“You mean the prison you were keeping your victims in against their will?” I said. “I didn’t see any security cameras. Only cages.”
“You’re correct. There were no cameras. But someone left a guard alive who described you with his dying breath. Not to tell you how to conduct business, but if you’re going to play superhero, you might consider a mask. Though, it wouldn’t hide the more, fiery side, of your personality, would it?” Gant threw a glance at Creed
He didn’t reply. Standing silent and watchful, and mad as hell, anger radiated off the man as he tried to process Gant’s veiled words; adding up all my lies and half-truths.
Gant ogled the eye around my neck. “I’m glad you’re wearing the piece. It saves me the trouble of torturing its location out of you. And it makes the presentation so much more enticing. Then after,” he leaned close, his decay clogging my throat, “we’ll see if that beautiful skin is as supple as it looks.”
Creed roared to life. “You son of a bitch…” He took two steps. A muzzle pressed against one side of his head, then the other. Rage twitching across his jaw, Creed came to a fast stop.
“You wanted me,” I glared at Gant, “you got me. Let him go. You can go back into hiding. Move the location of the auction. He’ll never find you.”
“I’m not a fool, Dahlia. I know how quickly you could strike. I also know what it would cost.” Gant’s pleased stare flitted back to Creed. “Prince Charming is here for one reason only. The look on your face right now, as you imagine the fallout if you move against me. I wonder… What bothers you more? The terrible things I might do to him…or letting the detective see what you truly are, letting him see the killer inside you?” Shadowy wisps of trauma crept out from Gant, as he went on. “You’re not alone in your fears. We all dread being exposed.” More ghostly shadows emerged. “Criticized. Judged.” The mass drooped off onto the floor. “Rejected.”
“Damn, Arno,” I grimaced. “You have some serious daddy issues. Which explains why you froze Oliver after you took his heart. You hated him, but you couldn’t let him go?”
“If I can’t have peace, neither will he. If you knew what he did to me…”
“Oh, I know,” I said. “But he did stop short of munching on your organs, so I think that puts you a little higher on the crazy scale.” Before Gant could reply, I said, “Was this the plan all along? Are you the reason the mayor invited us tonight?”
“Not at all. Karl’s interest in both of your careers was genuine. If you hadn’t come to see me, Dahlia, I would never have known about that lovely necklace, and the two of you would be on your way home right now; blissfully ignorant of what was right under your feet.”
Creed turned and locked eyes with Mayor Anderson. “I can’t believe you’re a part of this. How can you betray your city for this piece of shit? I fucking voted for you.”
Anderson started to reply, but Gant raised his voice to reclaim our attention. “Any liver troubles, Detective?” He gave Creed a good onceover. “You look like you’d be a drinker. But otherwise healthy. And those eyes…what a striking color.” Gant addressed the ulfar with their weapons on Creed. “Kill him if they give you a reason. Otherwise, as the last item is announced,” he gestured at my necklace, “have him prepped for surgery.”
At Creed’s protest, more ulfar moved in, pinning his arms behind his back.
“I’ll have everything but the liver,” Gant added. “Just in case.”
I hid my worry with attitude. “Maybe you don’t understand the meaning of leverage. If I know you’re going to kill him, why the hell would I cooperate?”
Gant’s saggy skin lifted in a faint smile. “I never expected you to.”
The barbs of a taser hit my back. Fighting the pulses, I tried to remain standing, but a second set of barbs sunk in. Electricity flooded my nerves, forcing me to the floor, and drowning Creed’s harried shout of my name.
Twenty-Nine
Dinner came as flood lights hit the stage. Meals were served by silent waitstaff on little plates with silver-domed covers. The meat was cooked to perfection, with an aroma to remind me no one could live on cheese and champagne alone. The source, however, drained my interest. I had no idea what (or who) was on my plate, so it went untouched. The tables of chattering, smiling attendees, anxious to spend their money on shiny hair, younger skin, harder dicks—or whatever supernatural enhancements they were after—didn’t do much for my appetite, either.
Creed was too busy glaring to eat. Anderson was two tables away, chatting up his seat-mates with as much blithe and gusto as he’d delivered his fundraising speech.
For every laugh escaping their table, Creed’s teeth ground harder.
There weren’t a lot of guards. Three were downstage. One at the elevator. Four were stationed around our table. They circled but looked unconcerned with our escape. Their instructions were clear: “kill him if she resists”.
In theory, being the closing act meant I had time to formulate an escape. But time was running out, and I had nothing promising. The elevator wasn’t accessible without the mayor’s key, which was now around Gant’s neck. The walls were in shadow, but a few covert shifts of my eyes revealed no doors. There were two, on either side of the stage. One led to the kitchen. The other looked to be storage. The hostess from the restaurant went in and out, retrieving various glass-encased items, ferrying them to the stage for auction, then returning the pieces for safekeeping until the end.
As Gant introduced the rib of a nokken, and began explaining its benefits, Creed whispered to me. “I’m sorry. He put a hand on my shoulder and told me to sit, and I wanted to. I didn’t think about resisting. I didn’t think about helping you. I left you there on the floor.”
“It’s ok. Gant swayed you. I’m sure he’s doing a lot of that tonight; exerting his will to swing the bids in his favor.”
“I hate cheaters,” he grumbled.
“Yeah. They’re the worst.”
My sarcasm softened Creed’s stern expression. “Have you looked around at what’s sitting at these tables? There’s a thing with horns behind us. Over there, to the right, that looks like a goddamn tree,” he pointed. “The mayor is next to a…a…” Creed stared a moment before throwing his hands up. “I don’t know what the fuck that is. And I’m about one course away from that crazy bastard wearing my face. Please tell me you’ve got a plan.”
“We need a distraction and we need weapons. And I need to get out of this fucking dress.” I stripped off the gloves and slammed them on the table. The rattle of dishes earned me a look from the guards. They glared a moment, before turning back to watch the show. “Since we’re apologizing… I suppose, I should’ve told you I was working Gant on the sly. I thought having something to sell would get me in the door.”
“So you could take him on without me ever knowing?”
“Something like that.” I studied his expression. “I thought you’d be angry.”
“Oh, I am. I was at your place for hours today going over the case. You had countless opportunities to tell me you had something in play.”
“Even if I did, we still wouldn’t have guessed this was where he was hiding. Arno’s only connection to the museum was a job he had for less than a year. There was nothing in the files to indicate his family was associated with donations or the construction.”
“If I knew what you were planning, I would’ve at least had you under surveillance. Now, no one knows where we are. And that pendant, the way Gant was salivating, it’s more than you let on. You’re more than you let on. You always have been. But maybe tonight, that’s a good thing.” He caught my eyes. “If you’ve got some trick up your sleeve, Nite, it’s time to use it.”
I nodded. I still had no intention of playing my true cards unless there was no other way. Even so, if I unleashed right here, among so many formidable creatures, if even half fought back, I’d be severely outnumbered. And if I lost track of Creed in the ruckus, he’d be dead.
“We have to wait un
til they take me on stage,” I said. “I’ll create a distraction, and you head for the elevator. I’ll meet you there with the key. But I can’t go with you. There’s at least one creature alive here somewhere, probably more. I’m not leaving without them.”
“Then I’m not either. If I take the key, you might not have another way out. And I need to know Gant will pay for his crimes. Not with a bullet in the head.”
“You still want to arrest him? After all this?”
The waiter interrupted, removing our untouched dinner plates and replacing them with dessert. Admiring the chocolate lava cake with mint leaves and raspberries, I slid my fork in. Fudge poured out onto my plate, and Creed rained on my parade. “We aren’t eating, remember?”
“I know, but…it’s chocolate.”
“It could be drugged or poisoned.”
“Or bearing gifts,” I said, as a small, plastic bag slid out of the gooey center. “Keep an eye on the guards?”
Creed took a nonchalant glance around. “You’re good. Just make it quick.”
I pulled the chocolate-coated bag free with two fingers and tucked it in the folds of my napkin. Lowering the cloth to my lap, I wiped the bag clean and looked down. The number 3 was written in red marker on the outside. Inside were two pairs of earplugs, identical to the brand Evans used for protection against the banshee.
Breaking the plastic with my fingernails, I nudged Creed under the table. I placed two earplugs in his palm. “Three minutes.” Hoping I interpreted the message correctly, I took the other pair and sat my napkin on the table. “Now’s the fun part. Put your hand under my skirt.”
He sat back. “What?”
Gripping the front of his costume, I pulled Creed toward me with a feigned, lustful grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Alex,” I whispered in his ear. “There’s a knife strapped to my thigh. With all this material, they missed it when they patted me down.” Pretending we were having a moment, I snuggled close. “It’ll look suspicious if I’m caught fondling myself. If you do it, it’ll just look like bad timing.”
Creed’s frown sunk in deep as he reached under the hoop. His fingers brushed the metal case holding Oliver’s blood. “That’s not a knife.”
“No, it’s the stars aligning for once. Maybe. If it works.”
After a confused, frustrated shake of his head, Creed decided not to ask. He moved his hand a little higher, retrieved the knife, and placed it on my lap. Watchful of the guards, we fit the plugs in our ears. A moment later, the guests started stirring. Faces twisted in discomfort. Hands pressed to heads. Bodies stumbled from chairs and fell to the floor. Faint singing snuck in past the foam, and all the glass on all the tables shattered.
Gant threw off the ulfar pelt in rage. He grabbed the microphone on the podium, but all I could hear was Nadine—or a fraction of Nadine, as I watched spasms run through the guards at our table. Blood dribbled from their ears. They staggered.
Pivoting as I stood, I jammed my blade into the groin of the ulfar on my left. It was a low blow, but they took polite scuffle off the table a long time ago. Yanking the knife out, I drove it up under his chin and sliced the edge across. I stripped the weapon from his holster and tossed it to Creed. The split-second look he gave me, as my sputtering opponent hit the floor—white dress splattered in red, knife in my hand—was part horror, part awe.
He turned without comment and kicked back the advancing guard on his right. He fired at another, poised to jump over the table, then pivoted back, and shot the first one again. His targets flinched and stumbled. But the skin was already splitting on their hands. Mucus was rushing from the widening rents. Claws were sprouting.
I threw Creed a loud, “Headshot!”
He nodded and adjusted his aim. One went down with ease. The other flipped, avoiding the bullet and swiping for Creed’s weapon as he landed; shredding the cuff of his white jacket. Before they shredded skin, I chucked my knife into the side of the shifting ulfar’s head.
More gunfire erupted as Creed shot past me, bringing a fourth assailant to the floor. He turned then, searching for more, but everyone else in the room was unconscious or on their way.
I claimed my knife and wiped it clean on the tablecloth. As I put the blade away, I realized the muted singing had stopped. I removed my earplugs, one at a time to be sure, then signaled to Creed it was safe. “Did you get eyes on Gant?” I said, as he took his plugs out.
“I did. The elevator’s not the only way out. And that isn’t part of the scenery.” Creed directed my attention to a door to the left of the stage, painted to look like an iron portcullis. It was open a jar. “Gant and the hostess went that way—with the elevator key. Looks like I’m coming with you, after all.” Abruptly, Creed spun and aimed at a figure emerging from the shadows of the far wall.
The swinging hips gave it away before the sequined top and bouncy, blue-highlighted curls came into view. “Oh, sugar,” Nadine giggled as she approached. “I surrender.” She held her hands out. “But I’ll let you cuff me anyway.”
“Alex,” I said, “I’m not sure if you remember—”
“Your bartender?” He shot me a baffled glance. “She’s part of this?”
“It’s a long story. And she’s not just a bartender.” I moved in and folded Nadine into a hug. “Best timing ever.” Softer, I asked, “Feeling better?”
“A little sore, still. But you and that sweet balaur fixed me up good.”
I let her go and turned to Creed. “It’s okay. She’s on our side.”
Nadine sauntered over and pushed the barrel of his gun down with a wink. She twirled back to me, and her playful expression drooped. “Honey, you have got to stop leaving the house without my approval. That dress is going to give me nightmares!”
I kicked off my shoes. “Try wearing it.”
“Excuse me,” Creed barked. “I’m going after the bad guy. Who’s coming?”
“You don’t have to,” I said to Nadine. “I know Gant scares you.”
“He does,” she admitted. “I accepted my life under his thumb a long time ago. I lived it the best I could. But because of you, for the first time, I have hope of something more.” Attitude resurfacing to brush her genuine tone aside, Nadine tossed her hair with a sassy, “And if you’re planning to fry Arno’s crooked ass nice and crispy and hang it off the roof, I want to watch. Or,” she said, quickly, as I shot her a stern glance, “you could arrest him. Because the other would be very bad and very, very illegal.”
An unwelcome scent hit me—too late for a warning, as more ulfar burst through the gate-painted door near the stage. Fully shifted, their muscular humanoid forms were less nimble, but equally fast. Vaulting over tables, they zipped through overturned chairs and sprawled bodies. Foam dripped from snapping jaws as the wolves spread out to surround us.
With a gasp of, “Fuck me,” Creed started firing.
“Dahl,” Nadine said. “My batteries need a minute to recharge.”
I passed her the weapons I’d taken from the guards. Looking for a quick substitute, I lifted my chair and slammed it onto the edge of the table, breaking off the legs. Giving the sturdy makeshift batons a spin—I pivoted, extended my right arm and caught the rushing ulfar in the throat, dropping him with a choking exhale. I batted him a few more times about the face and chest, shutting down his attempts to rise, then knelt and thrust the jagged end of one leg through his chest.
As Creed gawked at me, an ulfar loped up behind him. “Duck!” I hollered and pitched the other leg. My strike bounced off the creature’s snout, but it didn’t stop him from grabbing Creed and flinging him onto the nearest table. The snarling beast jumped on top to pin him down. Creed fired his only remaining weapon. Two shots missed. Two more tore through at close range.
Shuddering, the injured creature drew his arm back. The eagerness and pride in his snarl made his intentions clear: he was seconds from eviscerating the human in his grasp.
Extracting the broken table leg from my kill, I hitched up m
y skirt and ran.
Jumping onto the ulfar’s back, I drove the wood in through the base of his neck. His initial, violent reaction knocked me off. With an embarrassing trip over my hoop skirt, I found my footing and kicked his body to the floor. “Are you all right?” I said, checking Creed for open wound. “Did he cut you or bite you?”
Winded, he shook his head and slapped the gun in my hand. “Six o’clock.”
I turned and emptied the magazine. Three fell. Nadine dropped the last one at my feet. I went to thank her, and it hit me, “Where’s Evans?”
“Right where he should be,” she said, “at home.”
“How did you—” I stopped myself. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”
“I couldn’t bring Casey into this. Not after last time. But when he told me about your romantic evening with Prince Charming,” Nadine shot a coy grin in Creed’s direction, “and then I got word the auction was scheduled for tonight, I knew Arno had played you.”
Wiping the ulfar’s drool from face, Creed rolled off the edge of the table. “And the mayor.”
“And his girlfriend,” I threw in. “Nisha isn’t an art historian.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “She was a little too interested in my life.”
Shit. Burying that worry underneath more pressing ones, I gathered my trusty table legs and followed him to the stage where Nadine’s song had felled two of the guards. As Creed turned the bodies over to pilfer their holstered sidearms, I said, “Are you okay with this?”
“Which part? Being taken prisoner by some knockoff version of Leatherface? Your bartender’s killer voice? Fucking werewolves trying to eat me?” Slipping a taser in his pocket, Creed raised his penetrating eyes. “Or you being as scary as they are?”
“If I wasn’t, we’d be picking your intestines up off the floor. So, you’re welcome. And if you’re going to drop movie references, throw in some humor. This shit is dark enough.”
Smoke & Mirrors Page 36