Gilmore still hadn’t arrived. Something had to be wrong. Remy remembered in that moment that Alex had mentioned the FBI team. He knew about them and might have tampered with their equipment somehow. Or even killed them all.
“Riley!” Remington ordered. “Fly out and make a…a big loud colorful explosion or something. Right now!” He wanted to kick himself for not thinking of that sooner, but everything had happened almost too fast for his brain to keep up.
The fairy swooped out of sight.
His adversary didn’t seem to have heard since he had only now begun to recover from the battering he’d taken over the course of the last minute or two. He groaned and held his head in his hands when he managed to sit, his movements groggy.
Remy eased past an overturned desk to a position he felt was a safe distance from the man and aimed the Taser at his face.
“Remington,” Alex all but snarled as his eyes refocused, “get out of my way or I will kill you. I’ve let you live as a favor to Taylor. But you will not get between me and my goal.”
A strange, high-pitched, almost musical sound echoed from somewhere above the building. The Australian, in his semi-dazed state, didn’t seem to pay it much heed.
Unfortunately, it looked like the sedative was already wearing off.
Remy bit his lip. Firing the Taser might buy a few more seconds, but that was it. And somehow, he didn’t think Alex’s death threat was an idle bluff.
Well, I guess it’s time for a different approach.
“Alex,” he said calmly, “you look like an intelligent guy. Someone even said you’re a scientist or something. And you’ve been one step ahead of us this whole time. I almost can’t accept that someone of your abilities would end up working for a monster like this Moswen bitch.”
The man struggled to his feet, his lip curled. “All you need to know is that she’s employed me because of my abilities. Most people wouldn’t have been able to easily disable those Feds’ communications equipment. Not to mention going toe-to-toe with Taylor herself and living to talk about it.”
“Yeah,” he agreed hastily, “clearly you have something on the ball there. Okay, you’re a dick but you really thought of everything, didn’t you? We might have been friends if you’d been born an American. I’ve heard…uh, that Australia has a really good educational system, right? Is that how you figured out what we had planned?”
At that moment, Alex could have shoved Remy aside and bolted out the door but he didn’t. He couldn’t resist stalling for another moment or two. Why leave when Remy had handed him the opportunity to look cool and smart?
“Ha!” he scoffed. “The University of Melbourne is one of the top educational institutions in the world. And Melbourne has consistently scored highly on globally recognized quality-of-life rankings. Higher than New York, to which we’re sometimes compared. Your city might be bigger, but I always felt that quality was more important than quantity.”
He took a deep breath to stop himself from simply charging in and decking the guy in the face.
Both men heard it at once—heavy footsteps approaching fast. Alex’s head whipped toward the sound.
Remy pulled the trigger. The Taser’s twin darts sank into the man’s upper shoulder and drove him back as he jerked around, drawing sparks from his clothes and flesh.
“Well,” he shouted, louder than was necessary for the calm statement he was making, “I think it was Stalin who said that quantity has a quality all its own. Like in the case of seven versus one.”
Figures in black paramilitary gear leapt through the shattered front door, nimbly dodged the grease section of floor, and surrounded the Australian as he started to overcome the effects of the Taser.
“Don’t move!” one of the agents bellowed.
He moved and pandemonium erupted.
Remy shuffled back, intending to get the hell out of the way as Alex, crazed and desperate and still operating with preternatural strength, tried to fight his way free of the well-trained, highly organized team. The Black Cat Idol rolled away from the melee and came to rest in the corner near his office.
The fairy reappeared at some point and took her position above his shoulder as they gaped at the confrontation.
Alex threw two of the agents off at once, only for four others to descend and hammer him with batons, Tasers of their own, and some kind of crusty foam. The entire group thrashed and whirled as they progressed deeper into the office.
“Shit,” Remy gasped and glanced at Riley. “We might…ah, get cornered here.”
The desperate intruder let loose with a powerful kick and one of the agents collapsed and screamed, along with an unpleasant crunching sound. The others continued to corral him and wear him down.
Moving and struggling as a unit, they all collided into a desk in the corner where half the office’s computers had been piled. Remy winced as the devices toppled onto the floor and most of them cracked on impact.
“Damn,” he muttered, “Volz will definitely have some overtime.”
Riley watched the battle with concern. “Remy, do you think you should help?”
He bit his lip. “No.” It looked like the Feds, slowly but surely, were winning. “I’m half-crippled at the moment and they’re obviously using tactics that I don’t have training in. I’d only get in their way. I think—hopefully—that we can let the professionals do their job…”
The next thirty or forty seconds proved him right.
Alex, his avenues of movement and attack cut off and exhausted by the lengthy struggle, finally landed on his back. Suddenly, Agent Gilmore’s knee was on his chest and her pistol aimed at his head.
Another agent had also drawn his gun, and three more had pinned the Australian’s limbs. The wild, cornered-animal-like urge to fight was dying off now, replaced by cold dismay.
“Okay,” he gasped, “point taken. I surrender. Ha, yeah. Just…” He gulped. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Stay calm,” Gilmore instructed, her tone hard and icy. “Don’t do anything unless we say so.”
Her other subordinates were already unspooling heavy cords to tie the man up. Remy hoped against hope that they’d put tape over his mouth while they were at it.
Alex attempted to grin but only looked grotesque. “Understood. I’m sure we…ah, can work something out, right?”
Remy cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted toward the man. “For starters, if you stop acting like a jackass, I’ll buy you one of those ‘I Heart New York’ shirts.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bushwick, Brooklyn, New York
Taylor had spent the early evening mostly driving around Brooklyn. She enjoyed driving. By and large, it relaxed her while being—at times—challenging enough to put her into a “flow” state.
With her sharp senses and preternatural reflexes, the city’s treacherous freeways and congested avenues were fun rather than stressful as they seemed to be for humans.
Furthermore, cruising around allowed her to identify anything suspicious that might be going on in the borough. By New York standards, anyway, it was a rather quiet night. Dull, even.
She’d set her phone in one of the cupholders in such a way that she could easily see any notification that might flash across its screen. At that moment, it lit up to display a text message.
Your package has been shipped! The sender was listed as Unknown Number.
The vampire smiled. Shipped, but not yet delivered. The action had only started. If she could get back to the office fast enough, she might even be able to participate.
Hardly anyone was on the road, at least within a quarter-mile. Taylor pressed the accelerator at the same moment that she spun the wheel to the left and deliberately fish-tailed her way into a nearly perfect U-turn. She raced in the opposite direction toward Bushwick and their HQ.
She sensed more than saw a cop up ahead and slowed quickly to about two miles per hour over the speed limit and coasted nonchalantly past the police cruiser. Once it was safely ou
t of sight, she accelerated again.
It took a few more minutes to arrive at her destination, weaving through back streets as needed and passing other cars with fluid ease.
Taylor spun into the agency’s lot and came to a complete stop with the vehicle parallel to and about six feet from the front door. Within the building, she could hear a slight commotion, although it was dying down. They must have finished without her.
She stepped out of the Tesla and through the door and nimbly avoided the grease trap. The other devices all appeared to have already been sprung during the battle.
In the center of a cleared-out area near her office, surrounded by the debris of smashed desks and electronics, Alexander Thomas knelt on the floor, handcuffed and bound with powerful fiberglass cords. Two agents aimed guns at his head and chest.
Agent Gilmore stood four or five feet in front of him, also holding a pistol, although she kept it aimed at the floor for now.
“Hello,” Taylor greeted them.
Everyone’s heads turned to look. They must not have heard her arrive.
Remy leaned against the wall to the side and gasped in pain and exhaustion, although the almost goofy exaltation on his face meant he must have done a fine job. Riley hovered a couple of feet over his head, invisible to the agents.
Two of the Feds, she saw, had been wounded and were sprawled on the floor while another team member with medical training tended to them.
“Ms Steele,” Gilmore said without moving her gaze from Alex, “mission accomplished. The bastard injured two of my men but they’ll be okay with treatment. An ambulance is on the way.”
“That’s good to hear.” She took a few steps closer and negotiated between the sprung traps and general chaos. “I’ll take over from here.”
The agent smiled grimly. “Of course you will.”
“Thank you, by the way,” she continued, “for agreeing to leave him in my care, rather than spiriting him off to some awful government black-site prison from whence he’ll never be heard from again. I can assure you that my methods will be more productive.”
She nodded. “Remember that you gave me your word. Any information you glean from your interrogation of the suspect is to be shared with us. I feel I can trust you, but on the off chance that you renege, we have ways to make things difficult until we get our end of the bargain.”
“Don’t worry,” Taylor assured her, “I will tell you everything you need to know. Thanks again for your help thus far.”
So as to not have civilian personnel around the scene, Gilmore loaded her two injured men onto the portable stretchers they’d left in the office and had the others wheel them out. She was the last to leave.
“Also,” the agent stated, “I won’t be around to witness the interrogation. Let’s say that I understand the reality we live in but also that we’re still Americans here and there are certain levels of ugliness we do not stoop to.” She gave the vampire a hard look.
Taylor smiled. “I find that verbal and psychological persuasion is more effective than certain cruder methods.”
Gilmore nodded. “Get to work then, ma’am. I’ll be in touch. Oh, one last thing. Our communications equipment failed, and Remington managed to alert us with some pyrotechnic I’ve never seen before. A big silver-blue flash, accompanied by what almost sounded like weird, high-pitched music. May I ask what that might have been?”
“Oh,” Remy cut in without missing a beat, “it’s a little something I learned in chemistry class.”
The agent glowered at him, her face skeptical. “Don’t get too creative when it comes to chemistry. Or too greedy.”
“Fear not,” he countered, “I skipped out to the bar on the day they taught all the other students how to make crystal meth.”
Taylor sighed. “Remington’s family is rich enough that he never had to learn how to speak properly to law-enforcement personnel. In any event, thank you again, Agent Gilmore, and we’ll take it from here.”
The other woman nodded and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Mr Thomas, for his part, did not move or speak and kept his gaze fixed on the floor.
Remy took a step forward. “Soooo,” he drawled, “does that last part mean that I’m not allowed to punch him in the face? Not even once?”
“Correct,” she replied. “Until further notice, anyway.”
She knelt, extended a finger, and placed it gently under Alex’s chin to urge his face upward.
“Look at me,” she said, her voice soft but infused with a little of her power of command.
The man looked up.
“Alex,” she cooed, “we know why you’re here. We know who you’re working for. And we know what she is— can feel the stink of her power on you. And, of course, you know what I am. There’s no point in arguing about any of that. We can move on to discussing the details and I want to hear all of them. Really, we already know the most important stuff. Your only real value is in helping us fill in a few of the minor gaps in our knowledge.”
His face drooped in resignation. He sighed and opened his mouth.
“I’m willing to cooperate,” he grumbled in his Australian accent, “but I can’t guarantee that she won’t—”
He jerked back, his jaw clamped shut and face contorted, and his words trailed to grunts and yelps of agony.
Taylor stood quickly. Beside her, Remy exclaimed, “What the hell? Is he having a delayed reaction to getting his ass kicked all of a sudden, or—”
Alex’s eyes closed, then bulged open. “Brand…” He gasped. “On my chest!”
The vampire cursed inwardly. She should have expected this. With one hand and one motion, she seized him by the shirt, hauled him up, and laid him flat on his back on the nearest desk before she ripped the shirt off.
The other man stumbled against the wall. “Holy shit!”
Directly over the man’s heart, a strange marking glowed with an amber-golden light. The illumination grew in intensity as it pulsed and flashed, and Alex’s thrashing and screams grew louder and more forceful.
“Dammit,” she cursed, “the Feds can probably hear this and they’ll think that I’m the one doing it.” She considered her options.
Remy stammered. “Well, uh, if you’re not the one doing it, who is? Moswen?”
“Yes.” She stared at the pathetic man in his throes of pain and knew that the brand’s main use was to torment him into compliance with his mistress’s will. Unfortunately, it would kill him within a few minutes if not deactivated. It would simply surge his heart into overdrive until it stopped beating.
Alex bucked in place. “Please,” he cried. “God, it burns!”
Pity mingled with anger. “Alex,” Taylor proclaimed, “brands like that can only be applied with the consent of the subject. You willingly agreed to serve her.”
“She was going to kill me!” He choked and spittle flew from his lips.
Remy stepped in, his face pale with disgust. “Can’t you do anything? We can’t let him be tortured to death, for fucks’ sake, even if he is an asshole. Do you really think he had much choice?”
The vampire’s nostrils flared. “He could have chosen to die quickly, right then and there, instead of saving his own skin by coming into my city and murdering those dwarves on her orders. And trying to set me up.”
Alex’s shaking hand extended toward her. “I’ll do anything! Serve you—help—anything.”
“He means it,” Remy said quickly.
Taylor leaned over the writhing form. “Yes, I believe he does. He’s clearly a coward, after all. Fine, Remington, we will attempt the merciful option. I don’t want to have to mindwipe anyone who asks why and how he died in our custody, anyway.”
There was, however, no guarantee that she could remove or reverse the brand and the powerful curse behind it. The sight and smell of the golden inferno on the man’s chest suggested a level of magic power that might be beyond even her capabilities.
She extended her small, slim hands, and used both to cov
er the glowing mark. Most of its light faded, aside from some residual illumination seeping out from the sides.
With gentle force, she pressed down. Alex froze momentarily and his body lowered itself flat against the desk’s surface. His screams choked into a hollow gulping sound, and only his extremities trembled.
The light flared again and the man resumed his cries of agony.
“Shit,” Taylor muttered. “This will not be easy.”
Riley floated down. “Can I help?” She looked and sounded scared.
“Try dampening or reversing the power coming out of the mark under my hands,” the vampire snapped, her words quick and sharp. She didn’t have time to be polite. Alex would be dead within about a minute if this didn’t work.
The fairy extended her own tiny limbs and sparkles of bluish-silver ether, essences of soothing and healing, began to hem in the violent yellowish fire.
Taylor calmed herself and held Moswen’s power at bay as she delved deep into the core of her own being. She knew her eyes would start to glow right about now, and a faint blood-red glow appeared around the edges of her fingers.
Back through years and years, the memories of her powers stretched—through gallons upon gallons of blood and over the cold gray waters of the North Atlantic.
They touched her family, asleep in their moldering graves in England, and how she was all that was left of them.
Her victims slid before her—so many, in those early years, before she civilized herself and switched to drinking blood obtained through more ethical means. The life and the power that so much blood had granted her surged within.
The red light under her hands grew, its intensity drowning out the silver of the fairy and the gold of the other vampire.
Now, crimson and gold strained against each other directly, intertwining even as each tried to force the other to submit and retreat.
The memories of Taylor’s own lengthy and unnatural life were suddenly eclipsed by others which were not her own. Memories of dust and monumental earth, of a great river bringing life to a desert, of thousands of cowed and simpering slaves and peasants, all of them made prey. All were bled and cast aside at the slightest whim for sport or malice.
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