2016 is a new year. A fresh start. I have new things planned for later in the year, but first I feel like it's important to say goodbye to some old friends first. The final Dreg City book starring Evy Stone, The Night Before Dead, releases this month. My planned release date is February 15, but I may have to push it back a few days. No biggie. It's coming!
So to celebrate that, here is the first three chapters from The Night Before Dead (Dreg City #6).
Enjoy!
#
Prologue
If you'd have told me a week
ago that I would be sitting across a conference table from an elf, about to
listen to what he had to say, I'd have told you to go to hell. Might have even
punched you in the mouth for good measure. Elves had been nothing except
trouble in the brief period of time that they'd been a part of my life.
An elf set me up to die.
An elf tricked my boyfriend into making a bargain that traded his free will for
my life. An elf tried to bring a demon across the Break and into our world,
which would have been a complete and utter disaster. I don't trust elves. And vampires,
of all similarly untrustworthy creatures, helped us stop that particular elf.
Now our vampire allies have
fled the ranks of the Watchtower—the initiative of humans, weres and vampires
that try to protect the city from the darker races—leaving us at half-strength.
Erratic half-vampires were rising in numbers, the Fey were plotting against us,
and there was enough dissention among the thirteen Therian (shapeshifters) clans
to keep everyone involved in the Watchtower on their toes.
I used to think my life
as a Dreg Hunter was complicated. That old life is a fucking fairy tale compared
to life as I know it right now.
The conference room was
our War Room in the Watchtower—which isn't really a tower at all, it's more of
a metaphor. We'd overtaken the skeleton of a defunct mall and revamped it to
provide housing, training rooms, a cafeteria, showers, and a gymnasium. An
obstacle course was under construction in one of the old department stores, and
I couldn't wait to see that finished.
At the moment, work was
at a stand-still while we dealt with the elf on our shelf.
Okay, so we he was sitting
in a chair at one end of the conference table, surrounded by three guys with
guns.
Like guns can do much against a fucking elf. Tovin plucked a bullet
from the sky.
This particular elf was
as calm as Tovin had been insane. Brevin, as he called himself, had been
brought to us by one of my dearest friends in the world, Phineas el Chimal, an
osprey-shifter who'd left us almost six weeks ago to seek out others of his
kind. Brevin wasn't what anyone expected him to bring home as a souvenir of his
travels.
Phineas towered over Brevin,
who was about the size of a middle-schooler, skinny as a rail, with white hair
and pointed ears. His sharp eyes didn't seem to miss a thing, and he’d been
exceptionally polite about being asked to spend the night in one of our jail
cells. Apparently Phin had explained our last encounter with an elf, and Brevin
didn't seem to mind the fact that we were terrified of him.
Not that we'd ever say so
out loud.
"We have quite a lot
to discuss," Astrid Dane said. The co-leader of the Watchtower, she stood
at the far end of the conference table with Gina Kismet on her left. Astrid was
a spotted jaguar shifter, and had been leading the Watchtower since its
inception. Kismet was a human, a kick-ass fighter, and had only stepped into the
role when the vampires left and Adrian Baylor (another human ally and
co-leader) was killed.
I didn't envy the pair
their positions, and I certainly didn't want to be in charge. I was a soldier,
not a captain. Point me at something and I'll fight it. Ask me to make a plan
of attack, and we're probably going to be in trouble.
"We certainly
do," Brevin said. His voice was deeper than expected, considering his
frail shape, and carried a kind of authority found in few creatures surrounded
by their mortal enemies. "Thank you for hearing me out."
"We trust Phineas's
judgment," Kismet said.
I held back a smile,
impressed she hadn't sprained something admitting that.
Okay, so most of we
humans in the Watchtower still had trouble admitting we trusted the Therians.
As Hunters, we'd been trained to distrust nonhumans on principle. Period. They
were bad, we were good, end of story. Except our lives had too many shades of
gray for that philosophy to stand, and now we were allies with the very
creatures we once hunted.
Weird, huh?
I never expected a
shifter to be my best friend and confidante, just like I never expected my
lover to be half-Lupa. On my left, Wyatt Truman observed the scene without
comment. Born completely human, Wyatt had been bitten and infected by a Lupa
over a month ago. Lupa were wolf shifters and thought to be completely extinct,
killed off by other Therians because their bites could infect a human and cause
them to go insane from fever before dying a painful death. Wyatt nearly died
from his bite, but in surviving, he was forever changed.
Human, Lupa, or something
in between, I still loved him with my whole heart—something I never thought
possible until recently.
"Brevin sought me
out," Phineas said. "I believe we should give him the benefit of the doubt."
"I know you do,
that's why we're here," Astrid said. "Forgive me for being leery of
his motivations."
"I am not offended
by your lack of trust," Brevin said. "Phineas explained what Tovin
did, and I can assure you my intentions are more transparent than my kin."
"And what are your
intentions?"
"Preventing Amalie
from declaring all-out war on the world."
I glanced at Wyatt,
unsurprised by the statement. Wyatt only had eyes for Brevin. On my other side,
Marcus Dane watched the production with barely contained impatience. Astrid's
brother and a fierce fighter, Marcus held an unofficial second-in-command
position to our pair of leaders. He was a brawler and a force to reckon with,
skin or beast, and he looked like he'd rather go tear some throats out than sit
around and listen to elf stories.
Not that he was in any
position to rip anyone's throat out. A few days ago he'd battled to the death
with a Bengal tiger shifter named Vail, and he'd come out of it with some
pretty serious gashes on his chest. The fight had left its scars on all of us
though. One of my very best friends, Tybalt Monahan, had been killed during the
ordeal, and we'd only buried him yesterday.
I need a fucking vacation from my life.
"We already know
Amalie and the Fey are our enemies," Astrid said. "She's the one who
manipulated a madman into raising Lupa pups and unleashing them on us."
"I know." Brevin
turned his head to meet Wyatt's gaze. "You are no longer yourself."
Wyatt growled softly. He
had a damned good reason for distrusting elves.
"Can we stay on
topic, please?" Kismet asked.
"All of the Fey are
not your enemies," Brevin said. "The Apothi have retreated from this
fight, as have many of the Earth Guardians.” Gnomes and trolls, respectively,
and both formerly loyal to Amalie and the Fey Council. “I am one of three elves
still alive, and we oppose Amalie."
That was news.
Two more elves in the
world made me all kinds of nervous.
Brevin added,
"Gargoyles are not Fey, but they oppose Amalie as well, despite leaving
the city for the northern mountains."
I beat back a pang of
regret at the loss of several allies. Max had been a gargoyle informant I'd
used to gather intel on various Dregs, back when I was still a Hunter. He'd
left the city with his fellow gargoyles ages ago, because they didn't want to
get involved. He'd also saved my life when I was held and tortured by a madman
named Walter Thackery. I owed Max.
A gnome named Horzt had
saved Wyatt's life months ago with a healing crystal, and he'd given us a magic
powder that had saved hundreds of infected vampires from a horrible death. I
owed him too.
And Smedge. A bridge
troll friend. Part of the earth, he'd often come up in the sandy ground beneath
a train bridge. And yes, he'd saved my life once. Wyatt's, too. I owed my
continued existence to so many people. I didn't know how to even begin repaying
my growing debt.
"We know there are
other creatures who oppose Amalie in theory," Astrid said, "but who
among them is willing to stand with us openly?"
Brevin shook his head.
"Very few, I am afraid. That is why I come to you now."
"You got an army up
your sleeve?" I asked, breaking the promise I'd made to myself about
joining in the conversation. I hated elves with a fiery rage, and Brevin was no
different—not until he proved himself trustworthy. Even then I'd probably still
hate him on principle.
"In a manner of
speaking, yes."
"Really?"
A silent statue this
entire time, Phineas shifted his weight from foot to foot. The were-osprey
didn't fidget, so something was majorly up with him. He knew what Brevin was bringing
to the table, and he didn't like it. I knew Phin well enough to see it in the
blank expression that was working too hard to be remain neutral. It sharpened
his already angular features into something fierce and feral.
And scary.
Brevin took a moment to
look around the room at the people interrogating him. Astrid and Kismet, me and
Wyatt, Marcus. Next to Marcus, Rufus St. James watched with the sharp care of a
man used to being tricked. He sat perfectly still in his wheelchair, fingers
steepled in front of his face, green eyes fixed on the elf.
No one else knew Brevin
was in the Watchtower.
Sneaking him in and
keeping him hidden from a mall full of Therian noses hadn't been easy, let me
tell you.
Astrid crossed her arms,
her long black hair pulled back in a sharp bun that made her look battle-ready.
"What kind of army?" she asked.
"The kind that
Amalie won't see coming," Brevin replied. "An army led by
demons."
The silence in the War
room was deafening.
Fuck me sideways.
As much as the idea
terrified me, I stood still and listed as Brevin explained.
Chapter One
23:59
The warm body blanketing
me from above snuffled. The arm around my waist pulled taut, pressing me back
into Wyatt's belly. He exhaled hard, breath ruffling the hair on my cheek.
Everywhere our naked skin pressed together was hot, damp, and so incredibly
perfect. Even after waking up like this for the last two weeks, I still
marveled at how wonderful it felt.
I never thought I'd find
this kind of love and acceptance, or be so comfortable in bed with a
man—especially not Wyatt.
Almost five years ago, I’d
joined a secret organization called the Triads. Teams of three Hunters, lead by
a Handler, we hunted and fed justice to the darker races that dwelled in the
city: half-Blood vampires, goblins, rule-breaking shifters, and various other
things that go bump in the night. Seven months ago, I was murdered and brought
back to life, and then everything went to hell in a hard cart.
The Triads have since
been destroyed, the tattered remains folded into what became the Watchtower.
Wyatt had been my Handler for four years, and until my very brutal murder, my
feelings for him had been pretty platonic. When I was resurrected into the
recently-dead body of Chalice Frost, I found myself entertaining a whole host
of attractions and feelings I'd never experienced before.
Our road toward being
lovers had been long and rocky, but I'd never been happier than with Wyatt
Truman.
"Dad?"
Damn it. I dragged a pillow over my head and ignored the sound of
Mark's voice outside of our bedroom door.
"What is it?"
Wyatt said, his voice one octave below a bellow.
"John and Peter want
to go to the gym. Is that all right?"
He tensed. I didn't have
to turn or ask to know why he was hesitating. The three boys were the last full-blooded
Lupa in existence. Once there had been six, and ever since our discovery of the
remaining brothers, Wyatt had become a surrogate father and pack leader to
them. They'd also accepted me as his mate and as a quasi-mother figure.
The sudden change from
single Hunter to step-mother of three teenagers had been a mind-fuck, let me
tell you.
Everyone at the
Watchtower knew who John, Peter and Mark were, and they knew the boys were under
our protection. It still didn't stop old prejudices against Lupa from affecting
the attitudes of the other Therians. Lupa had been all but eradicated because
they refused to follow Assembly laws, and they infected humans for sport. While
one of their dead brothers had been responsible for Wyatt's infection, neither
of us blamed the three red-headed teens that had been thrust into our lives.
They were desperate for love and acceptance, and I could relate to that.
Everyone deserved the
chance to have a family. Even one as fucked up as ours.
"For an hour,"
Wyatt finally replied.
"Thanks!"
I rolled to face Wyatt,
unsurprised to see apprehension lining his forehead. I smoothed my hand through
his thick black hair, then down his neck to rasp against the near-permanent
stubble on his cheeks and chin. He leaned into the touch, eyelids dropping down
over black eyes now permanently flecked with silver.
He nuzzled my palm, his
free hand tracing gentle circles on my lower back. I nudged my thigh against
his groin, unsurprised to find a semi-hard on. Lupa were incredibly sexual
creatures, often aroused even when nothing remotely sexy was going on. I was
still getting used to it, and Wyatt constantly reminded me that just because he
was sporting wood, he didn't expect to
have sex. It was a thing we were still working out, a push-pull battle between
his ingrained desires and his unwillingness to accidentally hurt me.
"Morning," he
said.
"Good morning, hot
stuff."
He rolled me under,
settling between my thighs. The gentle weight of his belly pressed close to
mine reminded me I was wanted and loved. So much of my past was violence and
hatred. Having these moments with Wyatt was worth more than I could ever
measure in words or gold. The hot length of him pressed against my core, and I
lifted my knees, cradling him there. Arousal curled through me, driving away
the last remnants of sleep and leaving me wanting.
"How do you
feel?" he asked.
I couldn't lie to him.
We'd gone at it for over an hour last night. "A little sore."
The flash of regret was
there and gone quickly. He started to pull away, but I locked my ankles behind
his back.
"Not that
sore," I said.
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Wyatt snagged a condom
from the box next to the bed. Because full-blooded Lupa bites were incredibly
infectious to humans, we were careful about how we kissed and made love. And since
there hadn't been a half-Lupa in centuries, no one knew if the same antigens in
his blood would transfer through semen, and our on-staff doctor couldn’t be
sure. Wyatt wouldn't take any chances with infecting me with the Lupa virus, so
we used protection every time.
I loosened my hold long
enough for him to put on the condom, then pulled him inside of me. He swallowed
my groan, mouth locking over mine in a searing kiss that made my toes curl and
my insides ache for him. For everything we were and could ever be together. He
moved in long, hard thrusts that made the bed creak and sent the frame slamming
into the wall, and I didn't give a shit if our neighbors heard. We belonged to
each other, and I would never be ashamed of that.
In my old life, sex had
been a way to blow off steam. I hadn't cared who, as long as I got off, and
some days the rougher the better. And then I was kidnapped by goblins and raped
to death, and sex became something scary. Something used to hurt me. Wyatt's
patience and love had turned a horror into a beautiful thing, and I loved him
more every single day for what he'd given back to me.
Pleasure lashed through
me, heating my blood, and I thrust up against him. Often times old fears
prevented us from making love like this, with Wyatt engulfing me with his bulk,
on my back. This morning I was enthralled by it. I took everything he gave me,
demanding more. Sweat beaded his forehead and shoulders, and it slicked the
skin between us.
I grabbed his ass and
urged him on, harder, faster, to end the kind of quickie we rarely indulged in
because it never felt like enough. I wanted all of him, to lick and suck and
stroke, not a simple wham-bam roll in the hay. But today was the day that our
lives changed, and I wanted every moment I could get with my lover.
He hiked my right leg
higher, deepening his angle on each stroke. I raked my nails down his back, and
he rewarded me by sucking on the hollow spot beneath my collarbone. I cried out
something nonsensical. He worked a hand between us and rubbed circles over my
clit, and everything went momentarily white. My entire body tightened, then
relaxed, as pure pleasure washed over me. My thighs trembled from it, and I couldn't
stop shaking. Not even when Wyatt plunged deeply twice more and groaned through
his own orgasm. He held us together, our bodies joined by sweat and ecstasy,
both of us breathing hard.
He pressed his face into
my shoulder and exhaled long, deep breaths. I stroked his back with gentle
fingers, enjoying the fine tremors that ran down his spine. The lovely
aftershocks of his release. I kissed his temple, reveling in the fleeting
perfection of the moment.
"I love you," I
said.
"Love you too."
He kissed my cheeks, my nose, then my lips. "So much, Evy. I love you so
much and for so long."
He dumped the condom, and
then pulled me back into his arms. We existed like that for a while, the real
world held at bay for a bit longer.
"Are you thinking
about the meeting?" I asked.
"Can't stop.
You?"
"Trying hard not to
think about it."
"Ignoring it won't
make it go away this time."
"It never
does."
I wasn't the "ignore
a problem and hope it goes away" kind of girl. I'm the "kick it in
the face or kill it to make it go away" kind of fighter, and I always have
been. But kicking and killing wouldn't solve the problem staring us in the
face, nor would it do much good at today's scheduled meeting. All I could do
was wait and see what everyone else involved had to say.
"What do you think
the Assembly will decide?" I asked.
"It's hard to guess
at this point. They're still fighting over what Vale tried to do to the Dane
family."
Tried to do meaning a
coup. Each of the thirteen shifter Clans had an Elder representative on the
Assembly, which met and made decisions on behalf of all of the Clans. The Felia
(aka the cat shifters) Pride had come under attack by some of their own, a
family of Bengals led by a man named Vale, intent on overthrowing Elder
Marcellus Dane and replacing him on the Assembly. The entire thing had
backfired, the bad guy was dead, and Elder Dane had officially stepped down due
to health reasons. An Assembly vote a few days ago placed Astrid and Marcus's
cousin Riley into Marcellus’s position of Elder.
Vale's accomplices had
been punished by the Assembly, but rumor was a few of the Elders had actually
sided with Vale. No one was admitting to it—that I knew about—so it was
difficult to determine which Clans were still Watchtower allies.
Of course, the issue went
far beyond the Watchtower. If Amalie chose to go to war with the rest of the
world, she wouldn't pick and choose her enemies. Every single human, Therian,
vampire, and whoever else she hated at that moment would be targeted by her
minions.
I had no idea how fairies
and sprites went to war, and I had no desire whatsoever to find out.
"We should get
up," I said. "The meeting is in three hours."
Wyatt grumbled, but
released me from his iron grip.
We were in some of the
newest housing in the Watchtower. Most of the single members lived in dormitory
style housing built in an old store front. A larger store across the corridor
had been turned into something more like multi-room apartments. We had one with
two bedrooms that shared a living room type space, but without the traditional
kitchen area. We did have a bathroom space to share with all five of us.
Yeah, three teenage boys
shared one room.
I'd already declared I
was never cleaning that room. Ever.
I'm a warrior, not a maid.
The boys were gone by the
time we were showered, dressed, and deemed ourselves presentable to the rest of
the our coworkers. Wyatt wore his familiar uniform of black jeans and a black
t-shirt. With his black hair, scruff and olive skin, the picture was
drool-worthy, and he was all mine. I stuck to jeans and a long-sleeve tee, with
a corduroy jacket, now that the fall weather was inching into winter.
The meeting would happen
at ten a.m. in the War room, so we had time to hit the cafeteria. My stomach
was tight and squirrely with nerves, and it didn't settle at the crowd already
filling the spacious eating area. Even those who patrolled at night and slept
during the day were up, the air full of anxiety and curiosity.
I grabbed a plain bagel
and bottle of water, while Wyatt piled his plate high with food of all kinds.
His half-Lupa nature had practically doubled his metabolism, which meant he was
hungry almost all of the time. I wasn't complaining about the way his arms and
abs were cut to perfection, but the frequent eating made me jealous.
Wyatt nudged my hip, then
angled his head. I followed his general direction to a table near the back,
farther away from the bulk of the crowd. Gina Kismet, Marcus Dane, and Milo
Gant sat there alone, the three of them as serious as I'd ever seen them. Seeing
Milo eating in the cafeteria made my heart kick in a happy way.
Not quite two weeks ago,
Milo had been nearly beaten to death by Vale in an attempt to make Marcus give
up important security information. Milo had held on, never letting Vale break
him, but he'd been left with serious injuries to his back and legs—swelling
that had taken days to go down, bruises that still painted his skin, and pain
that would be a long time fading. Tybalt and Milo had been brothers to me, and
I couldn't have stood losing them both. I was barely handling Tybalt's death.
The walker Milo used for
long-distance hobbling stood nearby, and he looked up with a bright smile when
he saw me and Wyatt heading in his direction. "Hey, guys."
I plunked down across
from him. "What's shaking, gimpy?"
"Fuck you,"
Milo said with a grin.
"Milo's progress has
increased tremendously in the last few days," Marcus said. He tended to
take my teasing a bit too seriously, but the big werecat was also seriously
overprotective of Milo. I still wasn't sure if the pair was technically a
couple, but they gave off serious "I want you" vibes when they were
together.
Things probably would
have progressed a lot faster if Vale hadn't decided to make Milo a human
punching bag. I bristled briefly at the memories of Milo's torture, then shoved
them down deep where they wouldn't bother me today. No regrets, no past issues.
Today was about taking back our future, no matter what.
"I don't have to
stay in the infirmary anymore," Milo said. "I can go back to the dorms
tonight."
Marcus's expression was
difficult to decipher. Something between pleasure and a silent reassurance that
he wouldn't be alone, no matter what dorm he went back to. I liked knowing
Marcus was around to take care of Milo. They both needed someone.
"That's fabulous
news, pal." I reached over the table to ruffle his hair, because it would
bother him. He stuck his tongue out, and I laughed.
"Wish I could be at
the meeting with you guys today," Milo added.
"It's a pretty tight
guest list."
"And for good
reason," Marcus added. "Many Elders will be present, as well as other
leaders. Security will extra important given the nature of the meeting."
"And they don't need
a useless guard hanging around."
"You are far from
useless."
"He's always good
for a sarcastic comment," I said.
Milo flipped me off.
Wyatt ate in silence, as
he often did around any of the Felia. Lupa and Felia were mortal enemies,
ingrained in their DNA or something like that. From the moment he was infected
and became aware of his surroundings again, Wyatt had snarled and snapped at
Marcus specifically. To the other Felia to a lesser degree. Wyatt was learning
to control himself, but he too frequently struggled to maintain his humanity.
Some days I wondered if
the Lupa blood in his system was going to take away what was left of the man.
I hope not. I love him too much to let him go.
"Gina says the
obstacle course will be back on schedule soon," Milo said. "I can't
wait to run it and kick your ass."
I snickered. "Dream
on, Gant."
"Hey, I told you I'd
kick your and Tybalt's asses."
His smile faltered, fractured by grief. Tybalt had been Milo's best friend and
part of his Triad for almost two years, and the wound was still fresh. He'd
lost a brother, too.
"We all miss
him," Marcus said.
Milo shrugged and picked
at the remnants of his breakfast.
One day we'd be able to
talk about our lost friends without feeling such a thick, blanket of grief. I
hoped.
My phone chimed with a
text. Ops. 911.
Great. Emergency first
thing in the morning. No one else at the table had gotten the message, but that
didn't stop Wyatt from grabbing a handful of sausage links and following me.
The entire mall was in
the shape of a big, square-ish U. The cafeteria sat at one corner of the top of
the U, with Operations near the center of the top. It was a short walk down the
corridor, which was thick with Watchtower members. Rumors about today's big
meet-up had spread, and everyone wanted to see who'd show.
I entered Operations,
which was the heart and soul of our organization. Besides the War Room, it also
housed a bank of computers and large screens that projected pretty much
anything we needed to see. Rufus oversaw most of Ops, because he had the most
computer skills among the senior staff. Milo could probably give him a run for
his figurative money, but Milo preferred staying in the field to being stuck
behind a desk.
Given his wheelchair,
Rufus didn't have much choice in the matter.
Rufus looked up from his
computer terminal, his expectant look melting into a frown. "Who invited
you?"
Wyatt growled. "I
invited myself."
"Obviously."
I shrugged. "I tried
a leash, but he keeps breaking loose."
"You really don't
need to shadow her everywhere, Wyatt," Rufus said.
"I know that,"
Wyatt replied.
"Right." He
turned his attention back to me, the one he had summoned. "It's about the
Frosts."
"What did they do
now?" Lori and Stephen Frost were the biological parents of the body in
which I was currently residing. While I'd absorbed some of Chalice's memories
and sensory perceptions, I didn't know them as my parents. My parents were an
unknown deadbeat and a drunken whore.
For a while, they'd sat
by while Chalice didn't contact them for more than six months. Last week they'd
finally gone on the news trying to find their missing daughter, and a private
detective tricked me into meeting with them. We'd brought them back to the
Watchtower for their own good, and neither one of them had taken the news about
my true nature well—or the fact that shapeshifters, gremlins, and other assorted
creatures actually did exist.
Not well at all.
Astrid had ordered them
kept here until further notice, and I'd refused to visit them for the last
week. I had too much to do and no patience to deal with them.
"Astrid doesn't want
them locked up indefinitely, and I agree that it's cruel," Rufus said.
"Their daughter is dead, and they deserve a chance to grieve for
her."
I crossed my arms.
"And what the hell am I supposed to do about it?"
"Talk to them
again."
"And say what?
Stephen thinks I'm possessed or something. They want me in therapy."
"I could talk to
them," Wyatt said.
"No way," I
replied. "You're about as subtle as a two-by-four to the head."
"You're no diplomat
yourself, Evy."
Okay, so he had me there.
"If I honestly thought anything I had to say would make a difference, I'd
go talk to them. I'm not their daughter. All they see when they look at me is
Chalice. I'm never going to make them believe I'm Evy Stone."
"We've been holding
them prisoner for over a week," Rufus said. "We can't keep them here forever.
They have lives to go back to. Sooner or later someone is going to start
missing them."
"How do you know
they haven't already?"
He pointed to his
computer. "I've been sending emails on their behalf to coworkers and other
relatives, so no one calls in another missing persons report."
"Oh." That was
pretty fucking smart of him.
"Yeah, oh."
"Stone!"
Astrid's voice boomed across Ops.
"I didn't do
it," I said as I turned.
She faltered, then
understood the joke. "I need a quick errand."
"How quick? The
meeting starts in two hours."
"Your errand should
take you less than an hour."
"To do what?"
"Pick up something
that will help your parents forget they ever saw you."
Okey dokey.
Chapter Two
22:25
Turns out the little
thing that Astrid needed me to run out and grab was less of a grabby thing and
more like a threatening thing. She gave me the address of a mage named Adolpho,
who ran a small antiques store on the southwestern side of the city. And when I
say small, you'd drive right past it if you didn't know to look for it, nestled
among a dozen boarded up store fronts in a little used part of the
neighborhood.
Wyatt being Wyatt
insisted on coming with me to do my errand. Since I didn't technically have a
drivers license, nor had I ever been taught to drive properly, he took Alpha
joy in driving us to the mage's shop. Few other cars passed us on the street,
and no one was parked in front of the papered over front doors with the tiny
"Collectibles" sign in the window.
He scented the air as we
stepped out of the Jeep, as was his new habit. The Lupa infection had
heightened his senses of smell, hearing and taste, and he was still learning
how to use those to his advantage. The smell thing was super useful,
considering goblins stank like stale sea water, and he once described a
half-Blood as "ass and congealed blood."
Gross as hell, but such
was our life.
Despite the drizzling
rain, the street still smelled like old urine and gasoline, and the combination
turned my stomach. The shop had a Closed sign hanging in it. I banged my first
on the glass plates anyway, uncertain if Adolpho lived near, above, or in his
supposed collectible shop. Wyatt tilted his head.
"Footsteps," he
whispered.
"Oh joy."
Plastic blinds parted and
a bright green eye appeared, the rest of his face obscured by the door. The eye
shifted to take us both in, then the blinds dropped. Nothing.
"Astrid Dane sent
me," I said, hoping that would work in the vein of "Open
sesame."
I'll be damned if the
door lock didn't turn. He opened it with the chain still attached. "For
what purpose?" the man asked.
"You tell me. She
said I had to come here and fetch something."
He squinted. "She
said she would send someone she trusted."
Okay, One-Eyed-Mage was
getting on my nerves. "She does trust me. I trust her, too, which is why I
didn't ask what I was picking up. As long as it isn't poisonous or explodable,
I don't really give a flying fuck."
"I don't know…"
Wyatt growled. "You
remember Brutus?"
Adolpho's eye widened.
"Yes. Sorry." The door shut, the chain slid, and then it was open
again. Wider this time. Adolpho was a big, barrel of a man with no hair, a
scraggly gray beard, and only one eye. The left socket was puckered and empty.
"My apologies, come inside."
The shop reeked of herbs
that blended together into one indistinguishable odor, mixed with the musty
smell of a closed-in space. The first few shelves nearest the door were filled
with rusty trinkets and cloudy pieces of glassware. Beyond it was a wall, and
through a thick panel of beaded curtains was a setup very much like an ancient
apothecary shop. A wall of wooden drawers, many no wider than a credit card,
some as big as a shoe box, each labeled in a language that I couldn't read.
It reminded me of Old
World Teas and its owner Brutus, the last mage we'd ousted for working with the
sprites. Adolpho seemed much more high-strung, less likely to be pulling the
whole double-agent thing that Brutus had pulled with Wyatt for years.
I wiped rainwater off my
arms and face. Wyatt didn't seem to notice the droplets trickling down his
cheeks from his hair.
Adolpho lifted a ring of
ancient-looking keys out from beneath his baggy shirt. He fitted one into a
drawer and slid it open. He removed a brown leather pouch with a drawstring.
"This is what Astrid asked for," he said, dangling the pouch from two
fingers. "Steep it in two cups of boiled water for at least five minutes,
and then make them each drink half."
I snagged the pouch and
received a waft of something not unlike peppermint. "What's it do?"
"It does as Astrid
required."
That told me exactly
nothing. "Which is what?"
He shook his head.
"You'll have to inquire with her. I've done as she asked."
Wyatt took a step
forward, allowing silver to rise up and fill his eyes. He growled softly, an
intense sound that made Adolpho back into a cabinet with a yelp. "Don't
play word games, mage."
Adolpho gulped hard, his
Adam's apple bobbing. "She required a potion that muddled human memories
and she needs enough for two."
The Frosts. "How does it muddle memories?" I asked.
"They will be
confused about the events of the last month or so, as though coming around from
a blackout drunk."
Astrid had ordered magic
used on the Frosts to make them forget they'd ever found me, or that I'd told
them who I really was.
Shit, fuck and hell.
While removing their
memories was a much better solution than keeping them locked up forever, I
didn't like that Astrid had gone behind my back. I didn't like that she was
using a mage to create an herbal spell that would make them fuzzy on "a
month or so" of time. What if it was longer? What if it didn't work? What
if Lori Frost woke up and she'd turned into a frog?
Stranger things have
happened in this fucking city.
"If the herbs aren't
applied properly, what could happen?" I asked.
"Full memory
loss."
"Are the memories
recoverable if that happens?"
"No, so apply
wisely, child."
I hated being called
child. "Okay, thanks for this."
Adolpho nodded.
"Tell Astrid my debt is repaid."
"Yeah, sure."
The light rain had become
a steady downpour by the time we got back to the car. My t-shirt clung to my
skin. I turned on the heater to try and dry us both out a little bit.
"Astrid wants those
herbs for the Frosts, doesn't she?" Wyatt asked.
"I have no
doubt." I tapped my fingers against the dash. "Shit, Wyatt, what if
something goes wrong?"
"You genuinely
care?"
"Of course I
do." From anyone but Wyatt, that question would have come across as
condescending. He was truly curious. "They aren't my parents in the sense
that I was raised by them, but they raised this body. They genuinely loved
their daughter. I have a sense of connection, and I don't want to see them
hurt."
"I understand
that."
I stroked the smooth
leather pouch, too aware of the dangerous herbs inside it. "Astrid has to
know I'd ask what this does, and she'll know I won't like it."
"Maybe she expected
you to balk, and this is her way of giving you a push."
"A push where?"
"A push into doing
something about the Frosts."
"Why are they my
responsibility? I didn't ask to get resurrected into their daughter. I didn't
ask them to come here looking for her, and I certainly didn't ask for O'Reilly
to introduce me to them. Nor did I ask for Vale to fucking kidnap them and put
them right into the middle of this mess."
Wyatt held up his hands
in a gesture of surrender. "I know all of that, Evy. In some ways, your
being inside of their daughter is my fault."
"How do you
figure?"
"I initiated the
resurrection spell."
"Yeah, well, you had
no idea I'd resurrect into a body that had a connection to the Break, rather
than the dead Hunter you'd prepared for me." That particular wrinkle had
been a bonus for us, because me resurrecting somewhere other than in the
expected place had put the first wrinkle into Tovin's plan for bringing a demon
across the Break—the magical barrier between this world and the one where dark
creatures had been banished long ago.
Breaks existed all over
the city, and humans went about their days unaware of them. But if a human is
born over a Break, they have a connection to it which often leads to a Gift of
some sort. Wyatt was Gifted. He could summon inanimate, inorganic materials
into his hand from a decent distance—a Gift he was still learning to control
post-Lupa infection. My new Gift was the ability to transport from one location
to another. I could go through solid objects, but it hurt like a motherfucker,
so I didn't like doing that. The talent had saved my life more than once these
last six months, and it had been another fantastic foil to Tovin's plan.
Did I mention my other handy
ability to rapidly heal? That came courtesy of the resurrection spell. I'd have
been dead ten times over without it.
"You don't get to
take responsibility for this," I said. "There's no one person at
fault for this mess."
Wyatt grunted.
"Seems to me the entire mess can be traced directly back to Tovin's first
manipulations."
"Maybe. Then we'll
blame the elf. No more self-blame. Understood?"
He leaned in closer, eyes
narrowing. "Have I told you lately you're really hot when you give me
orders?"
"Not lately,
no." The gleam in his eyes was all too familiar, and we had work yet to
do. "Down boy."
He grinned, and my heart
skipped.
Then my phone screeched
with a general alert text, Wyatt's following an instant later. I checked the
message.
Kismet: Backup ASAP. Union Street Salvage.
"That's only a few
blocks from here," Wyatt said.
"I'll call it
in."
He made the turn. We'd both
lived in this city our entire lives, and we knew every single street and side
road.
Gina Kismet led Quad
Four, and they were on patrol this morning. She worked alongside Shelby, an
Ursia who shifted into a big-ass polar bear, and Kyle, a Cania dingo-shifter.
The other person on their team had been Tybalt, and they'd yet to replace him
in what were typically quads of two humans and two Therians. The problem was we
didn't have any more trained humans to fold into the quad, and Astrid liked to
keep the human-to-Therian ratio balanced because it fostered tolerance or
something like that.
All I cared about was the
team needed backup.
I let Ops know that we
were responding to the call. The salvage yard was easy to find, its massive
acreage surrounded by a metal fence topped with razor wire. The east side
hadn't been my stomping grounds as a Hunter, but I'd heard a few stories about
tracking Halfies through the salvage yard for hours on end.
Lucky for us the place
was owned and operated by a family of Prosi who were human-friendly and
pro-Watchtower. A big, fenced-in area full of places to climb, jump and swing
on seemed pretty fitting for people who shifted in lemurs and bushbabies.
The entrance was off the
corner of Union Street and a dirt road to nowhere, marking the end of city
limits. Union itself trailed off into undeveloped land that eventually became
part of the forested mountains surrounding the city. A rain-soaked, rail-thin
man in denim coveralls held open a chain-link rolling fence for us without even
asking for ID, then promptly shut it with himself on the outside.
Prosi weren't known for
their amazing fighting skills.
Past a dingy trailer
marked Office, dirt trails ran off in three different directions. Wyatt stuck
his head out the window and sniffed. How he could smell anything over the stink
of oil fuel and engine grease was beyond me, but eventually he took the center
road. We trundled past hundreds of different kinds of cars, trucks, vans,
motorcycles, and heaps of other metals. Salvaged parts of refrigerators, ovens,
and all kinds of machinery was piled in no discernible way, but I guessed it
made sense to the owners.
A goblin male darted out
in front of the car and leapt onto the hood an instant before we'd have smashed
into it. Wyatt hit the brakes, but the fucking thing grabbed onto the
windshield wipers. It peered in at us, its red eyes glimmering with bloodlust.
Oily black skin glistened in the rain. Most of the goblin warriors I'd fought
wore loincloths. This fucker was totally naked and there was no hiding how much
it was enjoying the fight.
I fought back the very
real urge to vomit. Months had passed, and I had a completely different body
than the one tortured to death by goblins, but some things never left you.
The goblin hissed,
showing off rows of razor teeth.
Wyatt stuck his left hand
out the open window and shot the thing in the head. Gore splattered the car
hood.
"Guess we found the
fight," I said.
We ditched the car. I
hadn't left the Watchtower with anything on me except a serrated knife in my
boot, so I grabbed a few more toys out of the trunk—two Glocks, a machete, and
some extra rounds. Wyatt stuck with his single pistol, probably intending to
bi-shift at some point so he could do more damage.
A roaring sound that
could only be angry bear-Shelby rattled the tin roofing near the car. We bolted
in that direction, splashing through mud puddles on our way to the main event.
A goblin sailed overhead, its mangled body dead before it smashed into
something out of sight.
It's going to be that kind of fight.
The odds were three to
several dozen, so I jumped in the machete and cleaved through the shoulder of
the nearest goblin. It screeched and yanked away, bleeding fuchsia all over
itself as it stumbled into a friend. Bear-Shelby was going to town near a
roofless school bus, batting at the goblins like he was playing a life-sized
game of whack-a-mole.
Kyle hadn't shifted, so
he and Kismet were going hand-to-hand. Both were bleeding, but I couldn't stop
and assess injuries. The machete helped me thin out the horde a bit. Behind me,
Wyatt roared. A hulking shadow and the squeal of several goblins told me he'd
bi-shifted. Since he wasn't full Lupa, he couldn't shift completely into a
wolf. He could, however, get taller, more muscular, grown insane claws on both
hands, and reshape his face into something genuinely grotesque on a human
being.
He was truly a monster in
that form—nothing sexy about it. But he was also a formidable fighter, and we
needed that in our corner.
"They keep
coming," Kismet yelled over the battle roar and the rain.
I could see that. For
every two I dropped, three more seemed to take their places. "From
where?"
"No idea."
One of them jumped onto
my back from behind. Short arms circled my neck while clawed fingers sunk into
my shoulders. Teeth scraped at the my left ear and cut my scalp.
Oh hell no.
I slammed backward into
the nearest hard surface. The goblin wheezed and its arms loosened. Another
hard smash and it let go. I pivoted and kicked it right in the groin. It
squealed, and then died when I ran it through with the machete.
Two more hit me from the
side, and we all went tumbling into a puddle. Too close for the blade, I
dropped it in favor of smashing their skulls together. Teeth broke and blood
spurted. The awful stink of seawater rose over the other scents around me. My
gut twisted. I used to take great pleasure in killing monsters like this. Once
it had been fun.
Now it was a fucking
responsibility.
"Gina!"
I rolled onto my knees,
fingers curling around the hilt of my abandoned machete. Kyle and Kismet were
separated by a cluster of goblins that seemed to be doing their best to herd
Kismet away from the battle. She punched, kicked, and slashed at them with a
shiny pair of butterfly swords she'd been training to use, but the goblins were
overwhelming her.
Goblin warriors were only
about four feet tall, but they were strong, they were dumb, and they fucked
anything with a hole, including corpses. I'd experienced the agony of a
goblin's hooked penis, and I'd seen too many other mutilated human victims,
both male and female.
I launched at them. On my
third stride, I went sideways into a car door with a wall of goblins pressing
down on me. Teeth snapped at my arms and face, scraping skin and drawing blood
that the rain washed away. The stench of them filled my nose. Clawed fingers
ripped at my shirt.
Bitter fury rose up like
bile and came out on a long scream. I swung hard with the machete. Goblin
squeals were my reward, so I did it again. Blood splattered. One of them
grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, exposing my throat. Sharp teeth
flashed.
Wyatt snarled and smacked
the goblin away. He batted a few more hard enough to snap their necks. I hacked
off various body parts on my way out of the pileup. My shirt was torn, my
throat and arms stung from a lot of small wounds, and I could still feel their
hands on my body.
None of that fucking
mattered, because Kismet was gone.
Kyle yelped. Wyatt
charged off to help him.
I ran in the direction
I'd seen the goblins herding Kismet, overtaking them only a few yards down a
narrow path between piles of broken bricks and cement blocks. They'd apparently
given up on persuasion and had lifted her up into the air like some kind of
offering to the gods. She was struggling like a champ and cussing them left and
right.
"Hey,
shitheads!"
Some of them turned and
hissed. None of them attacked, which was what I'd hoped for, so I took the
party to them. No fucking way were they carting Kismet off to become their
latest plaything.
I went in low, aiming for
kneecaps so I didn't accidentally take a chunk out of my friend. Bones
shattered. Flesh tore. Blood spurted. I moved without cataloguing any of it,
aware only of my enemies and the need to beat them. My arms ached but it didn't
matter.
Palms slapped down on
both of my ears, and everything went gray. My equilibrium shattered all to
hell, and I fell to my knees with a jolt up my spine.
Fucker boxed my ears.
I blinked hard through
the rain, aware of lots of small legs carrying my enemies away from me. I
fumbled for one of the Glocks, fell flat to my chest in the mud, and opened
fire. Bullets struck flesh. Goblins screamed. Faltered. Fell.
The goblin who'd boxed my
ears clamped its mouth down on my wrist. Fire lashed up my arm, right to my
shoulder. I transferred the gun to my left hand, and then shot the thing
between the eyes. Seawater blood splattered me in the face. Teeth scored my arm
as the body fell, leaving pencil-thick gouges down the length of it.
Dizzy and nauseated, I
hauled ass to my feet. Pocketed the gun for now and scooped the machete back
up.
Somewhere behind me a big
cat cried out in anger. More backup.
"A little
help!" I shouted.
I followed small rivers
of fuchsia past the piles of bricks, deeper into the salvage yard. The cars and
whatnot got rustier and dirtier the farther back I trailed the goblins. Small
trees and bushes had come to life inside some of the husks. I couldn't exactly
be stealthy about tracking them with my wet boots squishing into mud with every
step, so I went for speed instead.
Kismet screamed.
"Gina!"
A goblin jumped from the
shell of an old pickup truck, mouth open, hands extended. I took its fucking
head off before it could blink, and I kept running.
The horde had stopped
where the ground dipped down to the perimeter fence. A dozen small trees had
grown up near the fence, and piles of old shingles had gone to rot nearby. I
couldn't see Kismet for their moving bodies, so I pulled both guns and opened
fire on anything that wasn't human.
Two, six, twelve, twenty
of them fell dead, and the final few ran toward the trees. I hit one on the
back, and down it went. The other two I let go.
Kismet sat up from
beneath the pile of bodies, her skin smeared in gore. Red blood mixed with
fuchsia in a graphic war paint that was all the more hideous due to the fact
that her shirt was gone. She stared at me with wide eyes, one hand stanching
blood from someplace on her neck. I picked a path over the bodies and squatted
in front of her.
"You with me?"
I asked.
"Yeah." She
shook herself all over. "Jesus Christ. Did that really happen?"
"Almost
happened." I helped her stand up. "You hurt anywhere?"
"Superficial."
She was bleeding from at
least a dozen cuts and standing there topless, but her jeans seemed intact so I
wasn't going to question her on her definition of the word superficial. She
finally seemed to notice the topless thing and wrapped her arms around her
breasts.
A lioness leapt into the
mess from somewhere above us. She sniffed at us, then followed her nose down
toward the trees and fence. The small dark patch on her left shoulder was the
only way I knew that was Lynn Neil.
"Evy?" Wyatt
had undone his bi-shift, which left his shirt sleeves stretched out and torn in
a few places. He took one look at Kismet and slipped his shirt off. "What
the hell happened?"
"The goblins were
trying to take Gina with them," I said.
His dark gaze went
deadly.
"Evy was pretty
badass with that machete," Kismet said as she tugged on the too big shirt.
"You've been practicing."
"They weren't taking
you." I wouldn't wish that kind of fate on my worst enemy, let alone allow
it to happen to a friend.
"Why did they want
me, though?"
"Something tells me
they would have happily carted off anyone who was human."
"What
happened?" Wyatt asked.
"We were doing a
simple patrol of the area when we got a call about a possible goblin sighting
out here,” Gine said, “so we checked it out. We were attacked, and we called
for backup. You guys came. End of story."
"Why does this whole
thing feel like a setup?" I asked.
"Because it
is," Kyle said.
He approached with naked
Shelby behind him—clothing became problematic when it came to shapeshifting—and
flanked by humans Carly and Oliver. They were part of a quad with Lynn and an
Equi named Nestor, who was the only person MIA.
"How do you know it
was a setup?" Kismet asked.
"The goblins left us
a present a few rows back. Nestor's guarding it."
The only presents goblins
ever left behind were dead bodies.
"Where's Lynn?"
Carly asked.
I jacked a thumb over my
shoulder. "Sniffing down around the fence. It's where the goblins were
heading. We'll check out the present if you guys want to investigate
that." It wasn't a question so much
as a polite order, and no one contradicted me.
Wyatt hovered close to
Kismet on the walk back. Shelby seemed to know where Nestor was, so Kyle and I
followed him, the other pair behind us. Wyatt and Kismet had been friends for
more than ten years, and they had this brother/sister love between them. He
knew she was freaked out by what had just happened—as freaked out as Kismet
ever got around other people—and he was doing his silent supportive thing.
Nestor was a tall fellow,
with a long face and dark hair—both things typical of his Clan. He was a zebra
shifter and somewhat new to the Watchtower. He stood with his arms crossed, at
attention in front of an old VW bus. "It's gory," he said.
Definitely new. "My
entire adult life has been one gorefest after another," I said.
"Bring it on."
He stepped aside.
I smelled it first—the
ripe odors of blood and meat left in the sun too long. The interior of the bus
had been stripped of all furnishings, leaving a shell that was coated in blood.
Some of it had been washed off by the rain through the windows and puddled on
the floor with the various parts of someone's body. Male, female, I wasn't
sure. The pieces were too small. My stomach churned, and I stepped back before
I got sick all over Nestor.
Wyatt stuck his head in
the open door. "Male, not freshly killed. I suspect the dismemberment
happened post-mortem."
I wasn't about to ask how
he knew that.
"There's a
note." He turned around clutching a wet sheet of paper, his expression
grim.
"What's it
say?" Kismet asked when I didn't.
His black eyes flashed
silver. "Stone or more. Which will die?"
"Fuck me." My
gut rolled. The goblins knew I was alive.
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