Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  He looked less than impressed, his baggy eyes not blinking. That was 0-for-2 on the seduction front. Three, if I counted last night’s fiasco. A girl’s feelings could start to get irreparably damaged with a batting average like that.

  “I’m not letting you inside without actual ID.” He gave me a dismissive wave. “We’re on lockdown.”

  I kicked the glass, but the designers must have anticipated spurned lovers—or worse. Where I had expected a rippling crack, I instead was greeted by a searing pain in my foot.

  The doors sustained no damage.

  “Goddamnit!” I hopped up and down to distract myself from the strong shock.

  “Hooker proof,” the guard said with a shrug.

  “Escort.” I put my middle finger up near the glass, careful not to touch it this time. “Listen, buddy. You’re gonna let me in.”

  “I don’t think so, lady. Men like Jameson don’t have the best judgment. That’s why they put me down here. Screen out trash like you.”

  I was seeing red. Maybe it was the prospect of being this close to Jameson Denton, only to be stymied by some half-conscious shell of a soldier. Or it could’ve just been the past three weeks crashing down around me.

  In any event, stealth was out the window. I reached into my long boot—which did rate an amused smile from my adversary—and pulled out the lightning blade. With a flick of the finger, a blue glow splashed across the glass.

  “I’m gonna wait until you’re off work tonight,” I said. “Hide in that fucking tree over there if I have to. Whatever it takes. Then the last thing you’re gonna see is this in your eye.”

  Feeling and emotion flooded into the man’s dead eyes, but it wasn’t fear. Instead, much to my surprise, he said, “You knew Sam Roark?”

  Caught off guard, I took a step back, searching for something to say. I came up with, “His brother gave me this knife.”

  “Goddamn, Colton must be fully grown, now.” The guard even smiled. “Sam and I served together. First supernatural task force.”

  “This post seems like a downgrade.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, rubbing the two-day shadow on his chin. “Those were the days. Makin’ a difference. Killing things that were causing actual problems, instead of whatever gestapo bullshit they’re running now.”

  “What happened?”

  “Whole unit got disbanded after that gray-haired psycho killed Sam.” He paused, wincing at the memory. I knew the gray-haired psycho he was referring to was Solomon Marshall. “People upstairs claimed we’d become ineffective. Load of horseshit. They just wanted to do their own thing.”

  “Which was?”

  “You’re seeing it, lady.” The ex-soldier pointed outside, beyond the archway. “We got the makings of a corporate state, run by a bunch of empty suits.”

  “You can stick it to those suits.” I tossed the blade in the air and caught it by the hilt to demonstrate I knew my way around a weapon. “Or, rather, I’ll stick it to one of them.”

  “This guy Denton responsible for Sam?”

  “In a way,” I said, not against lying to advance my cause. Was it still a white lie when you’d be killing a bad person? Gray lie, maybe.

  I shifted uncomfortably in the tight dress, trying to read the situation. But the life in this guy’s eyes had gone out again. He’d lived for the hunt and his unit. Once that purpose had been snatched away from him, his identity had been set adrift in a world that didn’t appreciate his skills.

  That made him hard to read.

  The guard punched a button by the wall, and the doors glided open effortlessly.

  Before I stepped inside, he said, “I know you’re lyin’ to me.”

  I stared at him, feeling guilty. “Then why let me in at all?”

  “One way another, all those suits are responsible for what happened to Sammy,” the guard said, reassuming his post behind the gold-gilded desk as I walked across the lobby. “But I figure, if you’re crazy enough to come in here while shit’s hittin’ the fan, you’re crazy enough to cause these assholes real problems. And he would’ve appreciated that.”

  I nodded, leaving the walking dead behind as I headed toward the glittering row of brass elevators.

  It was time to cause some real problems.

  8

  Maybe, after two decades of bad luck, fate was smiling on me.

  A girl could dream.

  The expansive elevator opened its cavernous jaws onto the 54th floor. Instead of a hallway of doors—little boxes packed as closely together as possible—I was greeted with a majestic view of the courtyard below. The seamless floor-to-ceiling glass glowed.

  A small robot, about knee-high, trundled up to me, extending a beverage with a claw.

  Jameson Denton’s dirty work had paid off in style.

  I brushed off the bottled water and cocked my head at the little chrome automaton. “Jameson Denton?”

  I had no idea if it would understand, but its treads whirred around and off it went down the hall. Now that was service. It led me to an apartment with a silver knobbed door and a biometric reader. Then, the robot trundled off to offers its services elsewhere.

  After slipping the blade out of the boot, I hastily adjusted my hair. Then my head away from the door, so that Jameson wouldn’t be able to see my face, and knocked loudly. My hand was sweaty. I could feel the electricity making the dress’s stray threads stand on end.

  “It’s open.” My hair stood on end at the sound of Jameson’s voice. Even twenty-two years later, I’d recognize it anywhere. Normal in every way, but it grated across my soul. I’d waited so long for this moment. Would it be everything I imagined?

  Gripping the knife tighter, I said in my sweetest voice, “It’s better if you come yourself.”

  A sharp click echoed through the hall as the door swung open by itself. I was greeted by a majestic view, this one facing out across the endless desert. If you forgot where you were, you could almost believe that this apartment was a little oasis, on an island all by itself.

  I stepped inside the threshold.

  “Where are you, baby?” I asked, my voice half-a-pitch higher than normal. “Don’t you want to unwrap your present?”

  “Of course I do.” Jameson’s voice came from the bedroom. Guess he didn’t waste time. I walked into the living room, past the Italian leather couches and a massive screen that looked like it was part of the wall itself.

  “So, like, what do you do?” I said, staring into the infinite desert, already knowing the answer.

  A familiar sound snaked its way from the bedroom as Jameson replied, “Oh, you know, a little of this and a little of that. Ruby.”

  So much for disguises. He must’ve seen me in the hall. There were eyes everywhere, after all.

  I dove over the loveseat as a barrage of automatic gunfire tore through the room. Tufts of fabric and shredded leather puffed into the air as I huddled behind the furniture, trying to make myself as small a target as possible.

  A lull came, and I slid out to the right, staying low. His bare leg was sticking out from the bedroom.

  I flicked the glowing knife at his ankle and he screamed. The rifle clattered to the hardwood. Scrambling forward—which wasn’t easy in the dress—I managed to reach the gun before he could recover.

  His body stopped convulsing when I removed the blade. His eyes regarded me with fear. Which was remarkable in and of itself—most people would have been out cold, or at least non-functional. I tried to read his aura, but it wasn’t anything I’d encountered recently. As such, the exact signature escaped me.

  “I knew you’d come back one of these days. I can’t believe they let you go.”

  Blood dripped from the deep gash in his ankle over a white throw rug. I put my boot down hard on the wound and gave him a wicked smile. He shuddered.

  “I’m touched you remembered me after all these years,” I said, reaching down to touch his cheek. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  He recoiled. “F
uck you. I won’t tell you anything”

  “I think you’ll be singing a different tune shortly,” I said, tossing the bloody knife up and then catching it. “But that’s okay. I like to play rough.”

  His face went ash white as I swung the blade toward his eye.

  9

  “Wait,” Jameson screamed, voice breaking. “I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

  The glowing blue blade quivered about a quarter inch from his retina. I was tempted to keep going, but it had all been a bluff, anyway. Killing him wouldn’t explain why Harcourt Leblanc, a Fae with a bunch of screws loose, wanted me to complete the list.

  If anyone knew the connection, it would be Jameson. Guess I’d find out soon enough. You know the old saying about curiosity. Kills cats.

  And maybe Realmfarers, too.

  “How do you know Harcourt?” I asked, moving the blade back a few inches. I also removed my weight from his ankle. Jameson audibly sighed in near orgasmic relief. Seeing his pain lessen twisted my heart. I’d watched him shoot Pearl right in the head—and enjoy it. Glancing out at the desert vista, I had to admit that it looked like a good place for a grave.

  Then again, this ostentatious apartment was equally suitable, as far as I was concerned.

  But vengeance could wait for a few more minutes. Until I had answers.

  With a rough grip, I dragged him by the collar of his bathrobe into the living room. He weakly protested, but didn’t really resist otherwise. I dropped him near the perforated loveseat. Then I flicked the blade off and wiped its bloody edge on the expensive furniture.

  I jammed it into the ruined loveseat and sat down, crossing my legs.

  I surveyed him with a stern expression. He glared back in meek defiance.

  “I can jam this back in your leg.”

  “I’d heard the rest of them kicked it, you know,” Jameson said with halting breaths, the robe slipping off his pale shoulders. “Figured it was you.”

  “And yet you didn’t bother to upgrade the security.”

  “I thought the lockdown would be enough.” His eyes fluttered slightly. From the blood pooling at his feet, I’d hit an artery. He had minutes at most. His skin was already taking on a ghostly pallor. “I should’ve known you better.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve been watching me from your ivory tower.”

  “The things you’ve taught us.” Jameson laughed and weakly rubbed the stubble on his chin. “All those tests in the dark room. Studying you. Watching what made you tick. You have no idea.”

  I reached for the knife. I adjusted the tight dress, noting that my boots were streaked with his blood. Not my cleanest job. “Then why don’t you give me one?”

  “They wanted to know how to traverse the Realms.” Jameson coughed, his eyes half-shut. “And you were the key.”

  “Why do they care about the other worlds?” The rest of the Realms were dangerous shitpiles, even when you took into account Earth’s current state. No real reason to wander through them. But I believed him, recalling the Howler Vine in Carrie Sanderson’s apartment.

  “Because it’ll allow us to reach the source.” Jameson smiled cruelly. “And you led us right there.”

  Not like I had a say in the matter. But it made sense: all the poking and prodding. Studying what allowed me to travel between worlds, while other species remained tethered to Earth.

  “Harcourt Leblanc.”

  “That name supposed to mean something?” Jameson’s blank expression showed no sign of recognition. The wisps flitting around his head told me that he wasn’t bluffing. Another dead end.

  “What does MagiTekk want with the Tributary?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Jameson’s eyes flashed open, fear running through them as he realized the end was near. He tried to stand up, bet tumbled to the expensive hardwood, landing with a sticky splash in the pooling blood. “The profit potential is limitless.”

  “If it’s real.”

  “Believe what you want, Ruby.” Jameson’s voice became faint. “Either way, you’re responsible. How does that feel? Today? That’s just a taste of what’s to come.”

  “Tell me how to stop Malcolm.”

  But no answer came.

  And my vengeance ended not with a bang, but a silent whimper.

  10

  Hour 7

  Jameson hadn’t known Harcourt, but the same couldn’t be said about my Fae nemesis. After Jameson had expired, the wisps had led me to a garish painting of a park hanging in the kitchen. Upon popping it out of the frame, I’d found a note in Harcourt’s trademark script affixed to the back.

  After the list is finished, meet me at a park time forgot. Then you will receive your information. – HL

  After conferring with Alice Conway, we’d both agreed that a park deep in Old Phoenix was our best bet. I’d made a quick stop at Kendrick’s bar to clean up, change back into my old clothes, and grab my belongings. Then I’d headed out to the meeting spot.

  A gentle rain trickled down from the gray sky, pattering into the dust. I stood on the cracked sidewalk, staring at the empty benches, looking for Harcourt. This part of Old Phoenix was shockingly green, given the dilapidated surrounding buildings.

  By green, I meant there were a few stalks of grass struggling to survive in a dirt pit.

  An electronic billboard—one of the few in this section of town—advertised a new fragrance from Eden Marshall called Paradise.

  Because everyone deserves a vacation.

  She beamed, her blemish-less face and glowing smile indicating that she’d found her own little sliver of paradise. But I had to wonder how easy it was to recover after being stuck in shifted form for seven years. Living like a wild animal.

  There was no sign of that on the perfect billboard. But it had to take its toll.

  Call it experience.

  A woman threw a tennis ball to her lumbering Bull Mastiff in the chalky dust. Otherwise, the place was deserted. Probably why Harcourt chose it for a meeting spot. I stared at the dog, in its serene and ignorant bliss, and contemplated what it would take for me to reach a similar state. Even if someone could wipe my memory down to the neurons, true serenity would ever settle within my bones.

  All the things I’d seen.

  All the things I’d done.

  I watched the fuzzy ball arc through the air, disappearing in the sun. Hands in my pockets, I walked to one of the peeling benches and sat down. The wood groaned under my weight.

  “You look deep in thought, dear Ruby,” an aristocratic voice said. Its smooth edges had been sanded away by the passage of time, replaced with the grit of old age.

  I whirled around. Familiar tarnished copper eyes stared at me, still bearing that gleeful anarchical glint. But they were set in a craggy face of jowly flesh and bone, skin flecked with pockmarks and the scars of dangerous living. Harcourt’s neat three-piece suit was faded, hanging off his worn body.

  He walked around to the front of the bench with a marked limp. Man, the Fae aged like shit. His embrace of chaos hadn’t helped matters. Harcourt looked worse than an exhumed rock star.

  With a tremendous groan, he sat down. “No greeting, after so much time apart?”

  “I wish I’d killed you thirty years ago.”

  “It was more than that if I recall,” Harcourt said, flashing a quarter grin. I’d seen that expression many times during our day together. I’d grown to hate it, wishing that I could wipe it clean off his face. But it’d been impossible—even with a shotgun down his throat.

  Striking fear into a man’s heart who feared only boredom was an impossible task.

  “You have something for me,” I said.

  “You must allow things to unfold at their own pace.”

  “Isn’t waiting a little boring for you?” I asked, shooting him a mean glare. My fingers begged for me to reach for the shotgun beneath the bench, and just finish him off. The things I’d seen this prick do were unspeakable. That he’d escaped was simply a matter of choosing a shit
sandwich over a double-decker one.

  Rock and a hard place didn’t quite describe it.

  “Did you cause the chaos I asked?” His expression told me that he already knew the answer. But he wanted to hear me say it. Admit that, on some level, I shared something with him.

  I reluctantly engaged. “How’d you know about my list?”

  “Pay the right people, break into the right places.” Harcourt waved his gaunt hand in the bright air. “Does it matter?”

  “It does.”

  “After I returned from the Fae Plains a few years ago—”

  “Why did you return, anyway?”

  Harcourt gave a huff. The bony fingers reached for his red pocket square. He mopped his deeply wrinkled brow, staring at the dog playing in the gentle rain.

  “I was banished, dear Ruby.”

  “Again?” I stifled a bitter laugh. Not that I should’ve been surprised. “No one wants your ass around.”

  “And what a shame that is, love,” he said, the quarter-grin returning. “But after I returned to Earth, I kept tabs on you.”

  “Why?” I asked, feeling creeped out. I was torn between reaching for the gun, or simply sliding away and hightailing it out of there.

  “Because you’re my only friend, dear Ruby.”

  I almost gagged. Instead, I said, “So you stalked me.”

  “That is not what friends call watching out for others.”

  “We’re not friends, jackass.”

  “What else do you call one who saves another’s life?” Those tarnished copper eyes looked deeply into mine like he was serious. I didn’t have an answer ready, so I just glared back. With some small measure of satisfaction, I realized that his nose was still broken from where I’d smashed it in all those years ago.

  He was right about one thing. Our fates were intertwined. Ever so slightly, perhaps, but enough to leave me wanting to hop right in the shower.

  Teeth gritted, I said, “I finished the list. Killed all three.”

  Harcourt pounced on this admission with unbridled glee. “We are similar, you and I.”