Vampire Uprising (11 page)

“Wait a second. Do that again.”

“What?”

“The light. Move it again.”

Cole had only turned his head so he could give two of his senses a break at the same time. To appease the other Skinner, he waved the light back and forth across the dead Nymar’s upper body.

“That’s it!” Abel said. “Did you see it?”

Although his movements gave the corpse’s exposed, ravaged heart a cool strobe effect, Cole found one major difference with the tendrils shooting through the vampire’s arms and legs. At first glance they just seemed thinner than normal. What differentiated them from tendrils on any other Nymar he’d seen was the way they reacted to the light. When the flashlight’s beam was shining directly on them, they shriveled into crooked, almost imperceptible lines. When the beam moved away, the tendrils fattened and spread out until they were almost touching one another.

Cole moved the beam back and forth a few more times,
but the effect was less noticeable with every pass.

“I wonder if it could do that when it was alive,” Abel said.

“The tendrils only become gray when they’re drying out. If all the plumbing was still connected, it may cover this thing in some sort of black … cloak?”

Abel pressed his head against the bars to get as close a look as possible without crawling through the muck. “Pretty smart. I see why Paige kept you around. Well, apart from the obvious reasons. A living Nymar may even be able to control when those tendrils spread out like that. He could damn near go invisible if he was in the shadows.”

“That’s pushing it, but it might help him stay hidden. There’s something else that’s strange. This thing isn’t tripping much of anything in my scars. What about you?”

“It’s dead, Cole. Just like damn near everything else down here. That’s why everyone’s upstairs. I bet Lancroft just set this place aside as a dumping ground.”

Something at the far end of the hall growled at them. More than a simple animal’s snarl, it directed itself at Cole and Abel as surely as if it had known their names.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Abel grunted.

Cole dug his phone from his pocket and took a few pictures of the dead Nymar. The tendrils still had some flex to them as he passed the light back and forth, so he got some shots of that as well. “Check the rest of the hall, Abel.”

“You check it.”

“Just go!”

Cole didn’t care if Abel did the job or not. All he really wanted was to get the other Skinner to move away from that little door when he crawled through. There wasn’t a way for him to exit without making himself vulnerable to a quick downward stab, and more than likely, Lancroft had constructed the doors with that very purpose in mind. Either that, he thought, or he was getting too paranoid for his own good.

Once he was outside, Cole checked on Abel. Nothing else struck him as more peculiar than it had been the last time he was down there. Whatever was caged at the farthest end kept its back against the wall and stared at the Skinners with
glittering eyes. It was a shapeshifter. He could tell that much from the way it swelled or contracted, as if its entire skeletal structure was an illusion. Finding out any more than that would have required getting much too close to the thing, and despite their differences, all the Skinners agreed that the creature at the end of the hall was best left alone where it was.

On their way back up the stairs, Cole asked, “What’s the word with the cops? Is there going to be a problem?”

“Nah. Selina straightened it out. A few of the officers know about Nymar, and they’re glad to let us take care of ‘em. Since there were two feeding on someone in that house, we got a pass. Still, tell Paige to rein it in when she gets back.”

“Tell her yourself.”

Abel chuckled all the way up the stairs. Although Cole tried ignoring him when he asked some of the others in the workshop about where Paul and M had gone, the greasy smile plastered on Abel’s face made that task next to impossible.

“I remember Paul coming through,” a Skinner from the West Coast said. “He was a quiet guy who’d come alone to poke through the house.”

“Where did they go?” Cole asked.

Pointing to a stack of crates filled with old baby food jars containing a multitude of fluids that most definitely should not be fed to babies, he replied, “M went straight for that pile there and left with half a milk crate full of stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Don’t know. Without Lancroft’s journals, a lot of this is being filed in the unknown category.”

“And they just walked out with it?”

“M’s supposed to be with Paul, and Paul is a Skinner,” the guy pointed out. “Why would I stop him? Is there some sort of pecking order I don’t know about?”

“No,” Cole grunted. Of all the things that were bugging him, not one of them had to do with the guy from the West Coast. In fact, most of the Skinners who’d drifted in had been content to take a few supplies or one of the old weapons
and be on their way. The ones that grated on Cole’s nerves the most were the ones that refused to leave.

As if picking up on his chance to grate some more, Abel asked, “Where’s Paige?”

“Not sure,” he lied.

“You’re not sure? You don’t keep track of your partner?”

“No,” Cole snapped. “Do you?”

When Cole walked over to the crates of jars along the opposite wall, Abel stuck with him. “Jory and Selina are pretty close,” Abel said, “but not like you and Paige.”

The words didn’t bug Cole so much as the creepy way Abel said them. Crouching down to pull some of the crates away from the wall so he could get to the back stacks, he found a few that weren’t quite in line with the rest.

Either Abel was used to being ignored or he took Cole’s silence as an invitation to continue. “From what I seen, you two are
real
close.”

“And what have you seen?”

“You know. The way you look at her. That sappy shit when you touched her hair.”

Cole gnashed his teeth. He’d forgotten about the hair thing. His phone rang, saving him the trouble of continuing the conversation. When he saw who was calling, it was even easier to pretend the other man didn’t exist. “Hey, Paige,” he said into the phone. “Where are you?”

Screaming over the thumping tones of a remixed version of Duran Duran’s “Rio,” she replied, “Some club in Miami. Did you find anything?”

“I think so. There’s some kind of—”

“I can barely hear you. Are you finished with everything over there?”

Abel grinned and nodded as if he’d paid five bucks to sit on a sticky chair and watch the show. “Yeah,” Cole grunted. “I’m through here.”

“Then head to Chicago.”

“Actually, there are a few loose ends I should wrap up here.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’m headed home now. When you’re about to leave, give me a call and I’ll pick you up at the
subway station.”

“Will do. ‘Bye.” He hung up, put the phone in his pocket, and found Abel still looking at him with that same grin. There was a renewed speed in Cole’s movements when he picked a sample jar from each of the crates that looked as if they’d recently been moved.

“So,” Abel sneered, “you’re hittin’ that, right?”

“Shut the hell up.”

Abel smirked as if his clumsy attempt at slang was too cool for the room. “You two aren’t just close. You’re like,
close.
You screwing her or what?”

Once again Cole’s silence didn’t deter the other man in the slightest.

“Not that I blame you,” Abel continued. “She’s got a sweet little ass. Kind of a butter face, but—”

“Wait,” Cole said as he straightened up and turned to face the other Skinner. “What the hell did you just say?”

“Butter face. You know, like she’s got a nice body, but her—”

His fist slammed into Abel’s jaw as if it had a mind of its own. After taking a moment to think, he did the right thing and hit Abel again, this time with enough force to knock the little prick onto his ass.

West Chicago, Illinois
Three hours later

Watching the Dryad temples work was somehow more impressive than actually stepping through the beads. A crackle of energy washed over Cole’s body. He caught a strong whiff of clean woods. There was a rush of sound and that was it. He’d only been teleported a handful of times, but it was already getting old. Of course, some receptions were better than others.

The beads were still rattling behind him when he was lassoed by a tall blonde wearing fishnets and a suit jacket that was cut to frame her bare breasts despite all three buttons being buttoned. With her hair up in a bun and plastic-framed glasses perched upon the bridge of her nose, she looked like a naughty secretary pulled straight out of a porno from 1958. “Just try to look frazzled, honey,” she said while dragging him away from the beads.

Staring out at a large room partially filled with men in business suits, Cole replied, “No problem there.”

The place was a typical strip club, but with the distinction of having most of its neon on the inside instead of out. Replicas of vintage Las Vegas casino signs, complete with the old-school cowboy leaning against a post, lit up
two large stages. Only one stage was being used at the moment, but considering it was early afternoon, that still seemed like a lot. His entrance was made even more peculiar due to the fact that he was still carrying a banker’s box filled with the samples he’d taken from Lancroft’s basement.

“How was it, partner?” one of the businessmen asked.

Cole’s fumbling attempt at a response brought a round of hollers from the sparse crowd.

“Find out for yourself, honey,” the blonde said. To Cole, she added, “Your date’s right over there.”

Paige sat at a bar that was another throwback to Sin City’s golden age. When she waved at Cole and hopped down from her stool, the businessmen broke into another round of applause before being distracted by a nurse named Florence Naughtygale.

“Where the hell did I land?”

Although it was tired, Paige’s smile went all the way down to the bone. “The nymphs just set up shop here after Tristan spread the word that Lancroft wasn’t hunting them anymore. They don’t have the temple portion sectioned off yet, so they just made it a part of the scenery.”

Cole looked back to find the beads strung across an alcove bearing the large flowing script. It was supported by an arch inscribed with more symbols and a sign that read: vip
ROOM.

“When I called, you could have warned me I’d be on display,” he said.

“And miss your grand entrance?” she asked while leading him to the front door. “Not a chance. Besides, I arrived at the tail end of last night’s party crowd. The hoopla you got was nothing in comparison to me being escorted through that curtain by some leggy broad in a kitty cat outfit. Wipe that grin off your face. Save the image for when you’re alone.”

“Oh, you know I will.”

Once he stepped outside, Cole was hit by the sun blazing down at him through a thin layer of fog. So far, most of the other nymph-run strip bars had been on lonely stretches
of highway with a minimum of neighbors. West Chicago wasn’t exactly urban, but there were several small businesses, convenience stores, and gas stations within sight of the place. Farther down the road the scenery was taken over by small houses.

“So,” Cole mused as he turned to get a look at the sign above the purple A-frame. “Pinups, huh?”

“Yep. This’ll be our local stop on the Stripper Subway.”

“I like it. Hell, I like just being away from that damn Lancroft house.”

Paige crossed the narrow parking lot that wrapped all the way around the club. “I got a few things that I wanted from there, so let the rest of those assholes fight over the rest. I see you found something else.”

“Just some samples that look like Nymar blood,” he said as he spotted the beat-up white Chevy Cavalier parked between a Dumpster and the cluster of businessmen’s cars. The single piece of metal on it that wasn’t dented was the front bumper, and that’s only because it had been replaced after its most recent accident. The front window was new but had picked up several chips already, thanks to gravel kicked up on the interstate. “Aw, man! Can’t we get a new car?”

“What for? We won’t be needing to take any long road trips anymore.”

“Yeah, but still!”

Paige tuned out his whining with the same efficiency that she ignored the grinding of the motor as she started up the Cav. Cole set the box on the floor next to his feet as he dropped into the passenger seat. Every spring poking him in the back or butt through the minimal padding felt like the touch of a familiar hand. Even the smells of exhaust, dried blood, and stale fast food struck a nostalgic chord. The car might have seen some rough times, but he’d been there for them as well. Settling into the seat as the Cav lurched into motion, he was more relaxed than he’d been in weeks.

“This is nice,” he said.

“What? Pinups or the fact that we’re just in time to get stuck in rush hour on our way back to Raza Hill?”

“Just … this. No more sitting around some basement from a serial killer movie. No more listening to a bunch of werewolf hunters bicker over mayo jars filled with old teeth. No more putting up with assholes like Abel or … well … Abel. Just you and me. Back to the normal routine.”

“Don’t get used to it. The way things are going, we’ll be dealing with those others for quite a while. Tell me what you found after I left.”

Cole gave her the rundown of his investigation as Paige drove up North Avenue. When he was done, she asked, “So what did Abel do that was so bad?”

“Apart from getting on my nerves, not much.”

“Sounds like something happened while I was away.”

“No, Ma, I swear,” Cole said in a slow drawl. “We was good.”

“Maddy said you punched him.”

“Maddy saw that?”

“Yep.”

Cole fiddled with the radio until he found something other than talk or a commercial. “Well, okay. I punched him. Now how about you tell me what you did in Miami while I was crawling around a basement?”

“First of all, the club in Miami had some of the most impressive asses I’ve ever seen. And I’m not just talking about the dancers.”