Thirteen

by Kelley Armstrong

  "And that," she said. "I'm going out on a limb here and saying Lester's infected, and the virus is working a helluva lot faster than it did with Bryce. We've got a werewolf."

  "Eating," I said.

  "Hmm." I heard Clay's voice in the background; then Elena murmured, "I know." She came back clearer. "You know what happened with Bryce, right? The type of Change?"

  "Wolfman, not wolf."

  "Yes. We don't know exactly what we're dealing with and--" Clay's voice in the background again. Then Elena said to us, "You're not hearing any signs that she . . . Mrs. Lester . . . that she's still alive?"

  I looked up at the blood spray. "No."

  "Okay, then I hate to say this, but . . ."

  "Let him keep eating."

  "Yes."

  She sounded relieved that I wasn't horrified by the thought. While Lester was feeding, Lester was occupied. We couldn't take down a werewolf without a fight that would bring three boys racing up the stairs to their deaths.

  Elena told us to stay in the bedroom and monitor the situation. Clay was readying a sedative and they'd brave the rappel system and bring it over themselves. They didn't trust a team member to do it, not with a werewolf involved.

  So we waited. One problem with knowing exactly what was happening in the bathroom? As loud as the music was, it wasn't enough to cover the sounds of bones crunching and teeth clicking. A werewolf devouring his meal. We just tried to think of it that way. Werewolf and meal. Not a man eating his wife.

  Less than two minutes later, though, we heard feet thumping up the stairs.

  "Mom!" A voice called. "You gotta do something about Rob. Every time I ask him to turn it down, he jacks it up."

  I managed to get the door shut and locked before the kid reached the top of the stairs.

  "We've got company," I whispered.

  No response through my earpiece.

  "Elena?"

  The kid's footsteps thudded down the hall. On the other end of the radio I heard nothing.

  Shit.

  Adam had eased the bathroom hall door closed. Whatever condition Lester was in, any Change would make turning doorknobs very difficult. With any luck, that added barrier meant he wouldn't hear--

  The boy pounded on the door.

  "Mom! You said you were just coming up to check on Dad!"

  A snort from inside the bathroom. Then a thump.

  The kid pounded again. "Come on, guys. Locked? Really? I've been able to open this since I was six!"

  And at eighteen he should damned well know that a locked bedroom door wasn't to keep him out--it was to tell him not to enter. To give his parents privacy.

  Another grunt from inside the bathroom. The scrabble of footsteps. Feet? Claws? I couldn't tell. The more this idiot kid yelled, though, the more he attracted whatever beast his father had become. So I opened the door, grabbed him and yanked him inside. I dragged the kid down. At first he struggled, but once he was on the floor with me straddling him, he just lay there, gaping.

  I slapped my hand over his mouth.

  I glanced over at Adam. He was poised to help, but I waved him back. I was fine. The kid was just lying there. Judging by his build, he wasn't on the football team. From the vacancy of his gaze, not on the chess team either. Or perhaps just in shock.

  Over the music, I could hear Lester snuffling in the bathroom hall. He pushed at the door. Just testing it. More snuffling.

  The kid started to struggle again. I leaned down.

  "If you want out of here alive, you'd better--"

  He bit me. As I yanked back, he said, "Do you know who my father is, you thieving bitch?"

  I pulled a glove from my pocket and stuffed it into his mouth. "It's what your father is that's the problem," I muttered.

  The kid bucked. I slammed him down, again, but he was struggling in earnest now, legs and fists flailing against the floor, grunting against the gag.

  Lester growled and pushed at the door.

  I locked the kid in a binding spell, then turned to Adam. He was already leaving to find Elena. He looked back. Lester had stopped growling and sounded as if he was just shuffling about, trying to figure a way past the closed door.

  "He's not going anywhere," I said. "And neither is this one."

  Adam nodded and took off, loping down the hall as silently as he could.

  Fingernails scraped the door. Tentative at first. Then harder.

  "Come on, Elena," I murmured. "Before he realizes he can break that door down with one--"

  Lester hit the door hard. I scrambled off the kid, locking him in a binding spell as I eased toward the bathroom hall door. Lester had resumed his shuffling and snuffling.

  "Savannah?" It was Adam on my earpiece.

  "He tested the door. I think he's given up but . . . hurry."

  "I am. I'm at the trapdoor and--"

  Elena's voice sounded in the background.

  "Got 'em," Adam said. "Heading your way in--"

  The en suite door flung open, knocking me back. Lester stepped out.

  It was Lester. Not a wolf. Not a wolfman. Maurice Lester, an overweight, jowly man with dyed black hair, wearing slacks and a dress shirt with the tie loosened and thrown over his shoulder. Only his white shirt wasn't white anymore. It was stained with blood.

  I stopped midspell. Shit. He'd shifted back. Now what was I supposed to--

  Lester lifted his head and his bloodshot eyes met mine. The pupils were mere dots in reddish-brown irises. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. Then his lips curled and he snarled, flashing teeth threaded with bits of flesh. Okay, he hadn't Changed back. He just never physically transformed in the first place.

  I hit him with a knockback. Lester shook it off and charged. I tried to jump out of his path as I cast a binding spell, but he slammed his fist into my shoulder. It was like being hit with a lead bat. I sailed off my feet and into the wall with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs. As I hit the floor, I saw Lester's son struggling to his feet.

  "Dad?"

  Lester lunged. I clambered up. A binding spell was on my lips, but before I could get it out, Lester was on his son. The binding spell failed. I leaped on Lester's back as his teeth sunk into his son's neck. I cast an energy bolt on instinct. He roared and ripped his head back. His son's blood sprayed.

  Before I could cast again, Lester hit me with a pile driver to the side of the head. I flew off him. My stomach lurched. Blackness threatened, but I staggered back to my feet.

  Adam ran into the room, hypodermic needle raised. He jabbed it into Lester's back. Lester reared up. He swung at Adam. Adam ducked. I caught Lester in a binding spell, but I'd used up too much power and it stopped him only long enough for Adam to get out of the way.

  When the binding spell snapped, Lester lurched into the hall. We followed. Elena was standing under the trapdoor as Clay lowered himself. When they saw Lester, they stopped, thinking the same thing I had--that he was in human form, so he must have reverted. Then they saw the look on our faces and Elena started after Lester, Clay jumping down to follow.

  Lester was already thundering down the stairs.

  "The boys," I said.

  "I know," Elena said as she tore past me. "Is the other son--?"

  "Hurt. I'm going back for him."

  Adam stayed with Elena and Clay. I raced back into the bedroom. The boy lay on the floor, his throat ripped out, open eyes staring. I checked for vital signs anyway. None. He was gone.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  I got downstairs to find Lester, snarling and yowling outside a locked door. The two boys were on the other side. They'd caught one glimpse of him and barricaded themselves in. Elena had managed to inject Lester with a second sedative, and he was finally fading. Elena, Clay, and Adam just stood there, watching.

  When Lester finally dropped, Elena walked to the door and, with a gloved hand, jammed the knob so the boys couldn't get out.

  "What--?" I said.

  She lifted a finger to her lips. Then she motio
ned for Adam and Clay to carry Lester's body and we retreated.

  It wasn't until I was outside that I realized what she was doing. We had two survivors. Both had seen Maurice Lester covered in blood. Now they were trapped in there, where they'd remain until the police showed up to free them. All the evidence from the murders would point to Lester as the perpetrator, and he'd be long gone.

  Working with a Cabal team might be a pain in the ass, but Elena did agree there was one advantage. She could hand over Lester and walk away. All the associated cleanup belonged to someone else. Which was good, because we had fresh problems to worry about.

  While we were hiking to our distant parked rental, Elena apologized for vanishing when we'd tried to contact her. "I had a call when you were inside. Too urgent to ignore, and I'd been assured you'd stay patched into the line if you needed me."

  "Tech fail."

  "Typical," Clay muttered.

  Elena nodded. "Anyway, you remember Veronica, right?"

  "Ver--?" I began. "Oh, Roni. Right."

  "She placed a call to Cortez headquarters earlier tonight," Elena continued. "She wanted to speak to you. She left an urgent message with the poor guy on the switchboard, who's probably really wishing he'd called in sick today. He was shuttled into an interrogation room for an hour of grilling before they decided the message was legit. It seems Roni is in Houston with an infection team."

  "That's where Cass and Aaron are, isn't it? Monitoring one of the secondary targets?"

  Elena nodded. "Which is why I need you and Adam there. Aaron can handle it, but I'm concerned that Cassandra may not take the threat seriously enough."

  "She's been doing a lot better lately," I said as we continued through the pasture. "But I agree Aaron could use more reliable backup. The question is whether Roni's telling the truth. Last time she had me come running to her rescue, you got knocked around by guys with guns and I finally tied Jaime's record for most kidnapped supernatural ever."

  "I think you've beat it now," Adam said. "Definitely if you include the Nast dungeon."

  "That was an arrest, not a kidnapping." I looked at Elena. "What exactly did Roni say?"

  "Well, that's the problem, and the cause of the poor operator's angst. Because we've got every Cabal line tied up on these missions, Veronica called the real business line and got a guy who's accustomed to dealing with laypeople trying to submit resumes or get corporate contact information. When he realized what was going on, he panicked and forgot to turn on the tape."

  "Ouch."

  "According to him, she gave her name and said she needed to talk to you. She insisted on leaving a message, which he jotted down. She gave the name and the address of the Houston target and said you needed to get there because, quote, 'It's all gone wrong. He won't listen to anyone.' Then some garbled stuff about the virus and the targets, which he didn't get verbatim. The upshot is that they're striking in Houston tonight and she wants you to stop it."

  "Any return number?"

  "It was blocked and she hung up before he could ask for it. But the name and address matches the secondary Houston target Asmondai mentioned. I gave Aaron a heads-up. Nothing so far."

  Elena sidestepped a pile of horseshit without even a glance down. Her nose kept her shoes clean. Mine hadn't been so lucky.

  I walked along in silence for a moment, then said, "And you guys?"

  "Lucas needs Clay and me in Dallas. He's had a tip that the target's whole family was infected. They're not showing any symptoms, though, so he doesn't want to act yet, but he wants us there for when he does."

  THIRTY-SIX

  When we got to the airport, the jet was waiting, cleared for takeoff. I could tell Elena was debating whether to follow through on Lucas's request for them to continue on to Dallas. Having been a victim of Roni's last cry for help, she didn't like sending us into the breach with only vampires and a skeleton tactical team for backup. But before we could land in Houston, the situation in Dallas changed. At least one family member--a grown daughter--was definitely infected. They'd managed to capture her and were quarantining the others, but a second daughter and her fiance had been out clubbing and had lost their Cabal tail. Jeremy was on it, but he needed Elena and Clay.

  So Adam and I got off the plane in Houston alone. We'd just left the private hanger when we saw Cassandra hurrying toward us. Her boots clicked across the pavement as her long jacket snapped behind her. Sunglasses were perched on her sleek red hair, as if she'd pushed them up there and forgotten them after darkness fell. Cass forgets a lot of things these days. As far as anyone can figure, she's passed the end of her semi-immortal lifespan and is hanging on by her fangs . . . and sheer stubbornness.

  "Shit, Cass, you're practically running to see me," I called. "Missed your detecting partner, didn't you?"

  "Actually, I was hoping to send you on your way again before it's too late." She peered toward the runway. "Has the jet left?"

  "It has."

  "Damn it. Aaron tried calling. He texted, too. Both of you."

  I took my cell phone out. "We had them off for landing. What's up?"

  "Nothing, which is why I was trying to stop you from getting off the jet." She waved us to a rental car illegally parked along the sidewalk. "After the outbreaks in Austin and Dallas, Benicio decided we should take secondary targets into custody, to be safe. Cabal operatives did that twenty minutes ago."

  "Are we sure that solves it?" I said. "The Dallas guy's family was infected, too."

  Her arched brows shot up another half inch. "Did you read this man's file? I know Lucas e-mailed it to all of you earlier."

  "Details," I said. "I left that to Research Guy here."

  When Cassandra handed Adam the keys, he grinned and waggled them at me. "Gotta love the old-fashioned ladies. They know who belongs in the driver's seat."

  "No," Cass said. "We know who belongs in the chauffeur's seat."

  I laughed and we climbed in, Cass and me in back.

  "This guy doesn't have family," Adam said as he started the car. "His ex-wife lives back east. No kids. That's why I think the group put him on the backup list. He's influential and powerful, but there aren't any family ties to exploit."

  "Oil?" I asked.

  Cassandra fluttered her fingers. "Some kind of politician."

  "Lobbyist, actually," Adam said.

  "Yes, yes," she said, as if it were the same thing.

  Adam shook his head. "Lucas actually put the two of you on a case?"

  "We worked quite well together," Cass said. "Or we did, after you two started speaking to each other again. Please don't ever send her to me when you're angry with her, Adam. It's dreadful. All that moping and angst. It's like being partnered with one of those fictional vampires."

  I sighed.

  Cassandra looked at me. "You aren't even going to glare at me for embarrassing you in front of Adam?"

  "Only if you say something embarrassing."

  "And that isn't?" She studied my face. "Interesting . . ."

  "Moving right along," I said. "I'd better call Lucas and see what he wants us to do."

  I didn't need to. The moment I turned my cell back on, Lucas rang. He sounded exhausted--Dallas was not going well. He refused to elaborate, except to say that he really wished Benicio could have gotten in touch with our pilot to take us straight on to Dallas.

  "We can be there in three hours," Adam called from the front seat. "We'll swing by and grab Aaron, then hit the highway."

  Lucas agreed that was wise. With the jet gone, driving would be fastest.

  I just started mapping the new coordinates when Cassandra's cell rang.

  It was Aaron. I could tell by her tone when she answered. The two of them had met back in the nineteenth century. Lots of time together, followed by lots of time apart. Cass's fault, naturally. They'd been friends for about six years again now, and I was sure they'd been lovers for a while. You could tell by the way she talked to him.

  That softer tone didn't last long this t
ime. She quickly said, "I'm going to put you on speaker."

  "--rather you didn't," he was saying as she clicked it on.

  "Too late," I said.

  He sighed. "Yeah. Probably need to, however much I hate the damned thing. Sounds like everyone's talking in a submarine. You guys are still in town, then? Good. We have a problem."

  "Of course we do," Cassandra murmured. "God forbid we might have wanted to relax for the night, have a glass of wine."

  "I'll grab you some wine later, Cass," Aaron said. "I saw a carton at a corner store. I'm sure it's a great vintage. Now, the problem. Ten minutes ago, the Cabal tech guys intercepted a 911 call from Jordan's office."

  It took me a second to remember that Jordan--Ron Jordan--was the target's name.

  Aaron continued. "It was one of his assistants. She said she's working late and she's sick, really sick. So is the guy working with her."

  "Damn it," I said. "No family, so infect the staff. How many of them have gone home already?"

  "I'm really trying not to think about that," Aaron said. "I'm five minutes from the building, hoping no cops are around to pull me over."

  "The Cabal intercepted the call, right?" I said. "So the 911 dispatcher didn't get it?"

  "Unfortunately, it went through. The dispatcher sent an ambulance, but the Cabal was able to call 911 back from what seemed to be the same address. The guy said he was the assistant's boyfriend, and he was getting them to the hospital himself."

  I told Aaron we'd meet him there.

  Anyone who saw Aaron Darnell never wondered why Cassandra had hit on Clay all those years ago. Aaron was also a well-built, good-looking blond guy. He was bigger and not as drop-dead-gorgeous, but they could have been siblings.

  Jordan's office was in the kind of building you'd expect for a wealthy lobbyist. Central location. Tall and modern, with lots of steel and glass. A reception desk staffed by security guards who would know at a glance whether you belonged there. I suspect they would have buzzed Cass in without her even flashing an ID badge, but we didn't have to get past them. The Cabal team had infiltrated the building when they'd first begun monitoring Jordan. We met them in the parking garage and they let us in.

  "Status check?" I said when we were on the elevator.

  The team leader--Estrada--said, "We've established that the floor is clear. No other late-night workers. The door to Jordan's office is closed and locked. We're not hearing anything from--"