I blinked. I hadn’t seen that when he was touching me.
“We’ve seen you together.” He jerked his head toward the bulk of Union Station, just visible at the end of the street. Where the crossroads was. And the Portal. “I can see his dra’aj, and yours for that matter, so don’t try to say you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
I straightened up so fast my spine cracked. Reading people’s dra’aj, seeing what their talents were, that’s how the Collector found people like me. But I wasn’t in any danger from Nik. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.
“That was a Hound following you,” he said, clearly expecting me to know what he meant. I nodded. Once.
That was why we’d run several blocks down University, past a fire truck which was trying to close a hydrant that people Nik knew had managed to open. Moving water, apparently, would throw the Hound off the scent. My scent. I’d picked up that much in jolts and fits and starts, as we were running.
Just the idea of the Hunt was enough to set anybody running, but something was making no sense.
“What’s the big deal?” I asked. “The Hunt doesn’t prey on humans.” Okay, so he’d been bitten, but he was still alive.
His smile gave me a hitch in the back of my throat, as if I was about to cry. “Maybe they didn’t, maybe that’s the way it was, once. But doesn’t, isn’t, can’t, and once isn’t now.” He reached across the table, but I moved my hands to my lap before he could touch me. He’d read so oddly that I wasn’t sure I wanted to read any more. I was still seeing jigsaw puzzles and rag rugs—as though the fragmentation wasn’t in my images, but in him.
“They can prey on humans, all right,” he said, drawing his hand back. “They’re doing it all the time now.” He licked his lips. “More every day.”
“They’re killing people?” Why hadn’t I heard something about this? Had it been on the news?
Nik shook his head, but he wasn’t saying no. “It’s not that simple. People are dying, yes, but—if it was only a few…” He shook his head again. “We need to talk to a Rider, about the Hounds. Can you set that up for us?”
“Why?”
A flicker of anger hardened his face. “Because you’re human, like us.”
“No, I meant, why do you want to talk to a Rider?”
“Because they did this. They brought the Hunt here. It’s their responsibility. We can’t,” he swallowed. “We can’t fight them off ourselves.” His voice shook a little, the assured lawyer of the Christie Institute almost gone.
“If people aren’t actually dying…” My voice dried up, and Nik squeezed his eyes shut.
“The Hunt takes our dra’aj,” he said. “It’s worse than dying. It makes us empty. We don’t live, we can’t even want to die.”
I got it then. I got what it meant. Nik had been bitten. That’s why he felt all fragmented.
“But you’re okay,” I said.
He shook his head, impatience getting in the way of what he was trying to tell me. “There’s a fix, but it has to be renewed, and now, with so many new ones, we can’t keep up with the demand.”
New ones? “Those people in High Park,” I said. “Wandering around without a clue why they were there? Half starved?”
He nodded.
“Not vampires.” I knew it. “Not some kind of flu. The Hunt.”
He winced, looked as though he was going to say something, and then shrugged before nodding again.
Part of me wanted to take him home right then and there, even though I wasn’t sure what Alejandro could do to help him.
But another part of me wasn’t thrilled by the idea that here was yet another person thinking of me as someone he could make use of. Even his saving me had more to do with getting me to help him than it had with me personally—or impersonally, for that matter.
And speaking of personal, I admit I was disappointed that all that stuff about my caramel eyes hadn’t meant anything after all.
Most of my life I hadn’t been allowed to make my own decisions. Since my rescue, I’d been learning how—but this wasn’t about me. It was about Alejandro. I couldn’t make decisions for him.
I stood up. “Okay, I’ll ask my friend, but I can’t promise anything. I’ve got your card.”
“I’ll go with you—at least let me walk you to the subway,” he added when I shook my head. Before I could say no again, his mobile rang. I paused when he answered it, holding up one finger. Somehow I couldn’t just walk away.
I watched the color drain out of his face. “It has to be me,” he said. “I’ll have to take her.” He glanced up at me. “Wait until I get there.” He snapped the mobile shut and stuck it back in the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Would you come with me?” he said. His voice trembled, as if he was keeping a tight rein on himself. “You need to—” he broke off and took a deep breath. “I need you to show you someone, for a profile. Please?”
“What, now?”
It was fear I was reading from him. Fear and anger and grief. “Please.”
I think it was the please that did it. Not very many people had ever bothered to say “please” to me.
Next thing I knew we were in a cab, and heading to an address on Spadina north of Bloor. Nik spent the ride on the phone, but traffic was with us, and in practically no time we were running up the steps of an old, double-fronted Victorian house, and in through the heavy glass-inlaid doors, past ground-floor offices, all the way up to the second floor. Two women were waiting at the spacious landing at the top of the stairs. One was wearing slacks and a short, military style jacket; the other had a flowery print dress. Both were clearly secretaries.
“Is she in her office?” Nik asked the one in slacks. “How long since you first noticed it?”
“She seemed a bit odd yesterday morning—”
“And you waited until now to call me?” As if he realized that losing his temper wasn’t going to get him anywhere, Nik took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry,” he said. “Just tell me what happened.”
“She kept saying she was okay,” Print Dress said. “Maybe just a bit run-down. But then yesterday she had no dictation, and today she canceled all her appointments.”
“You have to speak to her a couple of times to get her to respond,” Slacks added. “Then, instead of jumping as though she was startled, she just turns and looks at you, as if she knew all along you were there, but just didn’t care. We thought—” she broke off and looked at the other woman, who nodded at her. “We thought it sounded like the High Park flu.”
“You know,” Print Dress chimed in. “What the people caught down in High Park. Those people the police found there after dark. And when you didn’t call in after your meeting at the Christie—”
Because he’d been following me. I began to feel a little sick. Not vampires in the park, no. But maybe the Hunt.
By this point both of the ladies were staring at me a little wildly, and only relaxed when Nik finally said, “This is Dr. Martin.” Neither of them raised an eyebrow when I followed Nik into another office.
“Elaine?” I hadn’t known his voice could get so soft.
The woman was smiling, but it was just lip movement.
“Hey, where’d you get this bruise?” There was a purple-blue mark like a stain on her lower arm.
She pulled her hand away, but you could see it was just a reflex. “I don’t know. On the weekend, maybe. I went out with Sue and Vicki.”
That would fit the coloring, I thought. The bruise had only just begun to fade. Nik turned and looked at me, and I found myself stepping closer.
“Dr. Martin, this is my friend and law partner, Elaine Serber.”
Elaine was doing an excellent job of pretending to be well. But there were signs that would have told any good observer that there was something wrong. The left sleeve of her blouse wasn’t ironed; her face had been completely made up except for blush and mascara; her hair was not artfully tousled, it actually had not been brushed that
morning.
She stood up and put out her hand to shake mine, but she was just going through the motions. It was like shaking an empty glove. [Tables with glasses; beer; a dark-haired man with long, pointed nose and sharp teeth (?); jigsaw, the pieces loose, shifting and shuffling like cards; there were pieces missing, important pieces; she was related to Nik, very distantly.]
Oh. The images suddenly clarified. Elaine was like Nik, fragmented, but also not like him. Where Nik was a puzzle in a frame, glued together and whole, Elaine was like a puzzle that had been poured out of the box onto the floor, pieces flung and tossed everywhere, some facedown, others piled two or three deep, and—like I said—some pieces missing entirely.
And I knew how it had happened. I saw her with her girlfriends in the bar, the look of the man who had taken her by the forearm as she’d passed him on the way to the bathroom. And I knew that he wasn’t a man, but a Hound.
“What do you see?”
For a second I was so startled by Nik’s voice that I almost thought he knew that I was reading Elaine. Then I realized that he just meant could I, the psychological profiler, see what the problem was.
“She’s almost completely affectless,” I said, dredging up what jargon I could remember. “There are no micro-expressions in her face. None at all. As though she’s been wiped clean. You sometimes see this in the severely depressed. Sometimes rape victims. Look.” I nodded toward her. “She’s not even reacting to what I’m saying.”
“That’s what the Hunt does to us. This is what they’re calling the High Park flu.”
“You said you could help her?” I still had her by the hand. I was afraid that if I let go, she might fade away completely. [Pieces; rage; cold; static; a couple of hitches like catching breath, a refocusing of attention; Nik would help her.] I didn’t know whose hand was trembling, hers or mine. “I think you’d better hurry.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his upper lip in his teeth. I couldn’t think what the holdup was. Finally, he nodded. “Come on, I asked the taxi to wait.”
It was easy to get Elaine downstairs and into the taxi, she held my hand and didn’t resist or protest in any way. Nik gave the driver another address, and I was a little surprised when we pulled up in front of what was obviously a hospital. We took a side entrance, an elevator up two floors, and exited into a sunny lounge. There were three people sitting in comfortable padded arm chairs. A man holding the hand of a woman who had fallen asleep nodded at us as we passed, and smiled. Another man, still wearing a straw fedora, was sitting forward in his chair, staring at his clasped hands.
The nurses’ station turned out to be a young woman in paisley scrubs with a laptop on the low table in front of her.
“Eva,” Nik called softly as they approached her.
“Hey, Nikki, whatcha got?”
“Couple of visitors for Harry.”
“Oh, that’s great.” A frown ghosted over her face. “They do realize…?”
“Oh, yeah, they’re not family, legal stuff.”
“Okay.” She went back to her computer.
Nik led us down the hall into a double room, where only one bed was occupied by what I greatly feared was a corpse.
“Harry?”
My breath caught in my throat as the man’s eyes opened. They were the only thing about him that showed any life at all—more life, I realized with a jolt, than Elaine’s did. Harry’s lips moved and, concentrating, I could just make out what he was saying, more by reading his lips than because there was any real sound.
Is it time? was what he’d said.
“Only if you’re ready,” Nik said. “If you’re sure. Here she is.” He moved Elaine closer to the bed. “Her name’s Elaine.”
Not you? And the lips moved as if they would smile, but the muscles had forgotten how. Prettier.
“She sure is.”
Ready.
“Two blinks if you’re sure.” The papery eyelids fell, and rose, fell and rose again. “Elaine, take Harry’s hand. Go on. Hold Harry’s hand.” Nik put his own left hand on the old man’s shoulder.
“Hold on,” Elaine said. Her voice was the thinnest thread.
“That’s right, babe, hold on.”
Thank you.
Still holding Nik’s forearm, Elaine took hold of the old man’s hand with her free hand. At first, I thought nothing was happening. The papery eyelids had fallen shut, and the man’s shallow breathing slowed and slowed until finally the chest fell and did not rise again.
“Oh.” The sob was so alive, so vibrant, that I didn’t realize it had come from Elaine’s mouth until she fell to her knees. She rested her cheek on the old man’s hand, and looked up with eyes that focused.
“Oh, Nikki,” she said. “Oh, my god, Nikki.” And she burst into tears. Nik lifted her into the bedside chair, and handed her the box of tissues on the bed stand before joining me where I stood at the foot of the bed.
“I know Elaine, I can help her,” he said. “But what about everyone else?” His abrupt gesture took in the whole of the city outside the windows. “There are too many out there that I—that we can’t help. We need the Riders. They’ve got to help us. They’ve got to. It’s not going to stop here.”
I didn’t say anything. I just nodded.
Later, Nik Polihronidis eased Elaine’s bedroom door shut. She needed sleep right now, and he needed to let the rage he’d held off all day surface; if he didn’t let go of it, it would suffocate him. In a bar on the Danforth, for god’s sake. No one was safe. He stopped himself just in time from pounding on the wall. That wouldn’t help anyone. He knew it wasn’t his fault. Just because he’d been away for a few days; just because he’d gone to his meeting without checking in at the office first. It wasn’t his fault.
But he’d promised his sister to keep her children safe. And Elaine was the last, the very last of her descendants. He squeezed his eyes tight. And now there wouldn’t be any more.
Nik took a deep breath and went over to where Elaine’s iPad sat on a small table next to the couch. He’d have to find her another infusion of dra’aj soon, within a week or so—newbies had so little control, it could dribble away pretty fast. It would take some juggling, but he could manage it.
So long as they could count on some help against the Hunt.
He pushed his hands through his hair, forgetting that it was cropped short. That was another thing. He’d almost blown it today. He’d almost scared off Valory Martin. He glanced at Elaine’s bedroom door. More than anything else, more than anything he’d told her, it was what happened to Elaine that had convinced Valory. Nik’s hands formed into fists and he forced them open. If Valory managed to persuade her Rider friend, what had happened to Elaine might be the saving of all of them.
That didn’t make him feel any better.
Chapter Two
“BUENO, AQUÍ ESTAMOS, SEÑOR. Señor, hemos llegado.”
It was a moment before Stormwolf realized the driver was speaking to him. The language was no difficulty. He had only to listen carefully, and he could recognize the true tongue that underlay any of the human languages. It wasn’t the Spanish, but the taxi ride itself that distracted him. The speed of it, the apparent recklessness of his own and the other drivers. The moving landscape outside the windows, and his own internal awareness that though they were moving, they had not Moved. He was not sure he liked traveling in cars.
Among the lessons and instructions the High Prince had given him was one about taxis and fares. Wolf extracted the correct bill from his wallet, returned a reasonable tip from the change he was given, and stepped out of the vehicle. With an abrupt wave of his hand, the driver indicated the lane before which he’d stopped, and then inserted his taxi back into the stream of traffic with a screech of tires and a blast of horns.
The lane was wide enough for automobiles, but it was also steep enough to require shallow risers in the cobblestones as it angled away from the larger street. Smooth plastered walls three and four stories tall rose to ei
ther side, with individual houses indicated by the scattered doorways and ornately grilled windows. Two six-sided glass lamps hung from wrought iron stanchions at strategic spots along the wall. Stormwolf had no trouble visualizing people on horseback passing through the place.
His destination was in the angle where the lane veered to the right, a wide double entrance, with thick wooden doors showing signs of weathering. A large ceramic tile with the number “15” in blue on a white background was inset into the stone to the right of the door. Even if he had not been given the address, however, Stormwolf would have known he was in the right place. Even here in the street the house smelled of Rider, though faintly enough to tell him that his prey was not at home.
Wolf drew in a sharp breath. He must stop thinking that way. The Rider Nighthawk had once been Warden to the Prince in Exile. But he was not prey. He was merely the first person the High Prince had told Wolf to find.
Nighthawk’s trail was clear. Wolf followed the scent along a twisted path of lanes and alleys, some of which were narrow enough that the stones under his feet were chilled, the sun never having found its way down to them. Finally, the trail led into a larger road, with cars parked on one side, along to a square where mature trees thrust themselves up through the cobbles to give shade, and then into a bar on the opposite corner.
But there was no Sunward Rider in “El Caracol.” Crowded as it was, Wolf could not be mistaken. Instead, the spoor led down the short hallway to the privies, and out a back door next to the grills in the kitchen. He was not surprised when he found himself headed back toward the house, although through different laneways. As he crossed through another square, this one open on one side where the land fell away, he paused, glancing over the parapet at the view of a large palace brightly illuminated across the valley.
The Rider’s trail was still clear, but others crossed it here. A smell/not smell. And there was something familiar about another, something Wolf felt he should be able to place.
He looked around the square. A few people were admiring the view of the palace, two held small boxes to their faces. One man stood apart, looking at his hands with a faint air of puzzlement. The smell/not smell seemed to emanate from him. Wolfe shook himself. He was on scent, and had a trail to follow. He could not indulge his own curiosity. He glanced once more at the palace, then followed Nighthawk’s spoor into another alley, this one so narrow he had almost to turn sideways to fit himself into the space. Just as the alley was widening, a noise gave him enough warning to freeze where he stood. He eyed the long blade that glittered in the darkness. A gra’if blade, forged by neither human nor Rider.
Shadowlands Page 3