Under Pressure (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 4)

by Isobella Crowley

  Remington decided he ought to talk to Russel and his men—debrief them, essentially—but first, he wanted to check on Conrad. He worked his way over to the side of the hall where he’d last seen the lycanthrope

  He was there, crouched between the base of a pillar and a shattered table, back in human form and mostly dressed. Bruises covered his body and blood stained his clothes, but he was definitely alive.

  “Conrad,” he said cheerfully, “are you okay? You don’t look that bad, but you took a hell of a beating back there.”

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir, thank you. I wasn’t too severely wounded. I’m merely, ah, thankful that none of those thralls tried to finish me off while I was unconscious.”

  Remy helped him to his feet. “Fortunately,” he reported, “there were only a few thralls left by then, and Moswen concentrated them on us. As for M-Lady herself, she’s toast. Almost literally. We managed to enchant Russel’s team’s weapons and they completely obliterated her.”

  A look of relief crossed the werewolf’s handsome face, and he blew out a short, soft breath. “That’s excellent news, sir. A vampire that powerful who refuses to play by any rules but her own… Well, it’s not something we want to deal with ever again.”

  The two men returned to the others and Colonel Russel stepped forward to speak to them.

  “Mission accomplished,” he stated, “if I’m not mistaken. Frankly, we have only the vaguest idea of what the hell we actually saw. However, all the men I selected for this job—which, by the way, is completely off the books—were chosen in part because they know how to keep their mouths shut. We can count on them. And it’s very clear to me that there’s—how does that Shakespeare quote go?—more things in heaven and earth than dreamed of in our philosophy. Something like that.”

  Remy squinted. “Wasn’t that some guy named Horatio? Whatever. But yeah, we call it the preternatural. In case you hadn’t realized it yet, our job is to keep it contained and well-managed so that most people don’t have to deal with it or even dream of it. But sometimes”—he gestured expansively around the chamber—“we need a little help, I suppose.”

  The colonel smiled grimly. “Full disclosure—for a while, I thought you were all fucking nuts. And I base that on having heard most of the conversations you’ve had these last couple of days. I like to know exactly what I’m getting myself into.”

  Now, Remy was confused. “What does that mean? You’ve been tailing us? Alice is a mole or something?”

  “It’s much simpler than that,” said Russel. “I slipped a bug on you at my apartment. It’s probably still there although I haven’t checked recently.”

  “What?” he demanded, suddenly feeling violated. “A bug? You can’t do that! I—uh—I would have noticed! You’re bluffing, obviously. Seriously, come on.” He immediately slipped off his watch and began looking for it.

  The colonel uttered a short, almost bitter laugh. “No, sir. When you guys released me, I couldn’t help noticing that you had briefly taken off that nice gold watch of yours. And as it so happens, old habits die hard. I wasn’t always a bald-headed desk jockey, you know.”

  “Habits?” Remy wondered. Did the guy put a bug on everyone he met?

  “Statistically speaking,” Russel explained, “putting a bug on the underside of someone’s watch is probably the best place you can stick it, provided you kind of squeeze it into the crack so the person doesn’t feel it. It lasts the longest. People wear their watches all the time but then again, they also take them off when they jump in the shower or change clothes, which reduces the chances of the bug being destroyed or accidentally removed.”

  Remy clenched and unclenched his hands, clenched his jaw, and, although it took him a minute to realize he was doing it, clenched his sphincter. And of course, the colonel made him look like a fool while Conrad was watching, although the werewolf looked at the floor and remained silent.

  “And why,” he enquired, his voice seething between his teeth, “did you feel it was necessary to do that, may I ask?”

  In a matter of fact tone, the other man stated simply, “I needed to know what was going on. You didn’t think I would simply take your word about everything? You lied to me about being from the CIA, for example, after all. I have to know everything in order to do my job properly, to keep myself and my information secure, and to make certain I haven’t compromised myself under duress or altered states of consciousness.”

  He calmed slightly, although he still kind of wanted to find a large cardboard box and punch and kick the shit out of it. “Fair enough,” he muttered.

  “Anyway,” the colonel went on, “there came a point when my analysists and I had heard enough. Agent Gilmore there clearly felt you were worth working with, even if she wasn’t in on the full truth of what’s been happening. And you guys clearly believed all this, as insane as it might have sounded.”

  The younger man nodded and waited for the officer to continue.

  “And finally,” Russel concluded, “I knew that something of a very fucking uncanny nature had happened to me before you two barged in. Memories have come back of doing things that made no sense, of always thinking of her and what she wanted me to do. And your story about that woman who’d used me being the greater evil…well, that much I could believe.”

  The colonel exhaled and adjusted the hem of his uniform. “I take my responsibilities for the safety of our country seriously, gentlemen. So, I took the initiative, although I’ve kept it firmly in black ops territory. I haven’t been active in the field for a long time, and I don’t feel like trying to explain…this”—he gestured toward what was left of Moswen—“to the powers that be.”

  Remy scratched his chin. “Well, that’s certainly understandable. I’m sure you can imagine that we didn’t want to explain it to you, either. No offense.”

  “None taken.” His smile crept back. “Having as much responsibility as I do now means I can get more accomplished, but it also means I spend too much time shining a seat with my ass. In any event, the ordnance we fired here will be written up as having been used in training exercises. This incident at the library will be portrayed as a bungled terrorist attack. There’ve been enough real ones that people will leap to believe that, even if the whole thing looks fishy on closer inspection.”

  “Right,” he agreed. He thought about mentioning Taylor’s mindwipe abilities but thought better of it. “Well, despite the bug thing—which you’d better not even think about trying again—I’m glad you showed up, Colonel. We all are. And New York is the better for it. Thanks for your help.”

  He extended a hand, and Russel took it to give it a good shake.

  The man’s gaze wandered toward the doors. “I’d best take my men and go speak to Gilmore again…let her know it’s over and help her deal with New York’s finest in case they’ve arrived already.”

  “Good idea,” Remy assented. “Maybe we’ll see you again sometime if we get in over our heads.”

  Russel laughed. “Hopefully not, Mr Remington. Hopefully not.”

  He turned and walked away and motioned for his men to follow him. The troops jogged to meet him and threw the group a strange glance or two as they departed.

  “Conrad,” he began, “go help Alex and make sure he’s not on the cusp of death or something. Make him drink water. I’ll be along to help with the rest of the cleanup shortly.”

  The lycanthrope nodded. “Not a problem, sir.”

  Remy wandered over to the far corner. The one where, a few minutes before, he’d glimpsed the black form crawl away to safety and privacy. He paused and looked into the shadows.

  “Taylor,” he called and his voice echoed faintly. “If you’re up there, somewhere, take whatever time you need. But we want to make sure you’re okay. So, you know…please talk to us when you feel up to it. Anyway, we won. It’s over. Glow-in-the-dark banana stickers for everyone!”

  Silence was the only response but he somehow knew that she’d heard him.

 
; He walked over to the pile of blasted debris, the only thing that remained of their most powerful adversary to date. The Al-Harb Dagger lay amidst the blackened chunks, still shiny and clean-looking although it no longer glowed with power. He picked it up and slipped it, hilt-down, into his pocket.

  Touching the damn thing reminded him of his promise to Taylor. The last time he’d seen her, she had still been in her monstrous form—yet the Taylor he knew and trusted and cared about was still there in her eyes.

  He glanced around and sighed. No one else seemed to have volunteered for the task, so he decided he might as well start looking for a push-broom.

  New York Public Library Main Branch, Midtown Manhattan, New York

  Kendra Gilmore was glad she’d had her team form a perimeter around the library and maintain it, even with all hell breaking loose inside. There’d been curiously little noise, but she had glimpsed commotion through the windows and there had been far more noise over the radio when she’d called. As such, she had very nearly ordered her people in to help, but she trusted that Taylor and Remington and Colonel Russel and their allies could handle it.

  And they had, but in the meanwhile, their operation finally began to draw the public’s attention.

  Curious random citizens had started to wander up, closely followed by officers of the NYPD, who were even more curious.

  “Hey,” one cop enquired, “what’s going on here? We had reports of weird flashing lights, people climbing all over the building, stuff like that. No gunshots, though. Do you wanna tell us what’s up?”

  “Officer,” she responded and flashed her FBI badge, “at this point, I cannot divulge all of the details. Suffice it to say there’s been a serious incident, but we have it under control. More information will be forthcoming. You may also have the opportunity to speak to Colonel James Russel, Army National Guard, who works for the DOD. He’s been assisting.”

  A white guy with dreadlocks in the growing crowd threw both hands up. “This is crazy, man,” he remarked. “We’re lettin’ the Feds destroy the Library. They’re trying to take knowledge away from the people.”

  “Sir,” she told him in her best PR voice, “the Library should be fine, mostly. Possibly barring the need for minor repairs or replacement of furniture. This entire operation has been undertaken in part to protect the Library.”

  She’d begun to grow tired of this kind of conversation when Russel and his heavily armed team emerged from the front entrance and marched in formation down the steps to where she stood in front of the stone lion. Seeing them, most of the civilians dispersed quickly, while the cops waited for their cherished explanation.

  The colonel nodded to her. “Agent. Can I speak to you off to the side? I’m sure your men and mine can handle crowd control for a minute.”

  She sighed in relief. “That sounds great, Colonel. I take it we won?”

  He grinned. “We did indeed.” The man extended a hand in an after you gesture and she ascended the steps to a sheltered corner near the doors. He joined her presently.

  “So,” Kendra began and positioned herself to where she could stop him if he tried to slip away before he’d answered her questions. “First of all, I’d like to know exactly what happened in there. I’m sure I’ll hear it from our friends in the private sector, but I want to hear your side of the story first.”

  Chuckling, Russel told her. He did not speculate as to the exact nature of what he’d seen but he didn’t spare any details, either.

  When he’d finished, she needed a moment to put a hand over her eyes and breathe deeply a couple of times.

  “Jesus,” she whispered. “I knew something was…wrong. Or if not wrong, exactly, then at least really fucking weird. I…I saw things myself, over the course of these last few months of working with them and tracking Moswen—things I barely managed to explain rationally.”

  She looked up. The Colonel’s face was calm and accepting.

  “But,” she added, “I don’t think that, even then, I really believed it. And now…well, you, a goddamn colonel and DOD asset, are telling me you saw something out of a horror movie or a fantasy video game in there. And that your men saw it too…” She shook her head and looked aside and off into the distance. The city seemed so dark and mysterious, even with its myriad electric and neon lights.

  Russel nodded. “That they did, and those men aren’t crazy. I’d be curious to hear Remington and Taylor and their motley crew explain exactly what all that was, but for now, I’d say it’s good enough to know that it sure as shit wasn’t all in our heads.”

  She looked at him again. “Well, we’ll both have plenty of cleaning up to do—tying this whole event off in hundreds of yards of red tape and hoping no one tries to cut through it to look too closely. Once I’m caught up, perhaps we can have a cup of coffee while you tell me how it is that you know these people and how you got mixed up in the whole mess.”

  “Affirmative,” the man replied and smiled again. “I think we could both use a good debriefing. Obviously, therefore, I expect quid pro quo, especially since it sounds like you’ve dealt with them for longer than I have.”

  She confirmed his assumption. “Since before Christmas. Originally, what I thought I was dealing with was an international crime syndicate. Now…I’m not sure anymore.”

  They stood in silence for a moment and looked from the library to the perimeter where the men did a fairly good job of getting rid of the civilians and stalling the police.

  Russel spoke first. “Remington used a term in there while he tried to fill me in…the preternatural. That seems to be their catch-all word for this kind of thing. It makes me wonder if any other of ours—servants of Uncle Sam—are in on it. If so, we ought to get them all together. ‘Preternatural Virgins Anonymous’ or something like that.”

  Kendra laughed gently. “I think ‘novices’ might be a better term, but I like the idea.” She looked toward Fifth Avenue. “All right, back to the grind for both of us.”

  New York Public Library Main Branch, Midtown Manhattan, New York

  Taylor breathed in, then out. Pain stabbed her in too many different places with each breath but the damage would heal, albeit slowly. Her vision changed. She no longer saw everything as though through a translucent screen of fresh blood. Her eyes were shifting back to those of a human being or something close enough to pass for human, at least.

  The bat wings had retracted into her shoulder blades as well, and her limbs had begun to shorten, smooth out, and return to normal. Her head and clawed hands were still distended. Those seemed to take a while to adjust.

  She didn’t want her people—her friends—to see her like this. They’d already seen enough but she wouldn’t dwell on it too much. There were two important facts that trumped any such concerns.

  First, Moswen Neith was dead. They had not only incapacitated but totally destroyed her. Never again would she threaten the world. They had won.

  And second, even if it took time and concentration and centuries’ worth of mental discipline, she was reverting to her old self. The darkness within her was receding.

  It hadn’t gone entirely, though, and she did not trust herself to get too close to humans. She had only the vaguest idea how she’d resisted the urge to rip out Remington’s throat when he’d grabbed her—to drink his blood and go on a rampage.

  After hiding in the shadowed upper corner for a few moments, she’d crawled out through a window and now clung to the exterior of the building. A crowd was forming, of course. And down below, the other employees of Moonlight Detective Agency now emerged.

  She watched them go and made no move. Finally, Conrad appeared in the rear of the group. He lingered for a moment in the deep darkness behind one of the marble columns and she crept toward him and dropped almost soundlessly.

  None of the humans noticed, but he turned his head for a second. He was smart enough not to draw attention to himself by greeting her openly and only spoke in a low voice and out of the side of his mouth. />
  “Taylor,” he whispered. “It’s good to see you’re okay.”

  “More or less,” she replied. He, of all beings, would be sympathetic to the difficulties involved in shifting one’s form. “I need time to…return to my normal self. I’ll be fine. Go home and I will meet you back at the house.”

  He pretended to crane his neck so he could flash her a quick smile. “As you say, ma’am.”

  She darted up the wall and onto the roof and slipped away into the night.

  Before she left the library entirely to slide between or above the other buildings of night-shrouded Manhattan, she glimpsed a single person looking up at her. David had noticed her. He did not gesture or say anything but merely watched her leave before he turned to the general chaos around him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Taylor’s House, Harrison, Westchester County, New York

  Remy laughed along with the others. Volz had said something clever and apparently funny. He hadn’t actually heard it but for the moment, he was swept up in the general mood. Everyone was happy.

  They were also sweaty, dirty, tired, and in some cases, caked with blood. Conrad’s suit was a complete mess, partially due to the stains and partially because he’d ripped it in places when he couldn’t get it off in time while wolfing out. Blood had spattered on almost everyone else, and Alice and Bobby still had some residue of the bizarre magical pâté they’d made on their hands and shirts.

  He hadn’t even noticed that the headbutt he’d taken to his bruised face had split the flesh open and spilled blood down his suit jacket. Bloodstains were an absolute cocksucker to get out of garments, so the jacket was essentially doomed, but he decided he’d keep it, anyway.

  It had become a trophy of sorts—the jacket he wore the day they finally defeated Moswen.