by Karen Chance
Kit crushed the small silver object in his hand like tinfoil. Heinrich stood by, shamefaced, because he'd just been beaten by one of his own training toys. One he'd developed himself.
"Where did she get it?" Kit rasped.
Heinrich licked his lips. "We've been using them for a few years now, to train the younger recruits' noses. And you know mages. They steal anything they think might give them an edge --"
"She's not a mage."
"No, sir. But anyone can buy magic, if they have the money. And we designed these to work off a charm that --"
"How many does she have?"
"I -- there's no way to be sure. But that wasn't a copy. It must have been lifted from one of our own supply depots. And if so . . ."
"If so?"
"They come in cases of twenty-four," he admitted, looking miserable.
Kit didn't say anything.
Sir. That was Liam's voice, in his head. I don't understand it, but we're suddenly getting multiple hits, from all areas. It's as if she's suddenly everywhere at once --
She isn't. Her toys are.
Sir?
"Explain it to him," he told Heinrich, while he stared at the gloomy, odorous morass in front of him.
She hadn't left. She knew they were on her tail, had probably seen him during that debacle with David, knew what he was. And that he had others with him: strong, vengeful, and closing in. Yet, instead of slipping away quietly, she chose to deploy a no doubt costly diversion and continue . . . doing what?
Kit's lips pursed.
What about the man with her? Liam asked. The mage?
What about him?
We believe they've split up. He was just seen on a speedboat, tearing downriver, and he was alone. Should we pursue?
No. We have his scent; we'll deal with him later. Stay on the girl.
Yes, sir.
And inform our group of what's happening. I want them to run down every one of Heinrich's inventions and destroy them.
"Uh, sir?" Heinrich broke in. "It might be easier to find out which depot was raided if we have an example to, uh . . . to go by . . ." he trailed off as Kit handed him the destroyed remnants in his hand. "Yes, sir," he said, regarding them sadly.
Understood, Liam replied.
Kit thought for another moment. Do you still have that map of the waterways?
Yes, right here.
Plot every point where the scent trails have been detected. Call me when you have it.
Yes, sir. Liam didn't ask why.
Heinrich looked like he was about to, but wisely changed his mind. They sat in silence for a few moments, or what passed for it here. Like with his people, the night seemed to bring the bayou alive. Sluggish and quiet in the daytime, it woke up after dark with almost as many sounds as scents. Kit counted no less than six different kinds of frogs, twelve birds, what might be a coyote, and the odd, grunting belch of the giant reptiles nature had forgotten to kill in the last great extinction event.
Alligators. What place did something like that have in the modern world, Kit wondered, watching one eye him from the shadows. Of course, he sometimes thought the same about himself.
He didn't know how to fight like this, chasing a bunch of toys in some ridiculous cat and mouse game. He didn't want to learn. He wanted what he did know: open combat, one on one, a fight to the death. He wanted to taste blood, wanted to hear bones crack and flesh tear, wanted --
To hurt.
And not just her.
He was finding his current mix of emotions to be . . . disturbing. Human anguish over the loss of a child, vampire rage at being challenged, the grief of his men for their brother seeping through the bond . . . . The whole of it was enough that he would welcome a distraction, even one that left him with a few less teeth. He might even let the creature get in a few blows before he took her out, might bleed a little while for the child who had bled for him . . . .
Assuming they ever found her, that is.
Damn it! Where --
My Lord.
Tell me.
Liam chose to show him, instead. The old laminated sign they'd ripped off the door of the rental shop flashed before his vision, as clear as if he was holding it himself. Color coded lines, green, blue and red, snaked out from the shore, showing the paths his men had taken, including his own. And all around them, in a profusion of squiggles, were the trails of Heinrich's annoying little devices.
Yes, she'd had a whole case. And she'd used them, covering a large swath of the swamp. Large, Kit thought, but not all.
"Take the boat," he told Heinrich. "Follow the two closest trails, see if they lead anywhere."
"Sir?" The Hound looked confused.
"If you locate her, let me know. Stay well away and hidden until I arrive."
"Yes, sir, but . . . what are you going to do?"
"Check this out," Kit said, pointing to an expanse of more or less solid ground up ahead.
"But sir . . . no scent trails have been reported there."
Kit looked up, and allowed himself a small, vicious smile. "I know."
Chapter Seven