be able to become a firebird without benefit of the tattoo, old habits died hard, and though I was like my mother in many ways, I didn’t
want
to be like her at all.

So I placed my palm against the tattoo at the back of my neck, and the change rolled over me like a winter wind, stealing my breath. Lightning flashed, so intense I closed my eyes. My body went cold and then hot. Bones realigned, feet became talons, arms spread into wings, and brightly colored feathers sprang from my skin. They tickled.

When I opened my eyes, I was a phoenix. In this form I could fly. I could command fire, but I would not burn. I was sure I could do a lot more, but I’d only become one a few weeks ago. Right now I didn’t care about any of my talents beyond healing, and the shift itself took care of that. So only moments after I’d become a phoenix, I centered an image of myself in my mind and changed back.

I was alone in the bathroom, naked since becoming a bird had allowed the clothes I’d still worn to fall to the floor. I snatched a towel then took a quick glance in the mirror at my bullet wound. If not for the blood, I’d never know it had been there at all.

A flash from the other room had me sticking my head out just in time to see Luther snatch the sheet off his bed and cover himself. I pulled my head back in. “Nose okay?”

“It is now.”

I shut the door and took another shower, letting the water sluice over me until it ran clear. When I was done, Luther and I switched places.

Faith-the-kitten was still crashed. I put on my idea of pajamas—shorts and a T-shirt. When Luther came out of the bathroom, he held the bullet in his hand.

“Silver?” I asked.

He nodded. “I can’t decide if they knew a lot or a little.”

“Whaddya talking about?”

“They knew what we were,” Luther said slowly. “So they brought a silver bullet and kava-kava for me, golden chains for you. But they didn’t know what Faith could do.”

“Which means,” I continued, following his train of thought, “that they aren’t after her because of Sawyer.”

Silence settled between us as we continued to work things out.

“Maybe,” Luther murmured, “they’re after her because of her mother.”

“Whoever the hell that is. But why send humans? That’s like sending a guppy after a shark.”

“They kicked
our
ass.”

“Your idea of an ass kicking and mine are radically different,” I said.

“We’re broken, bloody, and shot. They’re not.”

“We’re alive.”

“So are they.” Luther set the bullet on the dresser. “They could have killed us if they wanted to.”

“Not me.”

Luther cast a quick, wary glance into the mirror on the wall. The only people on this earth who knew how to kill a skinwalker were skinwalkers, and they were understandably closemouthed on the subject.

“They knew how to put us down quick and easy without killing us.” Luther’s forehead creased.

“I wonder who told them.”

“I wonder how long it’ll take me to find them and kill them.” I frowned, and Luther’s hands tightened into fists. “We can’t leave those guys out there. They know too much.”

Behind his bravado lay fear. Breeds were hard to kill, but they weren’t indestructible. This was the first time Luther’d had that truth shoved in his face. Poor kid.