Chapter 15
Bo and I immediately went back to back so we couldn’t be flanked, preparing to meet the rush. I hadn’t expected a fight, so all I had were the stakes. As far as I knew, Bo only had a Glock tucked into the small of his back and a silver-coated hunting knife. Three—no, four—Weres had hopped down from the bridge, and two more had come down the opposite steps, plus the fucker in the trench coat.
Patrick’s sightless eyes and the blood staining the stones under him were hint enough that this ambush hadn’t been planned so whoever was after Jack could take prisoners.
‘Not good odds.’
No shit. Any ideas?
‘Let me take over. I’ll handle it.’
There wasn’t time for me to argue or reflect. The moment I started contemplating agreeing, I found myself trapped in my own head, a bystander to the belt’s special brand of madness.
Though I could feel the stretch of my muscles, the pain of impact when one of the Weres managed to punch or scratch me, and the cold wind blowing my hair around my face, I had no more say in what I was doing. The belt forced me to move away from Bo to meet my attackers head-on. Though I felt a pang of conscience for leaving Bo to fend for himself, I spun, twisted, ducked, kicked, punched, and basically put some of Neo’s moves in
The Matrix
to shame. Everything moved in a blur—and I found I wasn’t as worried about those scratches as I probably should have been.
One of the Weres swiped claws at my face. I caught its wrist and hurled it into another one of the beasts. Another snapped its jaws at my ankle, aiming to incapacitate me. I kicked it so hard, fangs scattered like marbles, clacking over the stone pathway. It fell back, only to be replaced by another, which I cracked in the sternum with my elbow, driving the breath out of it.
I hadn’t even pulled one of my stakes yet.
Bo was just as busy as I was. He was using the gun to keep the Weres from descending on Jack, and the hunting knife as long as my forearm to slice and dice any of them that got too close to him. I’d never seen him in action before. His leg had already been in traction when I first met him, when I was taken to the White Hat’s hideout back when the hunters saved me from Max Carlyle.
He showed no signs of his earlier injury. The moves were calculated, fluid, and deadly. One Were was already breathing its last by his feet. Others sported wounds on their furry muzzles, throats, and chests. He was going for the kill, not to wound. Excellent.
Considering the Weres put the majority of their attention on me once they realized I was a greater threat than Bo—that I was more than human—I was holding my own. My back was burning with pain from some shallow claw wounds. My ankle ached from kicking the Were, my arms were bruised, and my knuckles were raw and bleeding. Other than that, I wasn’t doing too badly.
Time to break out the big guns.
A pained yelp was startled out of the Were in front of me when I embedded one of the stakes in its chest. I shoved it aside as it fell to its unnaturally jointed knees, and worked my way closer to Jack and the thing in the trench coat standing over him. Bo was out of bullets, unable to drive it off.
The stakes were not only silver, but imbued with magic. As soon as I went more than a few feet from the body they were stuck inside, they popped out of existence and teleported back into place in their holsters on the belt. The glory of magework. The belt used its knowledge and skill to kill and incapacitate the remaining Weres until only the leader remained, one hand formed into monstrous claws hovering over Jack’s throat.
“Step no closer.”
The voice was low, guttural. A male on the verge of shifting.
I—or the belt—didn’t give it a chance to hurt Jack. With a rather impressive roundhouse kick (if I did say so myself), I sent the creature flying a good thirty feet until it slammed into the base of the bridge, leaving a deep dent in the concrete and stone. Dust and pebbles rained down onto the stones of the path below.
That might have slowed the creature, but it wasn’t down for the count. It was already staggering to its feet. As much as I wanted to prolong the fight and finish the thing off, sirens were blaring in the distance, growing closer. The gunshots must have been reported by someone.
Scooping Jack into my arms, I fled back the way we had come, shouting at Bo, who was staring at me instead of hightailing it as he should have been. “Come on! Move your ass!”
With a start, he bounded after me, hot on my heels. I had to slow down so he could keep up. Jack was groaning and clutching his wound. He hadn’t quite seemed to notice yet who had picked him up. That wasn’t a bad thing in my estimation. He already thought poorly enough of me. No telling how he’d take it or respond once he realized he’d been rescued by an Other-tainted girl.
Of course that asshat in the trench coat couldn’t stay down. Bo made a strangled sound before he was pulled back, cracking his cheek on the steps when he failed to catch himself as it yanked one of his legs back.
Though I wasn’t as gentle with Jack as I wanted to be, I put him down as carefully and quickly as I could before leaping over Bo to tackle the creature. Claws dug into my ribs and hip as we rolled down the steps in a mockery of a lover’s embrace. We were both snarling and clawing at each other. Its much heavier weight allowed it to come to rest on top when we finally stopped that painful roll.
I shoved and clawed at it, writhing under its bulk, but it didn’t let up in the slightest.
Its hands immediately went for my throat, putting pressure on my windpipe while those talons dug into my skin. My vision was going gray around the edges, but the belt still radiated confidence.
Abruptly, the creature let loose an agonized howl, falling back as the stake shoved into its gut dug deep enough to scrape along bone. Blood and some other fluid gushed out of the thing, coating me in foul-smelling, hot ichor.
It twisted off of me and leapt to its feet, fleeing into the darkness, one hand holding its guts inside. Coughing and rubbing at my throat, I cautiously sat up, feeling around my chest to make sure I hadn’t rebroken any ribs in the tussle. There was pain and tenderness, but it didn’t feel like anything was out of place.
Lurching to my feet, I shuffled up the stairs as rapidly as I could, considering my head was spinning like I’d just taken a few shots of green death Nyquil. Bo had gotten back to his feet and had Jack in a fireman’s carry. That couldn’t have been comfortable for either of them. Bo’s cheek was still bleeding, too. He shook his head when I caught up and tried to help, jerking his head in the direction of the car.
“Take the keys and get it started. I’ll be right behind you.”
I pulled the keys from Jack’s back pocket and took off at an unsteady trot for the car. The sirens were getting pretty deafening, and red and blue lights were now flashing through the trees over my head. I veered off the path and cut into the bushes, sticking to the dark and moving from tree to tree, trying to stay concealed. I hoped Bo had thought to do the same.
A few uniforms raced past me, some unnervingly close, but none seemed to notice me in the shadows. They all had their hands on their guns and were booking it for the plaza. The bodies would cause quite a stir. Six dead or dying Weres beaten to a pulp and one dead White Hat were no doubt an unusual sight, even for New York’s finest. They’d have to call in supernatural consultants to check the scene, but Patrick’s body meant civilian involvement. It would be a public relations nightmare for the Others in the city once word got out.
I was sure Bo had had alterations done to his gun and ammunition so the bullets and casings wouldn’t be traceable. None of the hunting activities of the White Hats could be considered legal, and they’d had years to learn the pitfalls of dealing with police interference and investigations. The kind of damage we’d done and lack of human bodies on the scene would most likely make it appear to be an Other-related fracas Patrick had unwittingly stumbled upon, so hopefully that meant little suspicion would fall on the hunters. Or on me.
Once the cops were well past me, I counted to fifty under my breath, then huddled into my jacket and headed at a good clip toward the car. The image of a civilian trying to get away from a scene of violence and bundled up against the cold should work as long as no one looked too closely, noticed the blood or the way the parka lay in tatters on my back.
Luckily enough, no one called out for me to halt or to say that they just wanted to ask a few questions. Most of the cops must have gone straight to the scene. They’d left their vehicles parked haphazardly on the street, only one policeman left behind to keep an eye on things. He didn’t appear to notice me—his attention was on whatever was coming out of the radio.
I held my breath as he looked my way, noting movement or maybe hearing something in the park. He scanned the area for a heart-stopping twenty or thirty seconds, then looked elsewhere, once again distracted by some report coming in over the horn.
Bo must have been making some noise. As soon as the cop wasn’t looking his way, he rushed out from behind a bush to crouch behind the concealment of the car, easing the door open and shut.
“Don’t go back to the house,” Jack said, his voice weak with pain. I jerked around in the seat to look him over, examining his injury as best I could. His hand was over the wound, putting pressure on it, but it appeared to have stopped bleeding. Couldn’t be that serious then. “That ambush... somehow they knew. Ricky betrayed us. Who knows what else he’s told them.”
With a grimace, Jack tried to sit up but settled back when Bo pushed him down.
The belt released its hold on me, now that its skills and stealth weren’t needed, but it was still projecting excitement and satisfaction. Creepy thing.
I started the car and eased out into the street, careful to avoid the cop cars. Wouldn’t do us much good to have gotten this far without attracting notice just to end up having the cop read the license plate and put out an APB for suspects in a multiple homicide. Self-defense would come across like a pretty lame excuse when faced with the mess we left back there. Our combined documented histories with Others also wouldn’t help our case. Oh, and let’s not forget that I was already considered a suspect or at the least a person of interest in the murder of Jim Pradiz. This was looking better and better by the moment.
Fingers tight on the steering wheel, I didn’t focus much on where I was going other than to ensure I didn’t plow into somebody else or run any lights. My attention kept flicking to Jack through the rearview. “Where the hell do we go? What do we do, Jack? We need to get you to Doc Morrow.”
He coughed, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He examined whatever rubbed off with dull eyes, then closed them, his features twisting in pain. “Take the next left. Head toward Times Square. There’s a safe house downtown. We’ll call the others over when we get there.”
I did as he bid, getting the address when he started fading so I could find it if he passed out. His normal pallor had become sallow and worried me. It was possible he needed more than Dr. Morrow’s attentions. What if he needed another infusion from Royce? Jack was clearly fading. I doubted he went to the vampire except when he had to. Nikki would never forgive me if I let him die—but Jack might never forgive me if I told Royce where the hunters’ hideout was, or let the other hunters find out that Jack was playing both sides.
Plus, facing Royce right now did not seem like the best idea. He’d wormed his way into my head, right there on the street, and I knew he was losing patience with me. No matter what he said, he wasn’t interested in letting me run around on my own much longer. I had to finish this business with Chaz before I went back to Royce’s place, or he might never let me go.
‘Might?
You know
he wouldn’t. If not for the vampire, you never would have gotten in this mess.’
It’s not Royce’s fault Chaz cheated on me,
I replied, keeping a tight lid on the explosive rage behind that thought.
I can’t do this right now. Let me concentrate on driving.
‘All I’m saying,’
the belt whispered, barely there in the back of my head,
‘is that you need to start considering what you’re going to do about the vampire once this business with the wolf is over. You know it won’t let you go. It’ll enslave you, just like it did before. Is that what you want?’
I didn’t bother responding.
‘You know it’s true. Look at what it tried to do right in the street. What do you think it will do to you once you’re alone with it? It doesn’t care about you. All it sees is an asset. An expendable one.’
My grip tightened on the steering wheel.
Stop. Talking.
‘Just think it over. Consider your options. The longer you wait, the less choice you’ll have.’
Story of my life.
Chapter 16
(Days left to full moon: 6)
Less than a week left. I hadn’t been sleeping or eating for the last two days. Ever since we had come to the loft apartment Jack had directed us to, he’d forbidden most of us to leave until he was back on his feet.
The doc didn’t want Jack moving around or doing anything strenuous. The damage the Were had done was minimal, but the blood loss combined with the lung cancer had set Jack’s recovery back a long way. There was little Dr. Morrow could do, as all of his treatment had to be off the books, and there was only so much equipment and medicine he had to work with there. Jack kept insisting it wouldn’t be much longer before he was ready to fight, but from the look of him and the sound of his breathing, I wasn’t sure he’d ever get back on his feet again.
Nikki was falling apart. She wouldn’t leave Jack’s side and ran the other hunters like she owned them. When she tried to boss me around, too, I walked out. It pissed her off, but I wasn’t going to pretend even for a minute that I considered her fit to lead this outfit once Jack was gone. If he died before this was over, I had no doubt Nikki’s first order of business would be to kill me, even if I hadn’t shifted yet.
Jack was situated in the master bedroom. Bo and Keith had set themselves up on cots downstairs, while I’d setup camp on a couch and Nikki had taken the other bed upstairs. Keith had taken as much equipment as he could carry from the hideout on City Island and met up with us within a couple hours. There were extra sets of clothing, weapons, ammunition, and food stocks in the loft. It was a little cramped considering we were all supposed to stay put, and no one other than Keith was happy to be here. The only reason the computer geek liked it was the discount electronics shop right across the street.
I might have liked the place better if I could have parked my ass at the Starbucks or the Dunkin’ Donuts down the block instead of having to wait out Jack’s recovery day in and day out inside the apartment. Bo, Nikki, and Keith could come and go as they pleased, but I wasn’t allowed to step foot beyond the building’s front door. No one wanted to risk my being seen by cops or anyone else who might recognize me. It didn’t help my temper that Jason and Adam were also forbidden to wander around. We were the biggest security risks, according to Jack.
Plus we were technically in Moonwalker territory, and who knew what connection, if any, the werewolf pack had to the Weres who had attacked us in the park or what they’d do if they knew I was here. I was reasonably certain I was now on Rohrik Donovan’s shit list, and the local and national news was abuzz about the bodies found in Carl Schurz Park that night. While Patrick’s death was regrettable, it didn’t appear too many people were up in arms over one more dead extremist hunter. Rather, the buzz was focused on speculating about an Other war brewing on the horizon, and that this was just the first skirmish of many to come.
If only they knew.
As often as I put up the argument that I could have been doing more good on the streets, following up on the leads I’d gleaned from Chaz’s computer, Jack wouldn’t hear of it. He sent Bo, Adam, and Jason to check them out instead. Keith let me use one of his laptops so I could keep tabs on any purchases made by Chaz, but other than that I was feeling useless.
Bo had followed my instructions and found what we thought was Kimberly’s office, pretended to be a potential client, and got some song and dance from the answering service that she was currently out of town. It didn’t matter. I used my own resources to find her home address once Bo confirmed her last name for me.
Like with Chaz’s home, it appeared someone was stopping by to handle minor matters, but that nobody had been occupying the place for at least a week or two. It was incredibly frustrating not to be able to go myself and having to rely on the information the men gathered. They were good, but they weren’t private investigators or cops, and didn’t know the little telltales to look for or have the patience for traditional surveillance work. That was a staple of my business.
I didn’t want to cause the bank to flag Chaz’s account for suspicious activity by checking it too often. I limited myself to twice a day, tempted as I was to check it every fifteen minutes to see where that bastard was hiding.
He made a few minor purchases. Fast food, mostly. It wasn’t always in the same part of town, but he was still on Long Island, mostly in Queens and in Nassau County. He stayed roughly in the region of my house and Sara’s. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t think of any mutual friend or other Sunstriker who might be offering Chaz, Dillon, or Kimberly shelter. If he was staying at a hotel, he was using cash on hand, not his card.
If this had been a case for a client, I would have used my computer at the office to hunt down family to call and question. Without access to my accounts and programs, I couldn’t do my job effectively. I couldn’t risk logging in to any of my personal accounts on the Internet for fear of having my IP traced back. Chaz’s car hadn’t been parked by his home to allow us to install a GPS tracker, and I didn’t know what Kimberly or Dillon’s cars looked like, so I couldn’t have the White Hats do an install on theirs.
While the belt had kept me company at night, it wasn’t much help. It kept insisting Royce was responsible for my troubles.
Problem was, I was starting to believe it.
If I hadn’t taken the job for The Circle—my God, was it really less than a year ago?—I never would have found myself tied up with Royce. If the vampire hadn’t become so interested in me, I never would have been beaten, hospitalized, kidnapped, bitten, and bound by blood as a mindless servant. Chaz wouldn’t have been interested in rebuilding our relationship only to let it fail so spectacularly. The police wouldn’t want me in connection with a murder I didn’t commit. My father wouldn’t have disowned me.
I wouldn’t have killed anyone.
The more the belt whispered about all the things that had gone wrong since Royce came into my life, the more I wanted to blame him for my troubles. Which wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t. But the belt’s words still made me doubt, and that made me want to confront the vampire and find out if this mess he’d made of my life had been his plan for me all along. Had he meant for all these terrible things to happen so I’d be forced to turn to him for help again and again until I wouldn‘t—or couldn’t—leave his side?
There was no doubt in my mind Royce wanted me to return. Hell, he was holding back the information on whatever had happened to Sara, most likely specifically to make me come back to him.
Of course, as soon as I showed up at Royce’s door, he’d never let me leave again. The question remained: Why? What did I mean to him? Why was I so special? No matter how I wracked my brains for answers, I couldn’t figure it out.
So I took the time in confinement to learn about him. Study him. See if I could get into his head. I studied every interview and article about him I could find. He was artful and cagey in all of his responses. Very public relations-oriented. Nothing new there. Most of what I found was not at all useful, just statistics and speculations about his businesses, his charitable contributions, and his public appearances.
The OtherNet, though. That had a few more answers, and none of them were good.
Unsurprisingly, the vampire had an entire thread devoted to him, many pages long. He had even posted on it a couple of times. It was full of sightings, notes of his involvement in certain disappearances, and an estimate of the traffic his business was seeing, both in terms of finance and expansion of his ranks. His popularity was undeniable, as was the scary fact of his power, made clear by the documented instances of him or his minions laying the smack down on competitors. Someone had even posted a few pictures of the aftermath of a battle that Mouse and Royce’s chief of security, Angus MacLeod, had participated in behind some club sometime back in the eighties. Some of the remains were barely recognizable as having been a person.
Royce’s response on the message board was simple, elegant, and chilling, all at once.
We all do what we must to protect our own.
Yeah. Real charming.
It was frustrating that Keith still wouldn’t let me post on the board. I was itching to ask questions. As many as the board answered for me—and make no mistake, it was
full
of information about Others and their politics that I probably could have happily done without knowing my entire life—it seemed that for every answer I found, two more questions formed in my head.
Out of curiosity, I checked the sub-forums for other cities, just to see what they might hold. There were threads on all of the big names in their local supernatural communities, too. Some were longer and obviously hotter topics than the others, like the ones on Rohrik Donovan and Royce.
Vampire-ville was what drew my eye.
Max Carlyle. Clyde Seabreeze. Ian Taft. Vampires I’d never heard of before—Chuck Masterson in Dallas. Fabian d’Argento in San Francisco. Theodore Welsh in D.C. Alejandro Vasquez in Las Vegas. On and on. A few of them were members of the message board, too. Clyde, the master vampire of Los Angeles, was more active than Royce. His thread was full of pictures of him modeling and posing for magazines and YouTube clips of him speaking on TV shows. Some of the links and pictures had even been posted by him. Overall, it wasn’t very interesting, though he was pretty to look at in a blond, blue-eyed, chiseled, James Dean knock-off way.
Actually, I take that back. After taking a closer look at his latest picture, make that brown with frosted tips. Yeesh. In that pose, lounging shirtless on a plush couch in some leather pants, and with that gleam in his eye that said he wanted to do bad things all night long, he could have given Royce a run for his money in the smoldering looks department. The vampire was prettier than he had any right to be. Hell, most of them were.
Reading the threads took my mind off my impending change. Any doubt that I was infected had been wiped away once my body decided that it was switching to a nocturnal schedule. Daylight dug into the back of my skull like daggers. As Rohrik had warned, loud noises now bothered me, and I found myself getting nauseous at the scent of things the others didn’t pick up on, even when I wasn’t wearing the belt. The only symptom I hadn’t shown yet, thank goodness, was a craving for rare or raw meat.
None of the hunters wanted to be around me while I was like this. Some of the threads on the OtherNet had confirmed my fears. I was showing almost every sign and symptom of having succumbed to the lycanthropy virus. My only consolation was knowing that, at least until I turned, I still had the use of the belt and I still had some time to find Chaz. Not much of it, and maybe no real leads to speak of, but I hadn’t given up yet.
Though I thought about getting in touch with Arnold now and again about that cure he’d promised to hunt for, and maybe to see if he’d had any word from Sara, the belt strongly advised against it. Since the belt had been a mage in life, I believed it when it said he wouldn’t have found anything that could help me. Plus the risks of being tracked by getting in touch with friends and family while so many were looking for me made it far too dangerous to chance. If Sara hadn’t been keeping in touch with Detective Smith, she might not have been contacting Arnold, either. The only real way to be sure what had happened to her would be to go back to Royce’s apartment building to see for myself—a prospect I knew I would eventually have to face, but was coming to dread.
Everyone else had long since gone to bed, and the moon had already set for the evening. The latest eye candy in Clyde’s thread soothed the burning in my eyes—but not as much as the pop-up alert that Hawk had finally replied. I nearly dropped the computer in my haste to see what his message said.
Sorry for the delay. Family and pack emergencies kept me AFK, and looks like your boy does a decent job of pulling a Houdini when he needs to.
Anyway, looks like newbsauce is staying with a beta, along with most of the dominant wolves in his pack. I’ve got an address for you. Don’t envy whoever they strong-armed into letting them camp.You need the Nightstrikers to help you raid? I wouldn’t take him in PvP unless you’re packing some heavy firearms.We can drive down to the city if you need us to get your back Don’t pull a Leeroy on this one.
I told myself the tears pricking my eyes were from the brightness of the screen combined with the lack of sleep, not the overwhelming gratitude that washed over me. As much as I could have used their help facing Chaz (and wondered what the hell a Leeroy was), I didn’t want to pull the geeky Weres into my mess.
I typed back a quick “thank you,” an insincere promise not to do anything rash, and asked for the address. He got back to me in less than a minute with the info and a warning.
I’m not j/k’ing.There’s something bad brewing in town,and he has something to do with it. Watch your ass.
No kidding. Here’s hoping I could pull this one off.