Gathering Storm (14 page)

The transport deposited
him on the edge of an aromatic landfill near London, but he didn’t
care. He wasn’t sightseeing or on vacation. Seventeen smiled to
himself when he checked his device and saw that thirteen of the
twenty on his list were living in the U.K.

No feelings were
associated with tracking the targets. Every synapse in his brain
that fired a compunction response to harming others had been
disabled. Thanks to Rothesay’s sophisticated techniques, Number
Seventeen was a killing machine who responded to command exactly
the way a battery operated toy responds to its remote
signal.

There was no social
imprint left to interfere with a directive, no individuality, no
imprint of social mores or morality. The universe had been
distilled down to nothing more than a goal that was perverse, to be
achieved by an abomination that was evil.

The closest one of the
targets was living nearby in Threehalfpenny Wood. He would start
there.

Over the following two
weeks, there was a cluster of unexplained murders in the United
Kingdom. The Ministry of Defense Police took over investigation
because no two of the crimes occurred in the same local enforcement
area. They were widespread and appeared to be totally unrelated.
None of the victims knew each other and no common link was found
other than the fact that they were all dispatched by identical
method.

The thirteen men had all
been sleeping in their own beds. The perpetrator had placed a
pillow over the face of each before firing multiple shots to the
head. In one case the victim lived alone. In another the victim’s
young wife had been out late at a bachelorette party and discovered
the body when she returned home. In five cases, the victim’s wife
or girlfriend never heard anything and awakened to the sight of a
grisly and violent death. It was a safe assumption that the gun had
a sophisticated form of silencer because even heavy sleepers
wouldn’t sleep through multiple gunshots otherwise.

The other six were
sleeping with partners who had been lighter sleepers. Unfortunately
for them, the killer was set against leaving witnesses.

All told, the U.K. damage
was twenty one dead and nineteen orphaned.

It took the Ministry some
time, sending evidence to various labs and experts, to confirm for
certain that the bullets were not a match for any that had been
manufactured. Anywhere. While that might conceivably be explained
away, as a personal project of a gun enthusiast, what couldn’t be
explained was the alloy used in the composition. One of the metals
simply didn’t exist in the Catalog of Elements. That was a fact
that wouldn’t be reported.

The two investigators who had been assigned
the case were having coffee in a London office when a Scotland Yard
detective knocked on the open door jamb.

“I believe you will be interested in
this.”

He placed a report between
them. During the past week, when the rampage had stopped in the
U.K., there had been six other identical events elsewhere. One in
Sweden, one in Morocco, one in Canada, and three in the United
States. It was a pattern, but it wasn’t like any serial killing
pattern in record.

Nineteen of the twenty
names on the list were eliminated by the alien assassin. The
twentieth had already expired, verified in person by Number
Seventeen, who took a photo of the mausoleum drawer plaque where
the remains were entombed.

It was a successful
mission by any standard. In addition to terminating all living
targets, he had taken a biolocator reading on Elora Laiken every
day for twenty-six days in a row. Her location had not
changed.

CHAPTER 12

As much as the people who
were closest to Storm hated to admit it, after two weeks, they had
to get back to work and leave the search in the hands of species
who could actually, well, search. They had obligations to other
personnel and to The Order itself. So, much as Ram, Elora, and Glen
hated to continue going through the motions of life without Storm,
there really wasn’t a choice.

The Hunter Division
stationed at Jefferson Unit was transferred leaving a skeleton crew
that basically consisted of Z Team, that was if you were counting
active duty knights. Ram and Elora were on the premises, but
retired knights weren’t officially counted as part of an
installation’s defense system.

Fennimore was in residence
because he was using accrued vacation time to delay separation from
Elsbeth. Elora speculated to Ram that they were probably trying to
decide whether or not they could live without each other and
whether or not they wanted to try.

Dozens of support people
were transferred, farmed out to other facilities because they
simply weren’t going to need as many staff, particularly
medical.

By the time the dust
settled, what was left was minimal staff for the infirmary,
Research, meaning Monq and his research team and lab technicians,
enough kitchen corps to cover the reduced numbers, Maintenance
which was janitorial and housekeeping, and, of course, the trainees
and their instructors.

A system of drills aimed
at the trainees had been devised and implemented because the kids
were the biggest concern. Second sons had been the focus of The
Order’s work for centuries and that probably wasn’t going to change
until the last vampire was either dead or reintroduced to life as a
human. Even though the safety of the boys was priority, no one was
worried. The chances of J.U. being attacked were miniscule. It was
just a matter of better safe than sorry.

The first day after the
exodus, Elora went down to breakfast with Helm, planning to meet
Ram after his shift in the search war room. She found it a little
sad to see the once-bustling Hub practically deserted. It was even
echoing.

Like Ram knew what she was thinking, he
said, “Thin’s change. Right?” She nodded, grudgingly. “Acceptin’
that is part of maturity.”

“Okay. I was with you right
up until the part where
you
started talking about maturity.”

He grinned. “Suggestin’ I’m no’ full grown,
are ye?”

She laughed. “You are not
luring me into a sex-laden dialogue until I’ve had my morning
chocolate.”

“Aye. Cocoa is a grand
start to a
tête-à-tête
.”

A shadow came over her
face. “There are some changes I won’t accept.”

Ram knew she was talking
about the fact that Storm was still missing. “Oh, aye, my girl.
Some changes we will
never
be acceptin’.”

CHAPTER 13

When Storm had helped
Rammel study to go undercover as a bartender at Notte Fuoco in New
York, he’d thought he hadn’t paid much attention, but he’d picked
up more than he thought. It only took one day to get the hang of
running Hal’s place the way he liked it. Hal must have had his
share of truly lousy employees because he wouldn’t stop telling
Storm that he was lucky to have owned the door he walked
through.

The first night Storm took
his tips and set them next to the cash register for Hal.

“Hey, what’s this?”

“I think it’s, um, tips.”

“Well, then, this is yours, not mine.”

When Storm hesitated, Hal
said, “That advance I gave you was against pay. Not
tips.”

His tip money wasn’t going to pave the way
to a penthouse, but it enabled him to get some sweats, a jacket,
running shoes. Stuff like that.

So life took on a routine
of working and waiting to be found. Storm took orders, made drinks,
washed glasses, carried stock, emptied trash, swept, mopped, wiped
down the bar, washed and dried the bar linens and quickly learned
to feel at home in a white apron that tied around his waist. And he
was glad for anything that could distract his mind from missing
home, even if for just a few minutes at a time.

The worst time was crawling
into bed alone at night. He missed Litha like a physical ache.
Knowing that she was just as worried and scared, well, that didn’t
help at all.
He knew she’d be tearing up
the passes looking for him. He also knew that Rosie was probably
continuing to grow like a weed, even though he held on to the
irrational hope that he’d return to find everything the
same.

The only thing he could
think of to do, that might help, was to stay visible as much as he
could. His gut instinct told him that he’d be easier to find if he
was out in the open. He had no reason to believe that was true, but
if there was a chance…

He hoped like Hades that
sooner or later someone would look for him in the right
place.

So, when he wasn't working
or sleeping, he walked around the city or took a trolley to Golden
Gate Park where he divided his time between reading, and running to
keep in shape. The incline of the hills made a great workout and he
needed the burn.

The books Hal had left
behind in the studio apartment, when he’d lived there himself, were
not what Storm would have expected. Dickens, Descartes, Spinoza,
James Hilton, Bram Stoker. An eclectic mix revealed a guy who was
deeper and more complicated than his manner suggested, giving
support to the adage that appearances can be deceiving.

After Storm closed up at
night, he took a shower just to wash off the energy of the lost
souls who made up the Halcyon patronage. Then, before going to bed,
he would spend some time at the dinette writing out his story for
Hal in longhand. He left the document under his pillow during the
day thinking that, if he disappeared, it would be found. Hopefully
by Hal. If it was the only thing the guy wanted, it was the least
Storm could do in return for the extraordinary kindness and
generosity that had been extended to him.

One night, customers long
gone, Storm had closed up and polished off the checklist except for
one last thing – taking out the trash.

Opening the alley door,
t
he first thing he noticed was that a
night fog had come rolling off the bay. The mists hovered and
swirled and gave the illusion of life to the night air. The second
thing he noticed was a pricking of his senses that sent him
straight into high alert. He braced for the adrenalin rush that
always followed.

There was no mistaking the reaction. He’d
experienced it too many times not to know exactly what it meant.
Vampire.

In the dim light coming
from the street at the end of the alley, a dark figure was pressing
a woman against a dirty wall. If Storm had been anybody else, he
might have taken the two for lovers, but that scene was
disturbingly familiar and he knew what he was looking at. Predator
and prey.

He was on the verge of choosing a course of
action when movement at the other end of the alley drew his
attention.

Walking abreast, four
figures emerged from the fog. To Storm, possibly because he was on
alert, they seemed to be moving in slow motion, the athletic grace
of dancers coupled with the lethal purpose of predatory
machines.
Knights.
It was beautiful. Watching them silently stalk toward him, he
felt a wave of pride wash over him. It stood his follicles on end
and set his molecules vibrating, but he didn't have time to indulge
in emotion.

The vampire raised his
head and looked to his left. When he saw the glory of Black Swan
knights coming for him looking like they were empowered with the
authority and righteousness of the gods, he dropped his victim,
intending to flee the alley.

As fortune would have it,
someone had broken down a wood pallet and left it in the dumpster.
Storm reached over and snapped off a dagger-sized shard of the
splintered wood. When the vamp turned to run away from the knights,
he ran straight into the practiced aim of a vampire slayer who was
far, far from home. With shock evident in his colorless eyes, he
looked down at the blunt end of a wooden shiv sticking out of his
chest.

Storm locked gazes with
the vamp as he died, and muttered, "I know it's not your fault. But
it's not hers either. This is the only kind of cure I've got with
me. Better luck in your next life." And with that, the body
crumpled to the concrete.

After glancing at the
knights, he walked across the alley and placed two fingers against
the woman's neck. When they reached him, Storm looked up into their
curious faces and shook his head to indicate that she was past
saving. He stood and looked at the four, one by one, then said,
"Gentlemen. If you'll excuse me."

The stunned foursome
exchanged looks and, before Storm disappeared into the bar, one of
them managed to say, "Hold on, brother. We've got a couple of
questions."

Storm stopped and seemed
to be considering. After a few beats, he opened the alley door and
held it ajar.

"It's a long story. I'll buy you a drink if
you want."

One of the knights swept
his gaze over his three teammates as he took out an intelliphone
and touched a virtual button on the screen. "Go ahead. I'll call
for cleanup. If he’s buying, I’ll take a Jack Neat."

CHAPTER 14

Halcyon
Dimension
.

Angel loved racing season.
He could have used a bookie or found a convenient off-track betting
establishment behind a Chinese apothecary, but then he’d be
cheating himself out of the full-bodied experience.