“Our orders weren’t to hurt,” Tattoos retorted. “Just to detain. Lookit, we saw the news. We know we’re being blamed for the death of some of your people. We thought you were here to seek revenge, but I’m guessing that’s not the case because you haven’t blown our faces off. You know Anima’s at fault, right?”
Cole finally removed his finger from the trigger and sheathed the gun at the waist of his pants. Here’s the amazing thing. He was still just as menacing.
I wasn’t quite so trusting, though, and while I put the gun back in my purse, I also palmed a dagger.
“Did you see Anima in action the night my friends were killed?” Cole helped Stocky to his feet. “They still have one of our boys.”
“We didn’t see anything.” Tattoos stood on her own. “But River did.”
“Well, then, I want to talk to River.” If the edge in Cole’s tone hadn’t scared her, the determination in his eyes should have done the trick.
“He wants to speak with you, too. Maybe even join forces. You do good work.” Her predatory gaze gave him another once-over, and she licked her lips. “Real good work.”
I stepped toward her, ready to charge. Cole held out his arm, stopping me. Tattoos grinned, and then she and Stocky gathered their weapons from the ground.
“This way.” Stocky motioned for us to follow.
We didn’t, not right away. I pretended to enjoy the beauty around me. The moon, high though it was, was nothing more than a hook. Stars glowed like diamonds scattered across a sea of black velvet. The perfect backdrop for betrayal.
Okay. Enough of that.
With the pair far enough ahead, I whispered to Cole, “This could be a trap.”
He traced his knuckles over my cheek. “Trust me, love. It’s not. I know a little about River. He’s not the most moral slayer out there, because he follows no rules but his own—and sometimes even breaks those—but he hates zombies as much as we do. He won’t want to stop us from doing our job.”
I leaned into his touch, savored the endearment he’d used. “Okay. But if he threatens you, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“You coming or not?” Tattoos snapped from across the distance.
Cole pressed a soft kiss against my lips. “If he threatens you, he’ll be dead before the night’s over.”
I had to be a bloodthirsty wench, because I smiled.
We kicked into motion, sticking to the shadows and alleys, constantly glancing over our shoulders. I expected another tail. Or a nest of zombies. It was just one of those nights.
Along the way, I received a text from Frosty, and then a text from Bronx, each telling me they’d lost their tails and all was well. I let them know our situation and that we would contact them as soon as we could.
Finally, we reached a tall, crumbling building of red brick—an apartment complex. The lobby’s best feature was the threadbare carpet; to the side, a girl with tic-tac-toe games etched all over her forearms manned a counter teetering on unsteady legs.
As we passed, Stocky and Tattoos threw their jackets at her. She caught them without a word of complaint, as if she deserved to be treated like a coatrack. My reaction might have been a wee bit different. I wouldn’t have complained, either, but I would have set those jackets on fire.
We turned a corner, and the interior experienced an immediate change. From shabby to chic. The walls were freshly painted and decorated with professional portraits. There was Stocky, and Tattoos, and at least twenty others I didn’t recognize. The carpets were plush, the furniture obviously antique, with cherubs and birds carved into the wood.
We marched through a state-of-the-art kitchen, with stainless-steel appliances and at least ten kids bustling around stoves and steaming pots. The scent of spicy chicken filled the air, soon joined by the fragrance of cherry cream. My mouth watered. I was tempted to grab a handful of pastries in the five-foot-tall warmer by the back door; they were just sitting there, practically begging me to do it.
But I didn’t...take more than one.
I devoured the treat as we stepped into a courtyard. Frenzied cheers, loud and boisterous, assailed my ears. On a sudden sugar high, I scanned the crowd. Another fifty kids were here, male and female, ranging in age from twelve to twenty-five.
What had we walked into?
Silence descended the moment we were noticed. The throng parted down the center, and I felt like Moses at the Red Sea. More than one guy looked me up and down, and to be honest, it kind of gave me the creeps. I was all for being admired—who didn’t like to feel wanted?—but these guys weren’t sizing me up as a potential girlfriend; they were sizing me up as a potential dinner buffet.
One guy actually made an obscene gesture with his tongue and two fingers.
I guess Cole noticed, because he switched gears and performed a sweet little chest-bump I’d call “your only warning.”
“If you want to keep your tongue, you won’t do that again,” he said quietly. Menacingly.
The guy fronted, squaring his shoulders, trying to stare down a brick wall, but Cole wasn’t one to back down—ever—and soon the guy lost his nerve and moved his gaze to his feet.
Cole, vibrating with challenge, took a moment to glare at the other guys. “Anyone else want to insult my girl?”
I know the situation was heated and it was all kinds of wrong to focus on this, but...testosterone overload was magically delicious.
“Well, well,” a male voice called, all amusement and snark. “For once the rumors are true. Cole Holland actually is an animal in human skin.”
I pivoted just in time to watch a Greek god saunter down the part in the sea. Wow. He was as tall as Cole, with hair so pale it was as pure as newly fallen snow. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he was shirtless, his skin inked as heavily as Tattoos, all black and white.
He couldn’t have been much older than us. Nineteen. Maybe twenty.
A boy I recognized kept pace at his side. Knuckle Scars, from Choco Loco. Should have known.
Greek spread his arms and grinned. “Welcome to my home.”
Cole didn’t say a word.
Awkward.
“Thanks for the invite,” I said. “Maybe next time rethink sending the four horsemen of the apocalypse as escorts. They aren’t exactly a welcoming first act.”
He looked me over and carefully blanked his expression. “I’m told you’re Ali Bell, but...” He frowned. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Pop-Tart, but you aren’t even close to what I expected.”
Pop-Tart? Because I’m packed with fruit and super tasty? Thanks. “And that is?”
“Someone...” He thought for a moment, shrugged. “Not out of a kid’s storybook.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what you call a third-degree burn.
Why did people always compare me to some fainting, animal-whispering princess too weak to save herself? Would it have killed someone to call me the nasty, village-destroying dragon? I had bite, dang it!
Cole stiffened. “Apologize.” That single word came with a wealth of fury. “Now.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” I pointed out.
He rolled his eyes. “Not you. Him.”
“For speaking the truth?” Greek asked, genuinely curious.
“There’s truth, and there’s the delivery of the truth. I didn’t like your delivery.”
Now Greek was the one to roll his eyes. “Please tell me you aren’t one of those people who subscribes to the ‘say something nice or stay silent’ philosophy.”
“I’m one of those people who comes in peace...until it’s time to leave everyone in pieces.”
Greek pressed his lips into a thin line. He’d just been threatened in his own backyard. Frosty’s prison rules, which all boys seemed to know instinctively, probably had
a correct way to respond—and I had a feeling I was about to see it firsthand.
“You want a fight?” Greek said. “Done. But you won’t emerge unscathed.”
Yep. That.
“I want that apology,” Cole said. “To start.”
Greek looked from Cole to me, me to Cole, different emotions pulsing from him. My spirit recognized them and informed my brain. Anger, amusement, affront, remorse, envy.
Why envy? Had he lost someone he loved? Someone he’d once defended?
Surprisingly enough, he settled on amusement. “Very well. My apologies, Miss Ali. Next time, there will be no references to princesses. Only wicked witches.”
“Appreciate it.” Now, then. I brought us back to the proper track. “You must be River. I’ve heard so little about you, and to be honest, even that is starting to seem like too much.”
He grinned. “Well, there’s a little fire in you after all. That’s good.”
A little? “Baby, you have no idea.”
The grin slowly widened. “You have questions for me, I’m sure, just as I have answers for you. But first, you’re going to have to prove you are who you say you are.”
Big shocker. “I’m sure you’re not referring to a driver’s license.”
“Correct.”
“You called me by name. You know who we are,” I pointed out, “or we wouldn’t be here.”
He shrugged. “You’re still going to have to prove it.”
“We’ve got this,” Cole whispered to me.
“I know just the thing.” River rubbed his hands together and said, “You’re going to experience a little something we call Fright Night.”
Chapter 12
MY ZOMBIE ATE YOUR
HONOR STUDENT
The sea of people parted again, revealing a round chain-link fence with a dome overtop. Curiosity and dread competed for dominance as I trudged forward, Cole at my side. We stopped at the edge of the circle, looking down...down...into a pit.
There was no one inside it. But there was blood on the walls.
I frowned. “Do you make your crew members fight each other?”
River claimed the spot at my other side. “Every so often. For punishment. Mostly, though, slayers fight zombies.”
Then some of those slayer-versus-zombie battles were physical rather than spiritual. Which was totally possible. For Anima.
“You’re working with the enemy.” They were the only ones who’d found a way to make the zombies solid to flesh, using collars that emitted those electrical pulses.
Hisses all around me.
“No,” River said, and for the first time there was a dangerous bite to his tone. “We’d like to burn the company and all of its employees to the ground. So work with them? I’d rather let crows eat my internal organs.”
Nice. “You hate Anima that fiercely, but you don’t mind using their technology?”
He patted me on the head. “Using their technology is smart, angel cakes. It helps us understand what they’re doing and how we can better defeat them.”
Okay. That, I understood.
“She isn’t your angel cake, or your Pop-Tart,” Cole snapped. “She’s mine.”
Don’t laugh. Or snicker.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m his.” And okay, I snickered. But only a little!
Cole flicked me an irritated glance. I batted my lashes at him, all what did I do now?
“I could have her if I wanted her,” River said, his ego bared for everyone to see, “but I don’t, so this argument is pointless.”
Could he, perhaps, be related to Gavin?
And, seriously. He could suck it.
“Only an idiot wouldn’t want her.” Uh-oh. Cole was getting worked into another rage. “Are you saying you’re an idiot?”
River’s brow wrinkled. “Now you’re trying to talk me into making a move?”
Boys!
I clapped my hands to gain their attention. “All right, everyone. Get-to-know-you time is over. What’s next?”
River put two fingers in his mouth and whistled; in the pit, doorways I hadn’t noticed opened up. Ten collared zombies spilled into the center, the crowd sneering and catcalling.
“Hey, baby. You wanna have me for dinner?”
“You’re a cute little maggot bag. Yes, you are. Oh, yes, you are.”
“You need a hand? Huh? Huh? How about I give you a finger?”
Noticing the humans above them, the zombies reached up. Black stained lips pulled back from even blacker teeth, saliva dripping down dislocated jaws.
Fighting this many zombies for the entertainment of others wouldn’t be the most awful thing in the world. I genuinely enjoyed making a Z-kill. But I wasn’t at my best right now. Since I’d realized we were safe, my strength had crashed and burned, taking the rest of my anticipation with it. All I had left was dread and fatigue.
Made sense. I’d been on the go for forty-eight hours plus. My only sleep had come courtesy of drugs. My last meal had been the pastry I’d freelance-valeted. I’d lost four friends, used enough adrenaline to kill a rhino (probably) and had just been chased through the streets.
Even still, I said, “I’ll do it. I’ll fight.” I didn’t see any way around it. Cole and I could battle our way through the slayers instead and leave, but we wouldn’t get the answers we wanted.
“Aw, how sweet.” Everything about River mocked me. “Thing is, sweetness, I don’t remember asking. You’re going in that cage whether you want to or not.”
Anger stiffened my spine. Oh, no, he didn’t.
“You’re right,” Cole said, the ease of his acceptance astonishing me. “But we’re not doing it because you ordered it. We’re doing it because I want you to watch and know the beast you’re provoking.”
Voices rose. Bets were placed.
River’s smile was slow and cool. “I like you more with every second that passes, Holland, I really do.” He nodded at two of his crew members, and the boys opened a section of the dome.
Pep-Talk Ali raced in with a vengeance. Buck up, girl. This one’s in the bag.
An-n-nd... Downer Ali arrived with a rebuttal. There’s so much at stake. You could ruin everything.
One day I was going to find a way to strangle Downer Ali with my bare hands.
I squared my shoulders and met Cole’s anticipatory gaze. Anticipatory. Good. He hadn’t lost his desire to fight. He could take care of this even if he had both hands tied behind his back. I could observe.
“Remember reason number seven?” he asked.
Good glory. Not reason seven! Not now. “Yes,” I said and tried not to whimper.
“That,” he said.
No way. Just no way he was going to stand back and let me do all the work—please!
He wound a lock of my hair around his finger. “This is going to be fun.”
Oh, crap. He was, wasn’t he? But...but...why? I knew it wasn’t because of his injury. As he’d proved, he could be dying and still want to act as my shield. So, that had to mean...what? That he didn’t want River to know what he was capable of, allowing him to launch a surprise attack later? Perhaps. Or maybe he was tired of the snide remarks directed my way and wanted me to show these people I was a force to be reckoned with.
Know the beast you’re provoking....
Yeah. That one.
And okay, he seriously rocked.
Can’t let him down. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, uncaring of our audience. “I hope you’re ready to be impressed.”
“I live ready.” He gripped my nape, holding me steady, and kissed me harder.
When we pulled away and grinned at each other, the crowd was oddly silent. I wondered why—shock? disgust?—but honestly, I didn’t care. As Cole led
me to the opening of the cage, I realized bets were still being placed.
“Ten on the Z with the bow tie.”
“Twenty says Ali Bell gets bitten within the first five seconds.”
Cole winked at me and waved a hand to indicate the zombies. “After you.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.” I searched for a ladder, didn’t find one. Great. I’d have to jump.
Whatever.
I didn’t give myself time to think, or lament, but stepped off the ledge and tumbled down. Landing jarred me, but I managed to straighten without pause and turn one Ali into two. Zombies swarmed me. I punched one, then another, drew in a deep breath, held...held...gathering what strength I had into the center of my being, summoning the fire I needed to kill these things...and despite my ragged condition, it came. My faith had been exercised earlier and was still pumped up despite my condition, so the flames were bright and hot.
I heated...and heated...and heated, until I was nearly burning alive, every inch of me engulfed. All I had to do was stand there and let the creatures touch me. One ashed. Then another. Touch, touch, touch. Ash, ash, ash, until no creatures were left standing.
That. Easily.
Better than I could have hoped.
I stopped and looked up. Slayers could see other slayers when they were in spirit form, even when the watchers weren’t in spirit form themselves, and vice versa. Every face in the crowd gaped at me.
Smiling, smug, I joined the two halves of me. But my flames hadn’t died down, and they flickered over my skin. I didn’t disintegrate, but my clothes were a different story. They vanished in a puff of smoke.
Crap! This had happened once before, when Zombie Ali launched her final attack against me. My spirit had gone a little wonky, struggling to survive. I must be on the fritz again, must have pushed myself too far.
At least Cole was in the pit with me. He leaned against the wall, polishing one of his daggers, as if he hadn’t a care.
“Um, problem,” I said.
He met my gaze, frowned. “Come here,” he said and motioned me over. “Don’t get rid of the flames.”
The White Rabbit Chronicles Page 85