Skin Deep (A DarkWorld Novel - Book 1) (The DarkWorld Series)

by Ayer, T. G.

  ***

  Chapter 12

  Downtown Chicago - 1 year ago

  The usual hushed tenor of the Center's reception room was transformed into a country fish market when the main doors were flung open. An unconscious boy was half dragged, half carried into the room. Two boys supporting their burden yelled for help.

  "He's been shot."

  Even as those words were uttered, a ruby stain bled through his tattered gray shirt. There was a rush to get to him and I found myself the first to reach the boy, not more than fourteen, at the center of this mayhem. One of my first group sessions with my new supervisor Clancy McBride, had ended minutes before.

  The city had been my home only a few weeks when Grandma Ivy had demanded two things - school and a job. Knowing her generosity would not survive any disobedience on my part; I enrolled at the local high school, Crawdon, even though it would only be for half a year, and looked around for a job.

  Lucky for me the Drug Rehab Center had been looking for what they called Teen Service Liaisons. Sailing through the preliminary tests and promising to complete a raft of courses, I became the youngest ever recruit of the Rehab Center. Now, six months later, I often went home satisfied with the successes I achieved. Even more satisfying were my courses at the University of Chicago. Cognitive and developmental psychology, behavior, social interaction; it all fell into place when I walked into the Rehab Centre and talked to the people who attended the sessions.

  Today I'd been looking forward to going home to relax after a particularly difficult session. Not much chance of that now.

  By this time his friends had laid him on the floor, his color had begun to fade. He was young, but not too young for the streets. I yelled for a camp bed used in the overnight stay rooms and guided him securely onto it. I scanned the room for an adult face, eager to transfer this huge responsibility to someone older, more capable. All I saw were patients and one teen volunteer at reception staring at the boy, shocked.

  Even so, something tickled my senses. A slight odor of familiarity. I thought it was just my imagination. Since being in the city I'd had a few instances of passing people in the street and picking up on a tell-tale odor that could just be another Walker. And it had always just been my imagination.

  With a sigh, I pointed them to a door off the entrance room. The room served as a group session room and was light and airy - as good a place as any to keep him until the ambulance arrived. His blood loss was severe and I was pretty scared he wouldn't survive without surgery.

  Once he was settled, I took his vitals - to make sure he wasn't going to die on my hands. I received a nasty shock.

  His dramatic entrance had dulled my perception a little. My concentration had been focused on the wound and not the victim. One touch told me what he was.

  A Skin-Walker.

  A Panther Walker like me.

  A mutual shock by the startled look in eyes heavily lidded with pain, and etched with recognition. Touch was very important to my people, and our sense of smell was especially keen. That, and the ability to hear and feel vibrations beyond Human hearing.

  With this ability, I recognized the boy for what he was by the rhythm and vibrations of his heartbeat and the flow of the blood through his veins, not to mention the spicy aroma of his blood. Shock slowed my reactions and I hesitated. The boy's friends and other curious onlookers had filtered into the room. I dared not tend him with all these people around me. The strength I required to deal with him when I removed the bullets would certainly be questioned by the many anxious onlookers. In spite of being well built, I was small in stature. A show of extreme strength would garner far too much curiosity.

  And I'd need my strength. Walkers were extremely strong even in their Human form. While under great stress, they were known to shift to their animal forms to control the pain. And the boy's transformation with a Human audience was very much not an option.

  Another man entered the room, nudging the boys companions aside. Reaching his side, the man grasped the boy's hand. The boy was clearly on the same wavelength as I was.

  "Storm. Please, I need them out of here." The boy rasped into his friends' ear, waving a hand at the crowd. He managed a weak smile. "Please, this will be difficult enough. I don't want the whole gang hearing me scream like a girl when the doctor here takes the bullets out." He spoke a little louder so the gathering crowd would hear him.

  My head popped up at the mention of Storm's name. I'd only ever spoken to my Gram's friend Storm over the phone. Could he be one and the same?

  But for now I had to pay attention. I bit my tongue. I was no doctor. What I knew had been learned patching up hundreds of injuries for my brother during my young life. Skin-Walkers healed super-fast, but it was by no means a clean process. We bled much like any other living creature.

  I carefully cut away the shirt and dabbed at the clotted blood at the wounds entrance.

  I looked up from my ministrations only when the room had emptied and the boy was alone with me and the Storm fellow. I met the boy's eyes with an unspoken question, flicking my gaze in the direction of his companion.

  "It's okay.... Storm is safe - he knows...." The young man's breath hissed out and I feared he might have a perforated lung in addition to his extensive blood loss. He opened his eyes briefly to meet mine, and then he sighed weakly. It took seconds to realize he'd slipped into unconsciousness; probably caused by bloodloss.

  I hesitated. The boy trusted Storm. But despite my suspicion that it was looking more likely that Storm was Grams friend and someone I knew and could trust, I hesitated, not sure I was happy with Storm being there, and watching. Part of me wanted to get him to leave.

  "Don't bother trying to get me to leave." His voice was musical, edged with a dry humor. Creepy. He'd echoed my thoughts, and I did not like it one bit. "I know you are like him."

  My puzzled expression extracted a chuckle.

  "I know what he is. What you are too." His eyes flashed golden and entrancing.

  Shock silenced me.

  "I am able to sense the reality of things. I know the evil in people, the good too. I can feel the otherness in people as well. And you are...Other." He spoke with a slightly infectious calm. Did he have some Magyk he was using to spellbind me in some way? I knew enough about Magyk to know those who held the power could control their subjects - make them do whatever they wanted. Even Skin-Walker clans had their fair share of Mages.

  I spared him a brief glance, tall and dark, olive complexioned, his black hair framed his face in a tumble of feminine curls and yet he exuded masculinity, apparent to anyone with an X-chromosome. So he was easy on the eyes - Gram's hadn't told me that.

  "Oookay...we don't have time to discuss the weather while this poor kid lies here, bleeding all over the floor. Rain-check?" I arched an eyebrow.

  I had to work fast. This late at night, most of the other counselors were home with their families. As a result, I got more than my share of night shifts. But Clancy was one of the more dedicated social workers at the Centre, usually on call twenty-four-seven. I couldn't risk either her or another counselor popping in to witness what I was up to.

  Whilst removing the bullets I was grateful for Storm's presence as he held the boy down while I worked, just in case he came to and struggled. Human medication didn't work so well on Walkers. So the surgery was done with the boy unsedated.

  When I'd finally removed the bullet and cleaned the wound, I allowed myself to utter a long pent-up sigh. With the bullet out of his flesh, his body would begin its rejuvenation, healing itself from the inside. Exhaustion weighed down my muscles while relief gave me enough energy to stay on my feet. And a hint of something unexpected tingled in my brain as I savored the knowledge there were others like me in the city. I'd expected to feel crowded or annoyed that my secret was now in jeopardy, but I also knew the boy was able to trust Storm the way Gram's did. Sucker that I was, I believed his assurance I could trust him too.

  Thankfully, my patient d
idn't take long to reawaken, even after the trauma of my poor excuse for surgery.

  "How are you feeling?" I asked, tucking the blankets gently around his neck.

  "Better...." he rasped.

  The kid had courage. And I was curious.

  "You from around here?"

  His eyes revealed his hesitation. Some inner battle was waged beneath the frown. To tell me more would be to make himself vulnerable, to trust me. Perhaps he had the same issues I did with that.

  Moments later, he reached a decision and when he spoke I was surprised.

  "Kai, it's me, Anjelo Junovic."

  Shock spasmed through me as I searched his face, studied the lines and remembered the little boy I had once known. Funny, in spite of being so near him for so long I hadn't recognized his face. Older, weathered from his time on the streets, and little bit tired. A face belonging to one of the many kids who'd taken to following me around the colony, trying to emulate me. I'd been reluctantly popular.

  And this nitwit had taken emulation one step too far.

  "Anjelo." I wanted to shake him. "What in Ailuros's name were you thinking?"

  "We saw you leave....Gave us the courage to try a new life as well."

  "Did you not stop and think how dangerous this could be for you?" Blood thundered to my brain.

  "You did it and you're a g..." he said. A poor defense.

  "You dolt. I may be a girl but I am strong, trained. Alpha trained." I stressed the last two words. A bit unfair, but not everyone was born to Alpha status.

  "Everyone knew you were fine, so we thought it'd be okay if we did what we wanted too." He looked at me hopefully.

  I was livid. Not with Anjelo. With myself. I'd never intended to influence anyone. And now, my act of defiance had resulted in my young pack-mate being hurt. Indirect or not, I bore the weight of responsibility squarely on my own stupid, stubborn shoulders.

  I met Storm's eyes over Anjelo's prone body, and thankfully saw no judgment in his expression.

  "This is Storm." I hid a smile at the belated introduction. Anjelo continued. "He's given me a place to stay, and he's bossed me into going to school here...some place called Crawdon High." Anjelo blew out a breath.

  "Great. Well, then, you'd better work hard. And I guess I'll be seeing more of you." Anjelo's eyes, dulled with pain, suddenly brightened at the prospect of seeing me more often. I still could not understand what he saw in me, but I wasn't about to disappoint the child.

  He grunted, a poor imitation of a laugh, and lay back, clearly happy with himself. And somewhere inside me, a little part of me was happy too.

  ***

  Chapter 13

  Logan laid his heavy head in his hands, grateful to have the weight off it. He continued to gnaw at the new evidence, turning it over in his mind, getting at it from every angle. Jess had gone back to HQ to file a report. Now she stood before him, studying his frustration with an annoyingly calm expression.

  Guess it wouldn't help to kill the messenger.

  "All the tests are complete?" He looked at Jess for a response.

  She nodded.

  The bloods would’ve been put through every test Omega had, double and triple checked. The result was the same. The DNA of the Skinwalker was clear enough. A perfect amalgamation of Human and Cougar DNA. Natural mutation. The lab certified this was not a genetically engineered creature, and not a clone either. Logan had ensured that piece of paper went missing from the file sent to the coroner. And the one sent to the Police Chief, of course.

  "We knew the corpse belonged to a Skinwalker, so no surprises there."

  Logan continued reading.

  "Sample is positive for Skinwalker - specific to Genus Cougar. Comparison with sample batches all positive. Traces of Neurotoxins found: -awaiting results."

  It was the last bit of information that alarmed him. His head swam. Lack of sleep, lack of food. Everything would catch up with him soon and he'd be dead on his feet.

  Literally.

  ***

  The next morning, after a much needed sleep in, I headed for the Rehab Centre. Something always needed to be done and I needed to get my mind off dead Walkers and unusually powerful Wraiths.

  I'd barely gotten the computer running and was about to start entering the notes from our last session when the door clicked open and Dr. Heide glided in. No knocking required for her in her facility. Hair as dark as mine hung from a center part, framing a petite, oval face. Beneath the sharp glare and her unsmiling Arctic expression lay the remnants of a beautiful woman. She wore her shield of ice as well as she wore her antiquated Donna Karan suit. Her eyes revealed an emotional vacuum and although laugh-lines wrinkled their corners, I couldn't imagine her capable of such a warmly Human act.

  She regarded me with those beady black eyes—so like a crow with its glassy, predatory stare. Even the set of her shoulders implied she'd arrived ready to fire at the bull’s-eye seemingly marking my forehead.

  "A right mess you've gotten yourself into, Miz Odel." She slapped a piece of paper emblazoned with the Chicago PD insignia onto my desk.

  Taken aback by the verbal attack, I fumbled for a decent response. Clearly not the best reaction, as it seemed to confirm my guilt in her mind.

  "While this investigation is under way, you’re on paid leave. Consider this a token of my appreciation for you as a member of this staff, however junior." She flung the words over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

  Guilty—and suspended—until proven innocent.

  "Don't make me regret this."

  I was about to ask how being suspended was an indication of her appreciation when she stopped at the doorway and said, "You need to understand the severity of this situation. If you give me any further trouble, I’ll see to it you’re permanently suspended." Her gaze drilled frosty holes into me and she razed me with one last stare.

  The words wafted back at me so cold I could almost see the ice crystals forming on them as they floated toward me. She left me cold and perplexed, listening to the clacking of her heels on the tiled corridor.

  The police. They probably dropped by and told her which of her staff had been questioned the previous night. Staff who were now a liability. The mere hint police investigated the facility would be cause for concern, especially with the number of ex-convicts treated within the rehab programs.

  Losing registered patients meant losing revenue and Heide was no doubt concerned she may lose the subsidies the center received for each patient who attended a formal session. Heaven forbid such a thing should happen under her watch. It occurred to me it was quite the miracle I was still around.

  I grabbed my backpack; the solid presence of the bow beneath the rough fabric comforted me as I locked up and headed out of the building. Teeth gritted, I tried to banish the vision of Heide's face floating in my memory. She'd made it clear on numerous occasions I was too young for such serious work. But Clancy either had a lot of clout or knew which of Heide's buttons to push to get her way.

  I needed to prove I was not a threat to the center.

  For myself.

  And for Clancy.

  ***

  My run-in with Dr. Heide, more like Dr. Jekyll actually, left me fuming. I bit my cheeks, administering another expletive a crushing death.

  I scanned my visitor head to toe, unable to decide if his visit pleased or annoyed me. In the end, the tripping of my heart confirmed him as a welcome sight. I was grateful he hadn't been any earlier. Then he would’ve walked in to my oh-so-demeaning run-in with Heide.

  "Hello." An awkward silence followed, as if words failed him. Or he had forgotten what he came to say.

  I silently filed away mental notes and ran through the sequence of the previous night's events—the version I'd discussed with Westin, of course.

  "More questions, Agent Westin?" I skipped my greetings and flushed guiltily. I met his eyes nonetheless. I was raised to be polite, and it seemed social etiquette held importance to him too. He scowled in rebuke. "
No Agent Carnarvon today?"

  "Yes and no." Granite eyes pierced mine as he answered both questions. "Just routine. And I need your signature to confirm your statement." He patted the folder tucked under his arm. He wore a dulled black leather jacket—the one he'd worn last night. Seems we made the same fashion choices. "And Jess had some other investigations to do."

  A bullet slammed into the brick façade of the building behind me, sending tiny shards of brick and mortar flying like lethal rain. Westin shoved me to the ground, scanning for the origin of the shot. The shooter either sucked or meant the shot as a warning. Heart thundering in my throat, I lifted my head, needing to get a bead on the creep. The heavy metal of my bow poked uselessly into my back.

  "Stay down." He emphasized his words with a second shove to my left shoulder. The same shoulder still aching from last night's bullet wound. Stars spun at the edge of my vision and I bit down on a feral growl of pain. Glad the wound had sealed overnight, I lay horizontal on the concrete, lacking both the energy and inclination to do anything else but will the discomfort away. It hurt like the blazes. The agony was curiously edged with a second palpitation of my heart. Within the melee, and beneath my misery, my mind and body registered the impact of Logan's body against mine. I tried to hold on to some of the blazing heat for as long as I could.

  Westin pulled his gun from the holster inside his coat, jumped to his feet and ran for the vehicle the shot had been fired from. Another shot issued and shards of brick sprayed onto my head, this time close enough to convince me they shot to kill. My heart jumped, fear filling me as images of Logan lying face-down in a puddle of blood swarmed through my mind. Gears squealed and the sedan sped off. Too fast for a bipedal chase. Something Westin seemed to concede to as he slowed his chase, pausing in the middle of the street, gun drawn and aimed at the getaway vehicle.