Chapter 8
When we pulled into the dock, almost everyone went straight inside to go to bed or they went to their cars to head to their respective homes. Jack went to the front porch to have a smoke, and no one commented when I eased away from the others to join him.
He offered me a cig when I sat down on the rail of the fencing surrounding the porch directly across from the bench he’d taken a seat on. I shook my head, picking at a splinter in the wood and avoiding his gaze.
“I need to make a phone call.”
Jack ignored me until he’d finished lighting up and took the first deep drag, making the tip of his cigarette glow brightly enough to cast eerie shadows on the valleys and depressions of his face. “Not a good idea. Modern technology can be traced, given the right skills, time, and budget. This mess with the werewolves has the Feds interested, and I’m not interested in leading them here.”
I bit back my first reaction, which was to curse and break something. After taking a few deep breaths and counting to ten, I was composed enough to continue. “I’m not asking permission. We’re short on time and leads. I know some people who might be able to help.”
Jack gestured with his cigarette for me to continue.
“There were two police officers who wanted me—
“Are you crazy? Bad enough to make a call, but to the cops? I thought you were smarter than that.”
Scowling, I kicked at his foot. He winced at the contact, and I instantly felt bad, but at least he was glaring and listening instead of brushing me off. “Let me finish! They can help. These two, they wanted me to hide, not come to the station. They’re investigating werewolves connected to Jim Pradiz’s murder, so they might have some leads. If they have any info we could use, they could help end this mess now.”
Jack ashed his cigarette and rose, the scent of death and smoke heavy on his breath as he leaned in to me to whisper a few words before retreating inside the house. “Don’t think even for a moment that they’re on your side. Not after what you did tonight.”
I recoiled as if he’d slapped me. Jack was every bit as much of a killer as I was, but he had a point. Talking to the cops immediately after committing a murder was not the smartest thing to do, but I was out of other options. With two weeks between now and my potential change, I had to act fast.
I hopped off the fence and grabbed Jack’s shoulder. He didn’t turn, but he did stop and glance back at me, one pale brow rising as he flicked his cigarette into the barrel of sand nearby.
“Listen, Jack. I know you don’t like it, but I think they can help. I don’t believe for a second that you’ve cut yourself off from all technology out here. You had to be able to reach those other hunters somehow.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, but he jerked his head at the door. “Talk to Keith.”
Looked like that was all the help I was going to get from him. I brushed past him and entered the house, taking the stairs two at a time to reach Keith’s room on the second floor. Like me, he had taken up residence with Jack and Nikki, relying on their hospitality and bankroll to stay hidden from—well, come to think of it, I’d never asked him who he was on the run from. I was most likely better off not knowing.
Keith answered on the third knock, wearing nothing but socks and boxer shorts. The bright red and blue stripes seemed especially garish against his pallor. There was a video game paused on the screen of one of the computers lined up against the wall.
He blinked, rubbing the back of his neck, when he saw me standing there. “Hey, Shia, what’s up?”
“I, uh ...” ... forgot what I was going to say at the sight of his skinny frame. For a second the belt had a twinge of reaction like I was confronting a vampire. That boy was
pale.
“Look, I’m kind of busy here. Do you need something or what?”
I cleared my throat. “Sorry. Yes. I need to make a phone call. A secure phone call. Jack said I should talk to you.”
“Oh. Sure. One sec.”
He turned away and went to a closet. He pulled out a moving box that was literally full of cell phones. A couple fell out when he dragged the box closer. He kicked one of them toward me that I stopped with my foot, then knelt down to pick up.
“We have these for emergencies. The signal here sucks, but if you walk a few blocks north you should get a couple bars. Don’t turn it on until you’re ready to use it. I reprogrammed it to scramble the signal, but it can still be traced if the equipment is sophisticated enough. Keep your convo short, and make sure you pop out the battery as soon as you end your call. Bring it back to me and let me know if you need another one.”
“Thanks.” He returned my smile and turned away. I glanced down at the phone in my hand, then back at him. “Hey, Keith?”
“Yeah?”
“You know anything about the OtherNet?”
He scowled, then turned away to shove the box back into place. He didn’t bother to pick up the phones that had fallen to the floor or shut his closet before stalking to the rolling chair in front of his computer and plopping into it. “That place is full of flamers and posers. Hardly any Others use it anymore since some asshat on the West Coast hacked it and blew some other hunters’ cover. Goddamn wannabe black hats don’t know when to quit. The few legit Others who do still use the forum aren’t in our territory or aren’t one of our targets, and most of them are treading far more carefully about posting their plans and whereabouts these days.”
“Oh,” I said, though I wasn’t totally sure what he meant. Black hats? I wondered if there was any relation to the White Hats. “I don’t suppose you could pull it up on one of those computers for me, could you?”
“I guess. We have a sock puppet account. You can browse, but don’t post anything.”
I nodded, but he wasn’t looking, already sliding his chair over to another keyboard. He pulled up a browser and typed in a cryptic URL that made no sense to me, but it pulled up a Web forum with the heading “The OtherNet—Where Others Come Together.” Huh.
He moved aside so I could hunch over the keyboard and mouse. There were sub-forums broken down by territories. I clicked open the New York sub-forum, and was somehow unsurprised by the number of repeat postings that A.D. Royce Industries and The Circle were both hiring. I hardly noticed when Keith went back to his game, abruptly riveted by the sight of a recent topic—
Sunstrikers.
My elation at finding a clue was short-lived. The topic was a few pages long, but the most recent posts were about the newspaper article Jim Pradiz had written—and a follow-up by another reporter that I opened in a new tab. Skimming the story chilled my blood. According to that article, I was the last surviving witness. The most recent posters were speculating whether or not I was dead since I’d gone missing after the last sighting by police a few days ago.
The last few posts were made by “NytStryke289,” “MadeofWIN42,” and “BooksBabesBeer”—and the signatures at the bottom of each post told me they were Hawk, Spike, and Doc. The number of “LOL,” “STFU,” and “newbsauce” comments removed any doubts as to whether it truly was the misfit pack of Weres who called themselves the Nightstrikers. Maybe this wasn’t such a bust after all.
“Can I make my own account here?”
Keith shook his head, not looking away from his screen. “No. You have to get a special invitation from an admin to make an account. That’s part of how they keep anyone who isn’t Other out. We had to steal the account info from someone else in order to get in, and I don’t have the time to find another dead Other to impersonate for you.”
Shit. My tracks wouldn’t be covered, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use this as a resource. “I’m going to send someone a private message here. Let me know if he replies, okay?”
That caught his attention. He glanced over at me, frowning, and red splashed across his screen. Cursing, he nodded, then turned his attention back to his game.
I typed a message to NytStryke289—Hawk—with my lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure as I concentrated on wording it in such a way that he’d know who I was and what I wanted without naming names.
Hey Hawk, it’s the knuckle-dragger’s girlfriend. You met me upstate last month. I could use your help tracking down the asshole—he’s gone into hiding.Think you could lend me a hand? Watch your reply; don’t know who is looking for me.
I wasn’t expecting him to get back to me right away, but a reply popped up on the screen while I was scanning over some of the other topics. I was a little too afraid to click on the thread about me, but the ones discussing the White Hats and the “friendly agents”—people sympathetic to Others—might be useful to peruse later. The message from Hawk was short and sweet, but gave me hope.
ZOMG! Thought you were dead! Lots of people looking for you, including popo and the big fanged kahuna in NYC.You sure know how to piss people off. I’ll see what we can dig up. Might take a couple days if he’s hiding, but we’ve found him before. We can do it again.
That was more than I expected. I sent him a thank-you note in reply and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The Nightstrikers might not be competent hunters, but they had connections to Others that I was lacking as long as I avoided Royce.
‘You don’t need the vampire,
’ the belt snapped.
I rolled my eyes and didn’t bother with a response.
With some regret—for as much as I wanted to, it would be dangerous to send e-mails to my mother or Arnold or anyone else who might be missing me—I pushed away from the desk, thanking Keith, who gave me a brief wave without looking away from his monitor. There was maybe an hour left before sunrise, and the belt was radiating an antsy need to work off some residual energy. Detective Smith was probably asleep, but it couldn’t hurt to leave him a voice mail directing him to leave a message for me with Sara if he’d come across any info. I needed to check on her anyway. I hadn’t had any contact with her since I had fled Royce’s apartment building.
Leaving Sara behind hadn’t been an easy decision, but I couldn’t afford to bring her any deeper into my mess. She didn’t have the benefit of the belt or magic or training as a fighter, so I couldn’t risk bringing her along with me when I left. Hiding her among Royce’s people seemed like a good idea at the time, but I had no idea how he was treating her or what he had done with her since then. It had been a worry in the back of my mind for days, but I hadn’t wanted to contact Royce in case he might trace my whereabouts or somehow figure out where I was hiding.
Running briskly through the neighborhood was peaceful, surrounded by the scent of the ocean and the whispery rattle of autumn leaves. It had the added benefit of taking the edge off the belt’s need for an adrenaline rush. The trench coat hid my weapons, and the armor was sufficient for keeping me out of harm’s way, but it wasn’t a great substitute for a turtleneck and some sweatpants. I stopped when I reached the Pelham Cemetery on King Avenue, glancing around to make sure I wasn’t being watched.
No one was awake at this hour to see my intrusion into the domain of the dead, and it seemed a fitting place to make my call. Ignoring the P
RIVATE
P
ROPERTY
N
O
T
RESPASSING
sign, I slid over the black wrought iron fence. The headstones loomed in the darkness, lit by little more than moonlight and a few distant lights from a nearby marina.
Passing a tall, blue-white spire dedicated to someone named Jennings, I crouched in the dead grass by a thick shrub to minimize my visibility to anyone who might happen to drive by or look out his or her window. No one to see me here but any lingering ghosts. The salt sea breeze laced with smells of gasoline and old fish stung my nose, and the biting cold seemed worse here, this close to the water. Shivering, I dialed the cell phone number I had committed to memory that had been scrawled on the back of the cop’s card, figuring I’d leave a message. The detective surprised me by picking up after a couple rings.
“Hello?”
“Detective Smith? It’s Shiarra Waynest.”
There was a very lengthy pause before he answered. “It’s good to know you’re alive. I’m surprised you called.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have if I could have avoided it. I don’t suppose you know why some of your fellow boys in blue tried to pull me in for questioning, do you?”
“Someone very high up wants to get their hands on you. First it was just for questioning as a witness in the disappearances and murders. Running made you a suspect.” That sent a thrill of fear down my spine. My grip tightened on the phone, and I had to lean against a nearby tree for balance while he continued talking. “Wherever you’re hiding, you’re doing a good job. Stay there, and keep your head down. We’ve managed arrests on a couple of the Weres who were involved, but most of them are still at large, and you and your friend are still in danger. Plus, you’re the only witness in our case against the Sunstrikers who’s still alive. I know you didn’t do it, and I need you to close this damned case, so stay out of downtown as much as you can.”
“Okay. Shit.”
“Yeah. By the way, your ex and his cronies are doing a better job of hiding than you are. I don’t suppose you might have given him some tips on where to hide? So far we haven’t been able to track down any of the men you indicated were involved. Have you and Ms. Halloway had any run-ins?”