by Kim Harrison
“Rache?” Jenks said, concern in his features as, within me, old thoughts rearranged themselves into a new reality: the I.S. trying to catch HAPA without involving the FIB; Cordova being hands-on at a run she had no business attending; Jennifer gaining her freedom as Cordova reamed out the entire team; Cordova’s insistence that the FIB retain custody; Eloy’s boast that his people were everywhere; and the fact that when we did catch him, he escaped not once, but twice—the FIB-issued pistol in Eloy’s hand as he shot at me.
“Rache?” Jenks asked again, and I shook my head.
“I need to sit down,” I said, and Wayde took my elbow, helping me move to one of the bar stools instead of that couch made for entrapment. Seeing me there, he waffled between staying and going back to the door. I waved him off, and he retreated, leaving me to my awful thoughts. The FIB didn’t want HAPA caught. That’s what Felix had said. That’s what Felix had known.
I had a very bad feeling that Dr. Cordova was a member of HAPA. Glenn didn’t have a clue. No wonder he couldn’t catch them.
The memory of Cordova’s angry expression when Eloy was snared intruded. And her anger again when Glenn tagged him on Central Ave., how she’d driven off amid a media circus, not toward the FIB or the I.S., but somewhere else. Somewhere else to arrange a breakout?
“Oh my God,” I whispered, one hand gripping my crutch, the other holding my ribs. The FIB had access to every blueprint in the city. They’d know the best places to hide, and with a whisper, HAPA would know when to move. HAPA had infiltrated the FIB. It was the only answer that made sense.
My gaze rose to the closed door with the Inderlanders clustered before it, all of them hearing every word Glenn was saying, and as my ankle throbbed through the pain amulet, my phone, stuck in my back pocket, began to hum. If HAPA had infested the FIB, who were the-men-who-don’t-belong?
Mouth dry, I fumbled for the phone, seeing a text from Trent. Trent texts? I thought, thinking it odd, and then my expression blanked. RADIO IS ACTIVE. MEET ME DOWNSTAIRS. JUST U.
Crap on toast, it wasn’t over yet.
Feeling unreal, I slid from the bar stool, my ankle jarring all the way up my spine. Jenks turned, sympathy showing on his face. I froze, my hand still shoving my phone away. Alone. He had said alone. That wasn’t even considering how he knew where I was and who I was with. Trent knew something and wasn’t sure who he could trust—except for me.
“We’ll get him, Rachel. I promise,” Jenks vowed as he took in my cold face, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him we wouldn’t. Even if I told them my awful thoughts and we brought Dr. Cordova in, something would get fouled up. Human error, Eloy had called it.
“I’m going to take a walk,” I said, and Ivy turned. Wayde and Daryl were next, and I flinched under their combined looks.
“With your ankle like that?” Ivy said.
“A drive then,” I said, my eyes flicking to Glenn’s door and back as I made a barely perceptible head shake. If Jenks or Ivy came, then Glenn would follow. He’d call the FIB’s home office. It’d be the tunnels all over again.
Ivy’s face paled, and her breath eased out slowly as she gained understanding. She knew I didn’t want Glenn to know. Something had broken between her and Glenn, and trust came too hard to the vampire. She’d keep them all here for me, and I was proud of her and me both as I hobbled to the chair by the door where my coat and shoulder bag were.
“I’ve got . . . my phone,” I said, to tell her I wouldn’t be alone, and she nodded, lower lip between her teeth. All I need now is a really big stick to hit Eloy with. I bet Trent would hold him down for me.
“Give me a minute to get into my cold-weather gear,” Jenks said, darting to the light fixture where he’d left it.
“She’ll be fine, Jenks,” Ivy said softly, and the pixy jerked to a stop, mistrusting it.
Wayde crossed the room as I dug my coat out from the bottom of the stack. “Sit down,” Wayde said, and I shoved my crutch at him to hold while I shrugged into my coat. “I know it’s a shock, but if you caught him once, you can do it again.”
Coat on, I reached for my crutch, and Wayde tightened his grip, not letting me take it. Behind him, Ivy shook her head at Jenks, telling him to leave off.
“Let go of my crutch,” I said, giving it a yank. “I’m going to take a walk. Clear my head.” Find Eloy. Smack his head into a wall, dance on his guts . . . I’d get creative. Spontaneous like.
“By myself, thanks anyway, Jenks,” I said as I slipped my shoulder bag up, and the pixy hovered at the ceiling in uncertainty, looking ticked but trusting Ivy. “I’ll be back in an hour!” I exclaimed, not liking the helpless feeling they were filling me with. “Save me a slice of pizza. Does anyone want anything while I’m out?”
Wayde was standing in front of the door as if he couldn’t believe they were going to let me leave, but there was no reason I shouldn’t apart from maybe having trouble driving. I thought of Winona and the wreck they had made of her body, and my eyes narrowed. I’d improvise, overcome . . . adapt.
“You sure you have everything you need?” Ivy said, and I almost smiled.
“Yes,” I said, and I pushed Wayde out of my way with a gentle pressure.
“You’re going to let her just walk out?” the Were said as I opened the door. Hobbling past him, I headed for the lift. “She can’t drive with a broken ankle.”
The hallway was empty, and my arm hurt from the crutch. God, I hated it.
“So she’ll sit in the parking lot until she gets cold,” Ivy said with false indifference.
“Besides, we’re good at putting the pieces back together,” Jenks said, and the door closed behind me.
Yes, they were good at putting me back together, and I felt like Humpty Dumpty as I made my scuff-thumping way to the elevator. My ankle hurt and my ribs ached as I waited for it. I got in when the doors finally opened, punching the lobby button with a vengeance, hard enough to make my bruised hand complain. I should have made a healing curse, but the honest truth was that I was afraid I might get it wrong and end up worse off.
HAPA was deep in the FIB. How long, I wondered, had this arrangement been in force? Had they evolved together? Or had HAPA only recently infiltrated the nationwide organization? And how did the-men-who-don’t-belong fit in? Trent said the radio was active. Were they after Eloy themselves, or helping him escape? I was going to find out.
The doors opened, and the cooler air of the deserted lobby brushed my anger-warmed face. I got across the tiny divide and started for the twin glass doors, looking for Trent’s car and not seeing it. Hesitating, I heard the lift close and immediately start back up.
My eyes narrowed. Wayde, I thought, then frowned as I looked over the scantily decorated entryway. Three days ago, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to hurt him. Today, with a broken ankle, bruised ribs, a damaged hand, and a new outlook, I felt different.
I stood and watched as the light held steady on Glenn’s floor, then began to drop again. “Stupid, tenacious Were,” I muttered as the elevator dinged and I hobbled to stand next to it, out of sight. I dropped my bag as the doors slid open, pulled back my crutch . . . and as he walked out of the elevator, I swung it at him.
“Holy mother!” Wayde shouted, falling back into the elevator as my crutch hit the doors and splintered. I’d moved too soon.
“Don’t follow me, Wayde!” I said as I got in front of the elevator and stopped the doors from shutting with my broken crutch. Wayde was pressed flat against the back of the car, his eyes wide as he stared. “I’m telling you, don’t follow me! I need some time alone right now, okay?”
Part of me wanted to tap a line and smack him a good one, but I didn’t. Restraint. That was going to be my new watchword. That I’d given myself permission to do demon magic scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want to become Al. I’d use my magic only if necessary. Wayde was a reasonable person. We could settle this without violence.
I turned for the doors, angry but trying not to b
e. It was harder to walk without my crutch, but I managed, my pulse fast as I snatched my bag from the floor and lurched for the handle of the glass doors. Beyond them in the glow of a streetlight was Trent’s car, the lights aimed at the front of the building. There was a tiny scuff behind me, and I turned, ticked.
“Hey!” I yelped, scrambling to stay upright when Wayde plowed into me, pinning me to the glass wall beside the door. “What in hell are you doing?” I wheezed, my back to the door and squirming as he felt in my coat pockets.
“Looking for your keys,” he said, and my hand met his cheek in a loud smack.
“Get off!” I yelled, and I heard the jingle of keys as he backed up. “What in hell is wrong with you!”
His head lowered, Wayde backed off, my keys in his hand. His face was red where I’d hit him, but he didn’t seem bothered about it. “You’ll thank me for this later,” he said, looking as if he’d won. “I know you’re mad about Eloy, but running out and trying to find him isn’t going to help anyone, least of all you.” He jiggled my keys as if he had the world by the nads, and I frowned, tugging my coat straight. Now? I wondered. Can I use my demon magic now?
Trent hadn’t come in yet. I knew he was watching this, and my thoughts whispered restraint. I could walk away, but if I did, he’d just follow me in my car. I needed my keys. “You,” I said as I limped toward Wayde and he backed up, blinking, “haven’t known me long enough to give me advice that I’m not going to take. Give me my keys.”
“No.” He raised them high over his head as if it were a game. “Let’s go upstairs, have some pizza, beer, and burn HAPA in effigy. Tomorrow when we’re done with our pity party, you’ll make some charms and we’ll find out where they went. We don’t have to tell the FIB or the I.S. We can take care of this ourselves.”
Taking care of this myself was exactly what I intended to do. Adrenaline seeped through me, erasing every hurt, making me alive. “Keys,” I said, backing him up until we were at the elevators again. “Give me my keys!” I demanded, my hand out, and he held them in the air like a school bully. “Wayde, I’m not afraid anymore to hurt you!”
He shook his head. “My God, you’re a bitch when you’re on pain meds.”
“That’s alpha bitch, buddy,” I said, shaking, “of an honest-to-God pack. And you will respect that. Give me my keys, get in that elevator, and go away, or I’ll pin you to the ground and rip off your ear.”
Face grim, he shook his head. Pity had slipped into his eyes, and he slid the keys into his pocket. “He hurt you, Rachel, and I know what that does to you. My sister is the same way, and she hurts herself worse trying to get back at them. It doesn’t make anything better.”
I looked at him for a good three seconds, feeling my impatience grow. Trent was waiting, and Wayde wasn’t listening. My ankle was starting to hurt again. Maybe I shouldn’t have busted my crutch. I had tried. My idea of no violence wasn’t working. “Maybe you’re right,” I said, relaxing my body as if I had given up.
Wayde smiled. “Good,” he said as he looked away to push the up button.
I lunged forward, grabbing his shoulders and slamming his head into the wall. “Sorry,” I breathed as he howled, reaching behind to get me.
“Son of a whore!” he swore, and I hooked my good leg behind his and pulled. We both went down, but I was expecting it. Arms pinwheeling, he fell headfirst into the ashtray beside the elevator. Kneeling beside him, I grabbed the heavy metal bowl and slammed it on his head.
Wayde yelled, and I hit him again, adrenaline pulling a scream of outrage from me. He went quiet, and I held my breath to make sure I could hear him breathing. I suppose I could have used my magic on him, but this was a lot more satisfying.
“I never should have helped her off the couch,” he whispered, and I hit him again, the ashtray bonging with hard certainty.
He groaned, and this time, he really was out. There were three lumps on his head, and I shoved him over so I could pull his eyelids back to make sure that his pupils were dilated properly. “I told you I wasn’t afraid anymore,” I said as I slowly got up, shaking. Good God, my mother would laugh her pants off. I’d beaten up my bodyguard.
I gave a moment’s thought to taking his belt off and tying him up, but Trent was flashing his lights at me. Not wanting Wayde to follow, I felt his pockets for my keys and fished them out. Still shaking, I got up, made a salute to the camera in the corner, and hobbled out.
The cool night air was like a balm, and I headed for Trent’s car with my thoughts swirling. I’d hurt Wayde, but he’d be okay, not dead like if he followed and ended up shot. “You could have helped me out there,” I said as I yanked the handle up and slid into the sharp little black two-seater, finding the seat warm from the electronic heater. The windows were down, but with all the vents wide open and aimed at me, it was comfortable even in the chill autumn night.
Trent revved the engine, giving me a sideways grin. “I told you to come alone. You think I want to be on a security camera?”
I eyed his black attire as I put my belt on and he jammed the car in first and headed smoothly for the exit. “Besides,” he said as he paused at the entryway to the apartment complex, then gunned it. “If you couldn’t get rid of your bodyguard, you aren’t fit enough to tag Eloy. How come you didn’t make up a healing curse?”
“I haven’t had the time. Besides, I’m okay,” I said, and he nodded. Adrenaline spiked, and I couldn’t help my smile. The car was fast, Trent looked good, and we both knew more than the I.S. and the FIB combined. “Do you know who the-men-who-don’t-belong are yet?”
He shook his head and tossed my battery pack and earbud to me. “Not yet, but they’re human, and they’re targeting HAPA, not helping them. They have one of their men with Eloy and Dr. Cordova at the ‘watering hole.’ Take a listen.”
I fumbled for the earpiece and put it in. The sound of light chatter and the clinking of a spoon met me. It could be anywhere.
“You know what the watering hole is?” Trent asked, slowing at a stop sign.
I shook my head, then hesitated, smiling as the distinctive sound of ice being crushed nearly blew my ear out. “Grand latte! Italian blend! Easy on the syrup, light on the froth! Ready for pickup!” Mark shouted.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said, thinking Trent looked a shade too devilish to be good backup, but he’d do. “They’re at Junior’s.”
Trent grinned across the car at me, and something in me fluttered. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Ribs aching, I sat next to Trent in his snazzy car as he pulled into Junior’s and parked, lights off, engine running. My fingers looked silver in the dash’s blue light, and all my bruises were invisible but aching. The earbud lay on the console between us, the volume cranked as terse commands went back and forth in a busy, well-organized flow. Inside Junior’s it was peaceful. I can change that, I thought dryly, knowing that the next ten minutes were really going to mess up the new understanding that Mark and I seemed to have.
It was nearing three in the morning according to the clock on Trent’s dash, and if the coffeehouse had been in the Hollows it would be jumping. As it was, it felt much later, the brightly lit eatery sending its glow through the plate-glass windows onto an almost deserted parking lot. Junior, or Mark, as his name really was, was stocking shelves from a pallet of boxes beside him. There were no other employees that I could see.
In the corner, two customers argued over their to-go cups—Eloy and Dr. Cordova. Eloy had a jeans coat on over his white prison jumpsuit. Dr. Cordova was going more casual than usual in black pants and a knit top—comfortable to travel in should she need to jump a plane. In the corner, an athletic-looking man in a jogging outfit sat with his back to them, but I’d sell my best panties online if he wasn’t one of the-men-who-don’t-belong watching everything going on behind him with some sort of electronic gizmo.
Trent hit the seat warmer again as it went out. “Here,�
�� he said, reaching into his belt pack and handing me a tiny vial. “You look like you’re hurting.”
I took it, my eyebrows high. “And this is?”
“Numbs the pain. I could really use your assistance, but not if I have to help you in the door. It masks pain better than your amulet. But it won’t heal you.” He grimaced, needlessly flicking his fair hair back out of his eyes. “I’m not that good, either.”
“I said I didn’t have the time,” I said, and he looked at me.
“And I wasn’t going to ask for Ceri’s help,” he added as if I hadn’t said anything. “All you have to do is swallow it.”
“Oh thank God,” I said, slugging the tiny vial of amber liquid back. My lips curled as the bitter concoction slipped down, tasting of ash and willow. Trent’s lips parted, clearly surprised, and I shrugged. He was right. I wasn’t much good if I couldn’t move fast.
Inside, Eloy and Dr. Cordova continued to discuss something, her arms waving in her dramatic fashion, Eloy leaning back, letting her rage, his disdain obvious. Breath held, I waited for something to happen, but nothing did. My wrist still hurt, my ankle still throbbed, and I still couldn’t take a deep breath. “It’s not working,” I said, my estimation of Trent’s abilities fading.
In a quick, irate motion, he took the empty vial. “I haven’t invoked it yet. Ta na ruego,” he said as our fingers touched.
Starting, I shivered as I felt a filmy sheet of numbing gray slither over me, working from my aura in, muffling the pain and storing it up for later. Wild magic tingled along my muscles, and I took a deep, painless breath. “Dude. That’s good stuff. Thanks.”
Trent cracked his neck, and I filed the motion away as him trying to hide his pleasure. The chatter from the earbud was getting intense. Inside, the man at the table was stirring his coffee, the sound of his spoon hitting the table a bare instant after he did it. My heart pounded as he turned halfway to the window, noticing us. His eyes almost black in the dim light, Trent adjusted his rearview mirror to see the Laundromat down the street. “Ready to go?”