Muttering to myself like a senile old woman, I searched through Leo’s body until I found his phone. I checked his text messages as the elevator started moving again, he sent one a short time before the elevator stopped.
- Compromised, need extraction and payment now, was sent to an unlabeled number, the same one he received a text from a little after Thorn had made the restaurant attack me. The message mentioned it being a new phone number and warned Leo that I was coming for him.
“Cis, you still there?”
“Yes.”
“I’m heading to the infirmary—need a few stitches. I’m going to give you a number to trace when I get there.” I glanced at the clock in the hall as I limped my way toward the infirmary.
It was approaching seven faster than I would have liked but I needed to get the wound stitched up. I had made the mistake of not getting a deep graze stitched up once. After passing out while doing surveillance, I was far more vigilant about keeping blood loss to a minimum.
Twenty-Four
SIX STITCHES LATER, I gave the number to Cis and headed to the armory. I hated going to the armory. There was a reason I went to Knit Happens, and it wasn’t just because I liked Abby. Gary, the Shadow in charge of the armory was an asshole. Others disagreed with me, namely every other Shadow or ex-shadow I knew—including Fiona.
To everyone else he was delightful, funny, charming, friendly Gary, to me, he was that asshole who always had some comment about how many bullets I went through. Contrary to popular belief, people don’t have a natural avoidance of the sociopathic, so that wasn’t it. Regardless of what it was, Gary wasn’t thrilled to see me.
As soon as I stepped foot in the armory’s waiting room he looked up from the magazine he was reading and glared at me. Gary looked like most old Executioners. His face was lined and haggard, one eye was white from a scar which bisected his face diagonally and made his lip curl. It was a really neat scar, you could tell where the werewolf’s whole hand had sliced him. He had a beard which was big, bushy and white like the hair on top of his head. He always reminded me a little of Santa Claus—a ripped, scarred version of Santa.
Whereas he scowled at me as I approached the counter, I beamed at him.
“I need a rifle.”
“Of course you do.” He pushed one of those little white tablets toward me. I placed my hand on the screen. “Kill any innocent normals today?”
“What? No.” The computer beeped.
“Surprisingly it says you’re cleared for it.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that someone like you shouldn’t be given a rifle of any sort.”
“Someone like me?” I cocked a brow.
“You know what you are. If it were up to me, instead of training you they should have put you down like a rabid animal.” Even as he spoke, he still went to the racks behind the counter. “Empathy is what separates us from the monsters. Do you even know what that word is?”
“I’m familiar with the concept.”
“But can you experience it? Are you capable of feeling anything at all?”
“Anger.” I smiled wider, and he grunted as he took a black case off of a shelf. I didn’t point out the irony of him bitching about my lack of empathy, which was technically demonstrating the absence of it on his behalf. At least I learned why he hated me.
“I want this back in the morning, with the name of who you fired this at and one thing about them.” He set the case on the counter.
“Yeah, sure I’ll get right on that.” I yanked the case off and left growling under my breath.
****
Six thirty that evening found me perched on the small shop across the street from Fiona’s house. The rifle was a nice one, I hadn’t really used one often in my years of being a Shadow. I didn’t have the patience for sniping—though, I did have the eye for it. And when it was absolutely necessary, and there was no other way to get a target, I had been known to sit on top of a building or in brush for up to two days or so to get a chance at a contract. But I could count on one hand how many times I had done it in ten years. However, being on top of a building in the freezing cold, while having to rely on night vision was the worst environment I had been in so far.
“Davy’s out of surgery.”
“Holy shit, Cis. Warn a girl.”
“Sorry.”
“So you’ve been there this whole time?”
“Mhm. I heard that little exchange with you and Gary too. Don’t let him get to you. He gives Nate shit, too. Calls Mr. Heartless, or when he’s being particularly grouchy, Tin Man.”
“That’s funny.” I snorted.
“Why?”
“Because he told me he loved me.”
“About time.”
“You knew?”
“I’ve had my suspicions for years. Particularly after he spent entirely too much time obsessing over that kiss.”
“Which kiss?”
“The one when you were sixteen.”
“I wasn’t sixteen, and if I recall correctly, he wanted nothing to do with that kiss.”
“You were a kid at the time, Rose. But he said the phrase ‘if she were older’ far too many times. And then when you did start seeing him, only to conveniently take a contract out of the country and forget to tell him, he was a wreck.”
“Is this where you warn me not to hurt our mutual friend’s feelings?” Emmanuelle pulled up, and I peered down the scope.
“Something like that.”
I took a deep breath to steady my hand as I aimed for a heart shot. Exhaling, I pulled the trigger and Emmanuelle staggered but didn’t fall over. Fuck! “Point taken.” I quickly broke down the rifle, shoved its pieces in the box and kicked it across the roof. “But Nate and I aren’t fucking, and we’re certainly not dating.” I climbed off of the roof. I was so not looking forward to what was going to happen next. I was still pretty battered and bruised from this morning. “So, I winged Emmanuelle,” I whispered.
“That’s not good.”
“Ya’ think?” I drew my Glock and pressed against the side of the building. Maybe she wouldn’t figure out the direction the shot came from. I peeked around the corner and found myself face to face with the famed Shadow. Her green eyes burned with rage as she lunged for me. Her pale blonde and gray hair practically glowed under the street light making her look like some Sidhe of vengeance.
Even wounded she still fought better than anyone I had ever gone up against before. No matter what I did she was always there, and for a moment I thought that might be it for me. I struggled to raise my gun, but when I fired she managed to move my wrist just far enough away that all it did was deafen me. She wrenched the gun from me and threw it away because for someone who’s murdered a guy with a spoon bare hands was nothing.
She tried to get me in a choke hold, but I somehow managed to twist out of it. She refused to let me get up, and I didn’t blame her. If the situations were reversed, I’d have exploited the fact that I sucked at jujitsu too. I made up for my lack of skill at it in some other more interesting ways. I was scrappy, and she was getting too close for her own good. Unfortunately, I had to do something I wasn’t entirely comfortable with, I had to let her get me in a hold that could potentially knock me out.
“Rose?” I could taste the fear in Cis’s voice as I let her start to pull me in, but at the last minute I turned my head and leaned towards her. She was able to put pressure on my carotid, but not enough to stop me from taking a chunk out of her neck. I spit the flesh out at her as I felt myself start to fade. Those lovely green eyes of hers flashed wide as blood spurted from the mauled artery. She wavered and then went limp just as I started to see spots.
“I’m here, kind of,” I groaned pushing Emmanuelle’s body from on top of me. “So I suck at sniping while distracted.” My clothes were wet with blood, thankfully it wasn’t mine for a change. “I left the rifle on top of the roof; I really don’t want to have to deal with Gary again.”
“That was a stay the fuck away from Nate before you carefully reworded it, wasn’t it?” I asked still panting from the fight. Everything ached, and I wanted nothing more than to lay down and relax in a bath for an hour or two.
“Maybe.”
“We’re on the same page. He deserves someone who’s at least good at faking feelings. I’m going to grab dinner at Fiona’s, so I’ll check back with you in an hour.” I peeled myself from the pavement and limped over to pick my gun up out of the street.
“Alright. I’m trailing that phone too.”
“Good, I’ll need that after.” Yawning, I hobbled my way across the street.
“Tired?”
I cackled for a straight minute on Fiona’s tree lawn. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“At least it’s almost over, right?”
Again, the crazy laughter returned. “That’s cute.” I ended the call and took my earpiece out, stumbling my way toward the door on aching tired legs that had passed the falling off phase of existence, and entered into something new, terrifying, and unknown.
Fiona opened the door before I got there.
“Do you have some clothes I can borrow?” I asked in gasps, still unable to catch my breath.
“Sure, c’mon in.”
I had been to her place a handful of times now, but I could never quite get over how normal the inside seemed. In spite of having a literal different man for every day of the week, her life—at least judging by her home—seemed like everyone else’s.
She actually had clutter, magazines on the coffee table, pictures of her with the various guys or all together on vacation somewhere with a warm sandy beach lined the walls of the living room. The smell from the kitchen made my mouth water, but at that point, after everything I had been through, I was positively ravenous so it could have smelled disgusting, and my mouth still would have filled up with saliva like a mental patient. Or it was that I was ready to have anything at all replace the taste of blood and raw flesh in my mouth.
Twenty-Five
AFTER DINNER, I found myself sitting in my car in a pair of Fiona’s jeans, and one of her black turtlenecks, with my blood drenched clothes in a shopping bag in the backseat. My jacket smelled heavily of blood, but I refused to part with it, though there was dry cleaning in its future. For the first time ever, I had to psych myself up to go in for a kill. Fighting Emmanuelle had shaken me, there was no way to sugar coat it. I might have won, but it was far too close to it being a loss. Was I ready to go after Thorn? Yeah-maybe. With a deep breath, I tucked the ear piece in my ear.
“Cameo, Call D—” I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. Davy’s absence was wearing on me, I wasn’t aware how much I leaned on him in these situations until he wasn’t there to support me anymore. Cis was a good Sybil, but I needed more than a good Sybil, I needed my Davy.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that,” the genderless mechanical voice whispered in my ear.
“Cameo, Call Cis.”
He picked up immediately, there wasn’t even a connection tone, “How was Dinner? Davy says hi.”
“It was food. Tell Davy I say hi back.”
“I will when he wakes up, they dosed him up to keep him out for the night”—he laughed—“he wanted to hop on with you the moment he woke up.”
“He’s loyal that one. So, where’s the phone?”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I read the report on Emmanuelle’s body from the cleaners, you bit out her carotid. That’s a panic move if I’ve ever heard one.”
“I’m fine. Let's do this.” I drew a soft breath.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m fucking fine, Cis!” I raged before taking a few moments to calm myself. “Just tell me where the phone is. Please.”
“Sterling Tower Two.”
“Let me know if it moves.” I turned the key in the ignition and started driving for Thorn’s apartment. I’d break into his place, and shoot him the second he opened the door. Easy as pie, then again, I thought Emmanuelle would be the same—silly me. I grumbled under my breath.
“Maybe you should try to hit him tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow he could be out of the fucking country, Cis. I’m going after Thornton Sterling IV. I’m fairly certain he has a private jet. If he leaves the country, I’ll have to deal with the bullshit at the Chateaux. Have you had to deal with the Chateaux lately, it’s not fun.” The Chateaux was where the Manor was previously situated. They still handled the contracts in Europe most of the time, but a bizarre rivalry existed between those trained at the Manor and the Chateaux. I didn’t take part in it and thought the whole thing was stupid. The Manor’s proximity to the Camera Umbra was the heart of the problem, to them it looked like mummy and daddy loved us best so there was a sibling rivalry of sorts between us—one I refused to participate in unless dragged kicking and screaming.
“Nate has some good connections there. So does Davy.”
“Well, they certainly didn’t want to help me last time I ended up there. Bitched incessantly about me being in their territory even though I was given the contract through proper channels.” It felt good to rage about something else other than my wavering confidence or the lack of Davy.
Instead of parking in the lot, or garage; I chose a spot a block away. It meant I’d have to jump a fence, but if that was the worst of my troubles for the rest of the night, I’d be fine. I wouldn’t have to bother with the doorman, and the fact I reeked of blood. Everything in the building was electronically controlled which meant Cis was able to get into their system, use their camera feed and open doors for me.
Once in the expensive glass elevator I let out a slow breath and stared at my reflection. I didn’t look too bad for the day I’d been having. Fiona had even let me take a shower, so the blood smell was only coming from my jacket, but the liner was more or less saturated with it. Maybe I’ll take a nap after Thorn comes down with a case of lead poisoning. I stretched and stepped off the elevator.
“Is anyone inside?”
“No, it looks empty.”
“Thank fuck.” I picked the lock on the door and entered.
“He’s on the move, it looks like he might be heading your way.”
“Of course.” I hopped up on the kitchen island and waited. “How long is Davy going to be out of commission?”
“Three weeks.” Of fucking course.
“I guess I’ll use a temp.” And get killed because they don’t know what they’re doing.
“He’s in the building. Heads up he’s not alone.”
“Piece of ass, or something else?”
“Is he into guys?”
“No.”
“Something else.”
“Damnit! Can’t one fucking thing go right today?” I threw a little temper tantrum, kicking my feet for a few seconds. After jumping down from the counter, I hid behind the island and cocked my Glock.
“They’re coming off the elevator.”
In the silence of the room, the sound of the key in the lock was almost deafening.
“Rose, I think they know you’re there. The other man is going in first.”
“Maybe he’s just being cautious. Can you lock down the elevator?”
“On it.”
The door opened and in walked the man with the red scarf. I stared open-mouthed for a few seconds as I tried to register what I was looking at. He was a werewolf and a powerful one to come back from having his brains splattered all over Tammy’s nice clean kitchen. Luckily, I had my clip of silver bullets with me. I might never have been a boy scout, but I certainly did live by their motto. I silently maneuvered around the kitchen isle, trying to change clips as silently as possible. He smelled me, ther
e was no doubt in my mind that was how he knew to go first—fucking werewolves.
Once the magazine slid into place, the slight click sounded like a jet engine starting. Red scarf certainly heard it, because I found myself flying through the air, and hitting the back wall so hard I swear to fuck-all I actually stuck for a moment. Breathing was an impossibility, but I still popped off a few rounds in his direction. He jumped at me with the intent to change in mid-air, but I stopped him using my power.
“Why didn’t you have the good fucking sense to stay dead!” I yelled firing a few more times, he dodged one bullet, but the others clipped his leg.
“Thorn’s coming in,” Cis’s voice boomed in my ear.
“I need you to be my eyes, because… well, werewolf.” I rolled into the bedroom.
“Alright.”
Red Scarf lunged at me again, and for the second time in two hours I was fighting hand to hand with someone who outmatched me. Unlike with Emmanuelle, this one had a very obvious very open weak spot. So I kneed him in the balls as hard as I could, automatic response took over, and he curled into a ball, giving me the time I need to put two in his head and one in his heart.
“Stay dead!” I kicked the body before staggering out into the great room.
Thorn didn’t have a gun, but he was a sorcerer, he didn’t need a gun to be deadly. He stood at the kitchen island sipping wine and smiling at me—looking charming and amazing as always. I aimed and fired the gun, the bullet stopped inches from him and fell to the ground, bouncing impotently on the polished wood as he finished his wine.
“You should have joined me.” As Thorn spoke, the couch flew across the room. I reached out with my power and it stopped half way; sinking to the floor like a stone in water, without any forward momentum at all. The gun wrenched from my hand, and I was so focused on shutting down the magic around the gun that I didn’t feel whatever he was doing behind me.
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