Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  I tried to relax. Reminded myself that as nasty as rats were, even a dozen of them were no match for two werewolves. But the crosswind brought another smell--that smell of disease we'd picked up on the rats in the warehouse.

  Diseased rats. Out in the daytime, when rats normally seek shelter. Aggressively confronting, not just a human, but a werewolf.

  The rats started to chatter, teeth snapping and grinding, needlelike incisors flashing, eyes blazing with rage, as if the disease had driven them mad and only the faintest shreds of sanity were keeping them from jumping down and ripping into me. As they hissed and squeaked, I could see those sanity shreds stretching thinner, ready to snap.

  I didn't look at Clay, knowing if I did, the panic in my eyes might panic him. He was trying to think up a way to get me out of there, and didn't need any distractions.

  "Inch toward me," Clay said, his voice just above a whisper. "When you're close enough, I'll grab your feet and pull you out of the way. Just move very, very slowly."

  Before I could "inch" anywhere, I needed to get my hands on the ground. I hated uncovering my stomach, but there was nothing else I could do to move forward. I started with my left hand, easing it down toward the ground. The largest rat lunged for the edge of the wood pile.

  I froze, heart thudding, knowing they'd sense my fear and fighting to control it. The big rat paced along the edge of the pile, as if struggling to resolve warring fight-or-flight impulses. Behind it, the others jostled for position. The sharp scrabbling of claws on wood underscored their chatters and hisses as two more rats joined them.

  "Clay?" I whispered. "It's not going to--"

  "I know."

  "If I jump up fast and--"

  "No."

  "I have to. They won't wait much longer. If you cover me--"

  "They'll attack before you get your hands down."

  "Maybe if I can push off..." I knew even as I said it that I couldn't. My stomach was too big for me to jump from a sitting position without using my hands.

  "I'll--" My throat dried up and I swallowed before starting again. "I'll just have to move fast. Put my hands down and--"

  "Clay!" Nick's loud whisper cut through the construction yard. "There you--" He stopped at Clay's shoulder. "Holy shit."

  A quick confused glance at Clay, as if to say "Why are you just standing there?" then Nick leapt forward. Clay's hand slammed into the middle of his chest, stopping him.

  "Spook them and they'll attack."

  "What's--" Zoe began as she came up behind Nick. She saw me. "Good lord. Don't move. They must be rabid--"

  "It's something else," Clay said. "Some disease from the portal. Elena? I'm going to jump in there. When they go for me, get out."

  I shifted my gaze to the pacing rats. The biggest one was perched on the edge, as if calculating the distance to my belly, snapping at the others as they jostled him.

  "Elena?" Clay said. "I'll be okay. I can handle rats. Better me than you right now."

  I hesitated, then nodded. Clay slowly lowered himself to a half-crouch, ready to jump. Then something hit his shoulder. Zoe, knocking him out of the way. Before anyone could react, she raced toward me.

  "Run!" she said.

  The king rat jumped, the others flying behind him in a stream of brown fur. One hit my side. Another my head, claws catching in my hair as it scrambled for a hold. I was already up, barreling forward. Hands clamped around my arm. Clay yanked me out and passed me to Nick, then dove past me.

  I turned to see Zoe covered in rats, at least six of them, hanging off her arms and clothes as she swung wildly, trying to get them free. More attacked from the ground, lunging at her legs. Clay kicked the nearest one, bones crunching as his foot made contact. He grabbed one off Zoe and whipped it into the brick pile.

  Nick steered me out of the way, then ran back to help. By then, the rats were already dispersing, hissing and squeaking as they ran for cover. Nick snatched the last one off Zoe's back. The rat twisted around to bite him, but Clay's fist knocked it out of Nick's grip, and it hit the ground, convulsing as it died.

  I hurried over to them. Zoe was shivering, eyes wide and wild, as she looked herself over.

  "They--they're gone, right?" she said, teeth chattering. "Oh, God. That was--" She rubbed her hands over her arms as the bites healed.

  "Thank you," I said.

  A weak smile. "Not much of a sacrifice. Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll be good as new. Wounds heal and, whatever they carry, I can't catch. These clothes are garbage now, though."

  "Doesn't look like they ripped anything," Nick said.

  "That's okay. They're still going in the trash." She wrapped her arms around herself and gave a hard shudder, then shook it off. "Well, now that I've revealed myself to be a total wimp..." She waved off our protests. "I can talk the talk, but as a predator, I'm a washout."

  She looked at Clay. "Thanks. I know you were just getting them out of the way before they went after Elena, but thanks. I was about ten seconds away from doing my Jamie Lee Curtis impression and screaming like a total sissy-girl."

  "I was about five seconds away from it myself," I said. "Psycho killer rats. That's a new one for me. Whatever disease they're carrying must be making them--" I stopped, my head jerking up. "Clay? Nick? Did you get bit--"

  Clay put up his hand to stop me as I sprinted over, ready to check him myself. "They only got Zoe." He glanced at Nick, frowning. "You didn't--"

  "You didn't leave any for me, remember? Deprived again."

  "Left you one."

  "Which you killed."

  "Are you sure everyone's okay?" Zoe said. "I smell blood."

  Clay lifted his arm to check the bandage. It was soaked with blood.

  "Shit," he said. "That must be what the rats smelled."

  "Here," I said. "Let me--"

  He waved me off. "Got a few more strips on this shirt. You work on picking up a trail. I'm guessing if Nick circled back, he lost the zombie, right?"

  Nick nodded. "We both did, so we came to grab Elena to see if she can pick up the trail. There's roofing tar over there, and I can't smell a damned thing except that. Where's--"

  "Lost him too," I muttered. "So much for our bird in the hand. Come on."

  We made it just to the other side of the trailer when Clay's head jerked up, gaze going north, following something. A second later, running footsteps thundered through the construction yard. A young man in a security uniform raced around the corner, a sandwich in hand. The absentee guard, returning to his post, he hoped, before anyone noticed he'd been gone.

  Clay swore. Zoe stepped closer to Nick and motioned for us to head toward the road. The guard saw us, lips parting as if to call out. Zoe waved with one hand and gripped Nick's arm with the other, then she motioned to the far road. Just two couples taking a shortcut through an empty construction site. The guard nodded and waved us on. We'd have to pick up the trail off the site.

  Logically, there had to be a trail. Three, in fact--Rose's, the bowler-hatted man's and Hull's--but we couldn't find them.

  Twice I caught that whiff of rot that told me one of the zombies had been by, but after following them for a few feet other scents got in the way. Hull was even tougher, lacking that special zombie odor. His story might be complete fiction, but if he did come through that portal, that was why we hadn't picked his trail up at the site.

  After twenty minutes, the blood seeping from Clay's arm had soaked through a third bandage. We decided--or I insisted and Nick backed me up--to take Clay back to the hotel so Jeremy could have a look.

  Not wanting to walk down the road trailing blood, we stopped in an alley to apply a fourth bandage while I called Jeremy and told him not to expect that Cabbagetown delivery, but to return to the hotel for Clay.

  "There goes another shirt," Clay said as he handed me the remains of his T-shirt.

  "Here," Nick said. "Use mine."

  "No, mine's garbage already."

  As I tore a strip for the bandage, I
couldn't help noticing Zoe...hovering. All three of us turned to look at her, perched on a trash bin, leaning toward Clay, gaze fixed on his bloodied arm.

  "The answer is no," Clay said. "Yeah, it's going to waste, but it's not teatime, so stop drooling."

  "Ha-ha. I was just considering whether I should offer to help."

  "By sucking up the rest of it?"

  "No, by drooling. You must be used to that, Professor, students drooling over you." She hopped off the trash can. "In this case, though, it might be more welcome than I suspect it usually is. I could stop the bleeding."

  "How?" I said.

  "Vampire saliva stops blood flow. Keeps our dinner from bleeding out once we're done feeding. I can do that here."

  "Do I wanna ask how?" Clay said.

  "Normally, I'd lick the affected area, which I know neither of us wants, so may I suggest some discreet expectoration onto that bandage?"

  I looked at Clay. He nodded, grunted a thanks and I handed Zoe the bandage.

  Zoe's saliva did the trick. Ten minutes later, as we walked down Bay Street, Clay's bandage was still white. But while that meant he wasn't strolling downtown wearing a bloodied bandage, he was still half-naked. With each honk or whistle, Clay's hands jammed deeper into his pockets and he stepped a little farther into the shadow of store awnings.

  We'd been searching for a taxi since leaving the museum but, like everyone else, they seemed to have taken a personal day.

  "I could take off my shirt too," Nick said.

  "There's an idea," Zoe said. "Wait, let me grab my lip liner. I'll write 'Meet us at Remingtons' on your backs." She grinned. "Bet they'd get a crowd tonight, cholera or no cholera."

  "Leave your shirt on," Clay said.

  Zoe looked at me. "We could take ours off too. In a show of solidarity. It's legal here."

  "It is?" Nick perked up. "Why have I not seen a single topless woman the whole time I've been here?"

  "Because, outside of beaches and concerts, you probably won't. And if you do? They won't be anyone you want to see topless. Every time I see one, I thank God for eternal youth. But, still, it is legal." A sly look my way. "So, if you want to take your top off..."

  "Trust me, these days, I fall into that category of women no one wants to see topless."

  "I wouldn't complain."

  Her gaze rolled over to Clay, expectantly. He just turned to watch a taxi zip around the corner, then swore when he saw it was occupied.

  Zoe sighed. "Not even going to rise to the bait, are you, Professor?"

  "Show me bait; I'll rise."

  "Oh-ho. So you think just because I'm a woman--"

  "Didn't think that at all. Doesn't matter."

  "Well, you may be prettier right now, but don't forget who's the one with eternal youth. In a few years, that six-pack of yours is going to look more like a collapsible cooler bag."

  "Yeah, probably."

  Another sigh. She started to say something else when a trio of young women ogled Clay, tittering as they passed.

  I waved toward a variety store with a rack of tourist T-shirts in the window. "Want one?"

  "Please."

  "I couldn't resist," I said as I handed him the folded shirt.

  He shook it out and laughed. It read "Had a howling good time in Toronto" above a picture of a mutant wolf with fangs as big as walrus tusks. Typical tourist wear--drawn by someone in a distant country who'd never actually seen a wolf, but was certain Toronto must be teeming with them, running alongside the Inuit, moose and polar bears.

  Clay shrugged it on. "How does it look?"

  "God awful," Zoe said.

  Nick waved a finger at me. "The joke will be on you five years from now, when he's still wearing it."

  "That'll bother you more than it'll bother me." I reached into the bag and pulled out chocolate bars. "I heard stomachs growling."

  I produced a bottle of water for Zoe.

  "Ah, nice and cold," she said as she took it. "You're so sweet." She glanced over at Clay and sighed. "And so wasted."

  "Damned shame, isn't it?" Clay said through a mouthful of chocolate.

  "Criminal."

  At the hotel, we left Nick and Zoe in the lounge. Upstairs, Jeremy popped his head outside his room almost the moment we stepped off the elevator.

  "There you are," he said. "I was about to go out searching for you."

  "It's just a scratch," Clay said.

  Jeremy ushered us into the room. He gestured to the bed, and had the bandage off before Clay even finished settling. A frown, then he reached down to an already-prepared basin of warm water, took out the cloth, squeezed it and carefully sponged off the blood. As the wound came clean, Jeremy's frown grew.

  "It does appear to be--" he began.

  "Just a scratch?" Clay finished. "Told you."

  "But why did it bleed so much?" I asked, drawing closer for a better look.

  "It's a deep scratch," Jeremy said. "It looks as if it nicked a vein."

  Clay looked over at me. "Right again. I'm a genius."

  "No," Jeremy said. "You've been hurt so often you can't help but recognize the signs."

  "What about...?" I began, then paused. "It was Rose."

  "She's worried about syphilis," Clay said.

  Jeremy shook his head. "Don't be. Unless she bit him, that isn't a concern."

  Jeremy cleaned it well, then plastered it up and told me to let him know if it started bleeding again or bothered Clay. No sense expecting Clay to tell him. To him, as long as the limb was still attached, he was good to go.

  Once Clay was bandaged again, Jeremy and I both breathed easier, and I could tell Jeremy what had happened at the museum.

  "So the zombies are catching on to our plans," I said.

  Jeremy nodded. "Meaning our chances of catching one, without serious risk, are rapidly diminishing. Time to take a break and focus on Shanahan."

  "I'll talk to Zoe. See if she'll be more forthcoming about him now." I turned to Clay, who was picking up the tourist shirt. "Hold on. I'll grab one of yours."

  "I like this one."

  I rolled my eyes and helped him into it. "As for this Hull guy, his mannerisms suggest that he is what he claims to be--a refugee from the Victorian portal--but Clay thinks he's working with the controller, maybe an actor hired to get close to us."

  "Explains how he just happened on the scene," Clay said. "Better than 'I was following the zombies.' "

  "So what do we do about this supposed meeting?" I said.

  "Let me think about it. For now, go back to Zoe."

  We started for the door.

  "Oh," Jeremy said. "Anita Barrington hasn't called you, has she?"

  I double-checked my cell phone, then shook my head.

  "She called me here, at the hotel," he said. "Something about digging up a story we'd probably like to hear. I called her back and left a message asking her to phone your cell or Antonio's, but she hasn't returned my call..."

  "We'll swing by there after we talk to Zoe."

  We had the lounge to ourselves, so there was no need to take our business to a more private spot.

  I explained our suspicions about Shanahan, and why we needed to find him.

  "Patrick Shanahan as a zombie-controlling madman?" Zoe said, her finely drawn brows raised.

  "Madman...debatable," I said. "But the zombie-controlling part seems a good guess. As for why he's controlling them or why the portal was embedded in that letter or what he hopes to gain by getting it back, we're still working on all that."

  "As motivations go, I always liked world domination myself. Or perhaps this is just metropolitan domination. Patrick never was the type to think big. Never struck me as zombie lord material either, but I can't say I know him well. It's a working relationship, and a sporadic one at that. Most of my jobs for the family were with his grandfather, and he wasn't chummy with the hired help either."

  "Which means you won't be able to give us much insight into Shanahan."

  "Next
to none. But I know someone who can. A client. Randall Tolliver. He grew up with Patrick."

  Fake

  IN A CITY LIKE TORONTO, WHICH, AS FAR AS I KNEW DIDN'T even have a Cabal satellite office, the supernatural community is small. I'd lived here, on and off, for ten years after I became a werewolf, and never knew it existed. Zoe said there were only a few sorcerer families, so the community was tight--many of them knowing each other from birth, as Patrick Shanahan and Randall Tolliver did.

  Although Zoe claimed to know Tolliver much better than she did Shanahan, she'd say little about him--protecting another customer.

  We had a heck of a time finding Tolliver. His office either didn't have his exact schedule, or was reluctant to provide it, so we ended up canvassing a list of places he was expected to visit that afternoon. We stopped at a low-income housing complex, then an AIDS hospice, both times being told he'd come and gone.

  Those places gave me a pretty good idea what Tolliver did for a living. An investment broker of another kind...the sort who buys bargain-basement housing, turns it into something barely livable and reaps the benefits of government assistance. Typical sorcerer.

  "Let's pop by his office," Zoe said. "I'll see if I can sweet-talk the receptionist into paging him for me."

  Clay swung a look my way that begged for something more active than trailing Zoe across town.

  "How about we catch up with you after you find him?" I said. "We've got another stop we can make in the meantime."

  "Erin?" Anita said as we walked into the bookshop.

  The girl popped up from behind a display where she'd been unpacking books.

  "Can you watch the store, dear? We'll be in the back."

  Anita ushered us through the beaded curtain into the back office.

  "We'll have to step out back to speak freely if a customer comes, but that's unlikely. We haven't seen anyone since noon. Now they're just phoning about charms and whatnot--afraid to even leave the house. Complete nonsense, of course, like wearing those hospital masks during the SARS outbreak."

  "You said you have more information for us?" Clay said.

  I resisted the urge to glare at him. I suspect it didn't matter how rude Clay was--Anita would get to the point at her own pace.

  First, she had Clay haul out three folding chairs. Then she set up bottled water and cookies on a box of books, insisting I at least have the water to avoid dehydration.