“You’re letting Bastian Rand’s super-shifting make you paranoid. Not every villain infiltrates the police department.”
He was right. But too many things I’d taken at face value had backfired lately. It made the quiet, normal restaurant scene we’d walked into feel like an explosion waiting to happen.
The hostess brought us into the kitchen. Oil sizzled and hissed. Flame flared on the stoves as the chefs worked, swiftly and silently, without pause. Still, I sensed an abnormal readiness about the men. As if, with one misstep from us, the meat cleaver, connecting solidly with the cutting board, would connect with something far more vital.
We stopped at a hefty metal door at the back. The hostess pressed the intercom button on the wall and spoke one word. “Nadine,” and the door swung open. The room inside was twice the size of the kitchen and fashioned as a fully functional dojo, complete with padded, soundproof walls, wooden striking dummies, racks of staffs, and wall-mounted shelves filled with practice swords and other weaponry. Now I knew where my opponents from the furnace room got their training. They’d likely been one of the many students lined up now, practicing their forms with uncanny precision in familiar black uniforms—complete with hooded masks.
Beside me, Evans breathed out a stunned, “Woah… Ninjas.” His head whipped around in my direction. “You didn’t freaking tell me there were ninjas!”
“Calm down, fanboy. They’re not ninjas.” But my protest felt weak as the dozens of men and women moved in unison about the room. Their soft-soled boots were silent on the wood floor. Each step was placed perfectly, without thought. Each form was wrought with precision and an incredible harmony. They were wholly in the moment, aware of nothing but their bodies. “Movie-ninjas, maybe,” I conceded. “Real ninjas wouldn’t hide out in a secret room behind a tacky sushi joint.”
A lone man stood at the head of the class. Ramrod, still, and quiet, only his eyes moved as he surveyed his students. None of them acknowledged us, yet I sensed their vigilance as the hostess led us along the wooden paneled wall to walk behind the class.
Nadine looked at me. “I should have warned you.”
“About the ninja army?” Evans said. “Might have been nice.”
“No, about Arno. He’s…not easy to take. He’ll push you. Insult you. He might try to scare you. But don’t react. And watch your mouth, Dahl. We won’t walk out of here if you’re not submissive.”
“Ha!” Evans blurted. “We’re dead.”
I slipped him a dirty look as the hostess stopped at another door. With a flash of shiny, white teeth, she motioned to a wooden box on the floor. “Weapons and cell phones, please.”
Nadine’s gaze was a mix of caution and apology as Evans and I dropped our belongings into the box. The hostess brought us into the next room. It was nearly identical to the dojo, but no class was in session. The space was empty, and the lights dim. Directing us to the center of the room, she spun with a graceful pirouette, and shut the door behind her.
Evans sighed. “It’s a trap, isn’t it?”
Blue floodlights clicked on from above.
“Or a flow show,” he added dryly.
A dozen hooded figures glided down from the rafters. As they somersaulted into cat-like landings, I shook my head. “Neither. It’s a test. Survive the gauntlet of thugs and you win an audience with the boss.”
“Not very original,” Evans grumbled. “But getting my ass kicked by ninjas is pretty cool.”
“That’s the spirit.” I didn’t correct him this time. We might as well have been facing full-blown, classic, pound you into the floor in the blink of an eye ninjas, the way their ridiculously flexible bodies were flip-flopping around the room, tumbling like acrobats at the circus. Except… They’re not human. I turned to Nadine. “Tell me this is for show and not what you meant by appraising my worth? Because a dozen ulfar is a lot of overkill.”
“They’re incredibly disciplined,” she said, talking over my muttered curse. “They won’t show their other side against you unless commanded.”
“And if Gant commanded them to eat us?”
She swallowed. “Everyone obeys his commands.”
“Wonderful.” I hated the unease in her voice. Nadine was carefree. Confident. Brassy. Fun. Not this. “What the hell does this asshole have on you?”
“Casey, hon,” she said, her gaze moving off mine, “step back.”
Watching the ulfar’s choreographed exhibition bring them steadily closer, I shook my head. “Showing weakness to a wolf isn’t a good idea.”
“This is your test, Dahl, not his,” Nadine argued. “And it’s deference, not weakness. If he doesn’t challenge them or interfere, they won’t go near him.”
The glare I gave her wasn’t pretty. “Let’s hope you’re right. You heard her,” I said to Evans. “Stay back and don’t engage. No matter what happens.” Walking away from his protest, I stepped into the middle of the room for my impromptu appraisal. “So,” I blustered, “how many of your asses do I have to kick to—” My taunt ended with an unflattering, “Oomph,” as a foot collided with my jaw. Snapping back from the hit with a snarl, I watched as more tumbling ninjas dropped from the rafters above. As one cartwheeled over my head, I seized his leg, and threw him.
The outcome was more impressive in my head.
Rolling into a sideways flip, the nimble bastard landed gracefully on toes and fingertips; his lean, black-clad body stretching out inches above the floor. It was a level of poise I had trouble identifying with the ulfar. Their human physiques were commonly muscular and bulky enough to put a pro-wrestler to shame. Neither did their typical impatient, and often brutal, temperament mesh with such fine moves.
Arno Gant had truly fashioned his “pack” into a whole new breed.
Another one advanced, vaulting off one hand with an outstretched leg. I leaned away from his kick. As his other boot touched down, a gloved palm jutted out to strike my chest. The powerful blow pushed the air from my lungs, sending me soaring into one of the dummies. Wood cracked and tumbled with me as I hit the floor. My back aching with each tenuous breath, I threw off the pieces and climbed to my feet, pissed off, winded—and surrounded.
Black-clad forms closed in fast.
I eluded their rapid punches, twisting and thrusting an arm out to obstruct the rapid kick on my right. Duck, pivot, block; left, right, down. Catching one in a headlock, I brought him with me in a roll and climbed on top. A succession of swift, vigorous punches took him out of commission. Rolling the other way, I jumped up and blocked low; offsetting a series of kicks. My elbow put an end to the female flipping toward me, but as I turned to deflect a sneaky fist, a foot made it through. Pain enveloped my kneecap, and I staggered into the path of a jutting, outstretched arm. A fist slammed into my chest. A well-placed heel struck my head, scattering all thoughts except one: Fuck. This.
I scaled both palms. Fire surged up, and I struck two ulfar in the shins with simultaneous, blinding bursts. As they toppled, a screaming mess of melting flesh and erupting bone, I spun and extended a slender whip of flame. It snapped against an opponent’s side, cutting out a chunk of flesh. He wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t be cartwheeling anytime soon.
I lobbed one shot after another. Uniforms caught and burned. The swift ones ripped off the smoldering fabric. One removed his flaming hood, revealing the sharp nose, blue eyes, and wide brow of his human features. But his face was merely a different kind of mask, and it came off nearly as easy—as the wet cracks and snaps of opening skin echoed through the room.
There was some good news: I’d cut the threat in half. The bad news: the ones not adopting wolf form had circled around to attack Evans and Nadine. Neither of them was defenseless. But even without claws and teeth, or extensive martial arts training, the ulfar were more than capable of delivering killing blows.
Nadine was trying to keep them off Evans, but there were too many.
Moving back from the shifting creatures, I rushed over and yanked one of t
he hooded assailants off him. She slipped from my grasp and ducked my fist. As we swapped blows, Evans ripped a staff off the weapons rack on the wall behind him. Winding it up like a baseball bat, he conked her in the back of her head as my fire flared in her face. She stumbled, falling into Evans and knocking him down.
“Some welcome party,” he groaned, as Nadine pulled him up. Wiping at a spot of blood on her lip, she turned to me with apology in her eyes.
I didn’t want to hear it.
Pushing them behind me, I laid down a wide swathe of fire. It was a clear line of warning. The still-shifting ulfar walked right through. Chunks of skin splitting and sliding off, fabric ripped as their bodies bulked. Features reshaped on their mucus-laden fur. Knuckles puffed. Hands and feet widened. Claws pushed free and thick hackles raised along their spines.
Evans glanced at me. “Umm… Are they…?”
“Yep.”
“Without a full moon?”
“Yep.”
Eyes wide, voice strained by reverence, he whispered, “This is un-fucking-believable. I’m going to get eaten by ninja werewolves.”
Spinning around, I pushed her back into the wall. “I swear, if that happens…”
“It won’t, Dahl,” she promised. “I’ll take care of this. Trust me.”
I didn’t want to, not with how she’d been acting. But it was becoming more and more apparent, Nadine knew her way around the Market—and Arno Gant. If I wanted in, this was the way. “Okay.” I let her go.
Putting space between us, Nadine moved away to face the wolves. She unzipped her jacket and let it fall. The backless, lacey red top beneath offered no protection, but it left most of her intricate tattoo exposed.
Evans started pacing. I put a hand on his arm. “She’s got this.”
“How the hell is she involved with this guy?”
“That’s a damn good question.”
Our enemies completed their change and stepped toward Nadine on clawed feet. The lines on her back began to vibrate and shimmer. The waves swayed. The painted-on woman’s hair fluttered in a breeze none of us could feel. Nadine glanced back. “Cover your ears.”
As we did, the first hint of music hit the air. It was sweet and far away. Though, clearly not for the ulfar. The volume escaping Nadine’s lips—and her harp—stayed consistently low for us, but her opponents were flinching. Claws swiped at her, scoring the flesh of her arms. Blood sprayed and dripped, but she never lost tempo. Her voice never wavered.
The tattooed strings of the harp vibrated faster. Her pitch rising, the creature’s movements faltered. She went higher, and they struggled to walk. At the next change in Nadine’s song, the ulfar lost all forward momentum. The melody changed then, into something harsh and jarring, and Nadine’s voice began to drop, octave by octave. With each alteration, the pressure in the room increased. I felt the differences, but only slightly. It was far worse on our adversaries. Trembling and jerking, saliva gathered around their fangs. Blood leaked from their ears and nose. Red pooled in their eyes as their twitching became brutal spasms.
His hands still clamped over his ears, Evans wagged an elbow at those held hostage by Nadine’s song. “I’ve seen this movie. We’re about five seconds from exploding heads.”
Her voice cut out. The harp played on alone as Nadine look back at me. She shouted, making sure I heard. “He’s not wrong, Dahl! But I can’t kill them!”
Can’t or won’t, I wondered.
I nodded my assent, and her tattoo stilled. Slowly, the pressure in the room eased with the waning music and the ulfar dropped. As they continued to twitch, unconscious on the floor, a series of bright lights clicked on high above.
Evans dropped his hands. “Did we pass?”
“I’m not sure.” The wall to our right slid open in invitation. “But I think we’re about to find out.”
Nadine retrieved her jacket. As she walked back to join us, Evans went the other way. He stood over the bodies of the ulfar, admiring their powerful, canine forms.
I went to fetch him. “We need to go.”
“I know.” He blew out a weary sigh. “It’s all downhill from here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ninja werewolves.” Evans lifted his melancholy gaze to mine. “Ninja. Fucking. Werewolves, Nite. This is it. Nothing will ever be this cool again.”
“Until next week.”
His brows peaked in interest. “What’s next week?”
“If they wake up and eat you, you’ll never know. Now let’s move.”
Eighteen
Arno Gant selected one of the hunks of rare meat on his plate. The tines of his fork slid in, releasing a burst of pink juice. He raised the bite, diverting my attention to his wrist, and the moist, sallow bit of skin showing beneath the cuff of his shirt. My gaze moved again as he opened wide. The slack skin around his lips—a different shade than his wrist—gaped as he placed the morsel on his tongue. Chewing exactly ten times, he ground the meat between his teeth. Another bite, another ten chews, another swallow. As the juice gathered and dripped off his chin, I looked away.
Something was seriously wrong with the man.
I’d expected scars. You don’t set yourself on fire and walk away without permanent damage. Multiple surgeries, skin graphs and reconstruction were normal for a man with such severe injuries. Arno Gant was nowhere near normal. His flesh was a disturbing collage of color tones and textures, covered with weeping, misaligned seams and recent, loose stitching—all for an injury that was years old. An amalgam of overlying smells (human and not) permeated off Gant in vibrant waves. Thrown into the mix was the foul odor of decay.
I understood now what the skin Harper found at the river was for.
Arno was wearing it.
He took no care to hide the sutures at his wrists, the base of his neck, or the sides of his face. They were professionally done, but old. The edges of the flesh were lifting and curled, making me wonder how long ago they were sewn on, what or who the skin belonged to, and when he might need more. Why the fuck, was, by far, my biggest question. His family had money. He could have hired the best plastic surgeons around.
If he was layering his arms and face in the flesh of another, it was likely there was more borrowed skin under his voluminous suit. It was an interesting fashion choice. More resembling the ceremonial robes of a prince than a businessman, the colorful, embroidered garments were roomy and silken, as if he didn’t like the fabric to cling too tightly.
I glanced at Nadine. Knowing better than to speak, I gave her a furtive glance, hoping to convey my confusion and impatience. The subtle shake of her head in response was more of a warning than an explanation as to why minutes had passed without our host speaking a word. Gant eyed us occasionally from the other side of his desk, but he was too engrossed in his meal to spare time for conversation.
Finally, he sat his fork down. Exchanging it for an oversized goblet of wine, he drank with excessive leisure, like every drop entered his mouth, then throat, separately. Were his exacting movements and drawn-out silence a ploy to discomfort us? Or was Arno Gant always this strange? Either way, he was pissing me off. Visions of ripping the glass from his hand and smashing it over his head played in my mind. Instead, I gripped the arm of my chair and waited.
Challenging a guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a horror movie, who’d tamed a pack of ulfar, stressed out a normally-carefree siren—and was bold enough to eat dinner with a kidnap victim chained up in his office—wasn’t a man I wanted to underestimate.
I dismissed the idea that Gant chose to exhibit the blue creature, unconscious on the floor behind him, for any reason other than show. He couldn’t know of my brief interaction with Nyakree. She was a prop to prove his dominance, a recent acquisition he chose to display. That didn’t make it any easier, knowing she’d fallen prey to the very malevolence she’d warned me of. I didn’t much like seeing her chained like a wild animal, either.
They’d chopped off much of h
er hair, leaving the ciguapa’s luscious, trademark strands barely brushing her neck. It was a crooked, ugly, angry cut, meant to make her feel vulnerable and exposed by taking away the built-in hiding place most ciguapa treasured. Other than a nasty, fresh gash on her head, Nyakree appeared physically unharmed. But for how long?
I glanced at Evans with a minute shake of my head, hoping he understood we had to walk out of here and leave Nyakree behind. If Gant was willing to sacrifice more than a few of his pack for my inspection, their number was too great for us to take on in some spontaneous rescue. Especially, if there were more. The ciguapa’s confinement all but confirmed Chen’s theory of the Market storing some of its product alive.
Gant touched the napkin to his lips with a careful pat, so as not to mess with the ill-fitting edges. “I’m glad you’re here, Miss Nite,” he said, his wheezing voice as slow and deliberate as the rest of him. Folding the cloth into a rectangle, he placed it on the table, exactly one inch from the plate. His eyes raised to catch mine. “It saves me the trouble of summoning you.”
I held his gaze. Cringing internally at the loose, ashen skin around his sockets, I kept my expression neutral. “For…?”
“Expressing my gratitude. The leak in my organization has gotten rather large and messy over the last few days. You plugged it for me. Jace?” he added in explanation. “I always suspected his loyalty was a front to remain connected to his brethren.”
“You heard about our run-in?” Already?
“I hear most things,” he said, vaguely. “My preferred outcome was for you to kill the beast, But I believe you put the…fear of dragon into him.” Gant chuckled, making the skin over top of his own quiver. “I doubt I’ll be seeing him anytime soon.”
“Glad I could help.” But I was far less convinced that Jace was the leak. “I’m surprised you dealt with him at all. He’s more of a free-thinker than your other zombie killing machines.”
Evans grunted at my words.
I cast him a frown of warning. “Forgive my associate, Mr. Gant. He’s young and new to the complexities of the world you and I live in.”
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