Iron (The Warding Book 1)

by Robin L. Cole

  “That sounds lovely. I can’t remember the last time I had a little ‘me time.’”

  I was scanning the room again, without even realizing it. It had become second nature. My eyes roamed every nook and cranny; counted every head. The faces around us hadn’t changed much in the last ten minutes, but I was searching them again and again, hoping that something out of the ordinary would catch my eye—but, nope. Nothing. I leaned back in my chair and stretched until my spine popped. I was beyond tense. “It’s just so hard to keep doing this, night after night, never even catching a glimpse of him. I know Kaine said we have the word of some people he trusts but… How long are we going to keep this up?”

  She shrugged again. “As long as it takes?”

  I scowled. “Not a great answer. I didn’t sign on to be doing this until I was old and gray, chicky.”

  “Just think: we were doing this for a few years before you came along, and that was when we didn’t really have any idea of how to tell if we did cross paths with him. Hell, we might have been in spitting distance of him a dozen times without ever having realized it. How’s that for depressing?”

  “Touché.” I winced at the thought. Talk about perspective.

  “I wish I knew where he was. I wish we could end this tomorrow, but no one has that golden ticket.” She looked chagrined. “Not even me.”

  The bleak truth threatened to suck the last of my willpower right out of me. Suddenly, I felt another thirty years older and so damn bent I was all but broken. The words slipped out. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, Mai.”

  I gazed down at the table, crestfallen. She reached over and placed her hand over mine. “You know, the myth about my kind being vulnerable to cold iron has some truth to it. It doesn’t make us turn tail and run screaming for the hill or anything, but it hurts us. Wounds made by it are slow to heal, if they heal at all. No one has ever been able to figure out why it affects us so badly, but it does. It’s one of the reasons Kaine was so insistent on you learning to fight with knives, instead of just pointing a gun at someone.”

  I looked up into her old soul eyes, puzzled. What on earth had brought that on?

  She continued, “The old legends used to say that the Warders earned their Gift by slowly immunizing themselves to magic. For centuries, they drank a potion imbued with iron, enduring incredible pain and sickness, until they had iron in their very blood. They passed that blood down to their children, and many say that was what made them immune to all other fae Gifts.” She squeezed my hand. “That might be a bunch of bull of course. But you? You are iron. You are stronger than you think and this will not break you. You can do this.”

  For someone who swore she couldn’t read my mind, she certainly had the uncanny knack of always knowing what I needed to hear. Her unshakeable faith in me chased away some of the darkness. I smiled and squeezed her hand back. “Thank you.”

  She picked up her cup to take a sip. Her gaze roved the shop. “So yeah; this sucks. But this is all we’ve got at the moment. And, really, is there anything worse than the alternative?”

  Images flashed through my head. Goliath’s gaping, Rottweiler toothed maw. The Wax Man’s hollow eye pits. The barely identifiable remains that had been strewn about the lair of the Snake Man. While I had grown more comfortable in my hunter’s skin, I still couldn’t face the memory of that night; of that first hunt. Just the thought of it made me shudder. She was right. Stopping the High King was the only choice. If this was only the first stage of a feeding frenzy rebellion by the bestial fae, I didn’t even want to imagine the dark days that could lay ahead. Once they really started moving in on us in force, there wouldn’t be much chance that I—or anyone else that I loved—would make it to old and gray.

  I hadn’t sacrificed my bestie’s trust for nothing.

  I took a swig of my lukewarm coffee, grimaced, and let my eyes trace a path back to the farthest table from the door. “Moon-eyed blond with the ridiculously low-cut purple sweater?”

  “Check.”

  “Disinterested playboy boyfriend paying more attention to his phone than her?”

  “Check.”

  My eyes skipped to the table to their left. “Soccer mom powwow. Snooty brunette to the left; L’Oreal redhead to the right…”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  The Bluetooth in my ear crackled to life and the sharp note of Gannon’s concern pierced into my brain. “Everything okay down there?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. Just stepped in some literal shit. A Great Dane-sized load, from the looks of it.” I shook my foot hard, scowling at the excrement that dislodged itself from my heel. I had called my lovely new combat boots shitkickers, but I hadn’t meant that literally. Besides; they were brand new. Gross.

  I resumed my slow creep, sticking close to the wall of the dingy building but I glanced down far more often than before. Why couldn’t the murderous fae assholes ever go to ground in a nice, clean area? Nothing residential of course; that would pose too many problems. But a nice secluded park or maybe even an upscale business district that cleared out and got quiet after dark? Noooo; of course not. They always skulked back to their freaking waterfront lairs like creepy comic book villains, which meant that my nights were spent tiptoeing around gross old warehouses and wallowing through the—apparently literal—shit of the earth. I skirted a moldering pile of something I couldn’t and, from the rank smell it gave off, didn’t want to identify. I covered my nose and mouth with a cupped hand. “Goddamn, this town really is fucking disgusting.”

  He chuckled. “Welcome to the seedy underbelly of New Jersey.”

  “Oh, bite me.” Easy for him to say. He had rooftop duty. I was the one down in the trenches, struggling to see two feet in front of me. It was foggy and dark between the looming buildings. The moon was hidden by clouds and I didn’t think its light would have helped even if it had penetrated through. The streets were still damp, with puddles forming in a hundred different pot holes and crevices that spider webbed the cracked pavement. The air had that moldy smell that the dark corners of the city gave off after a long day of cold rain, obscuring all else.

  Aside from the foul reek of the remnants on my shoe, of course. Stupid dog.

  It was close to midnight. We had been canvasing the network of buildings for near an hour without ever laying sight on another living soul. Gannon had been tracking this particular baddie for almost two weeks, so he was sure that it had gone to ground somewhere between here and the river. The problem was mathematical: two hunters, fifteen city blocks of warehouses, gross nooks, and garbage-filled crannies. While I was happier at the lessened chance of complication—a random person wandering into a hunt was not something I cared to deal with—the slow, methodic pace was beginning to wear on me. The thrill of the chase had turned into the irritation of the chase.

  I edged my way into another intersection. Lookie, lookie; more of the same. Another inroad into the labyrinth of buildings lay to my right, and—from the potent perfume wafting over me—a dumpster filled dead end loomed to my left. How exciting. I started to call the all clear but sucked in my breath.

  Something in that dead end rustled to life.

  I whipped around, dropping into a half-crouch as I spun so that my hands were a hairsbreadth away from the stilettos tucked into my specially made, dog shit tainted boots. I barely breathed the word. “Contact.”

  “On my way.”

  The alcove before me was damn near pitch black. I could only make out the hulking bulk of the industrial sized dumpsters and nothing seemed to be moving. I had half convinced myself that a rat was responsible for nearly making me piss myself when I finally saw one of the shadows shift. Two amber discs flashed in the darkness. A low, rumbling growl warned me that I was in someone’s territory, and that someone wasn’t happy about it.

  A god-damned dog. I started to relax back but something inside me remained taut; vibrating like a bowstring. Far be it fro
m me to ignore my Spidey senses. The damn thing could be rabid, for all I knew. I stayed crouched. “Come on out sweetie, I’m not gonna hurt you.” I made those ridiculously friendly cooing noises one reserved for babies and frightened animals. I held out one hand—the other never straying from Leftie’s pommel—and waggled my fingers in what I hoped was a friendly gesture. “I don’t have any Milk Bones, but maybe we can find you a nicer snack than you’ll find in that smelly old garbage, huh? Would you like that, boy?”

  “Update. What’s going on down there?” His breathing had quickened. He must have wandered further away than I had thought. Well, good. Let him haul ass to get to my rescue. What if it had been our baddie, instead of some stray? Served him right for giving me the legwork while he moseyed around up top.

  “Stand down. It’s just a do—” The words dried up in my mouth.

  That low growl rose sharply, its tremor near-deafening as the body it was attached to detached itself from the shadows. Those eyes flashed like heat lightning, set in the head of the scariest fucking animal I had ever seen. Never mind a Great Dane; the damn thing was the size of a pony.

  Had I been standing, he easily could have laid his head on my shoulder—not that I had any intention of letting that vicious looking snout come anywhere near any part of me. His lips were drawn back from teeth the length of my fingers, the jowls below slick with ropes of drool. Long, mangy black fur matted with all sorts of filth covered him like a shag carpet, and an equally disheveled tail snaked down to the ground. As he snuffled at the air and caught my tasty human scent, that tail sprang into action and whipped from side to side like a bullwhip. Trash went flying in all directions. A snarl echoed around me, vibrating deep in that massive, barrel chest.

  “Holy hell!” I yanked my hand back and wrapped them both around the girls’ hilts. My chest felt tight; my lungs compressed so high that I could barely draw a full breath. Things fell together in my mind like dominos: click, click, clack. I let out a low, shaky breath. “Gannon, please tell me that ‘black dog’’ was some sort of bullshit fae honorific. Like, you know; how you call the Lynx ‘the Lynx.’ Do not tell me we came out here actually looking for a big, angry black dog that now wants to disembowel me.”

  His curses rang in my ear.

  Well, fuck was right.

  “That’s information I could have used hours ago!” I backed away as slowly as I could in my awkward crouch. The beastie matched me step for step; stalking forward, his head low and ears back. I looked him up and down, drawing a big ol’ blank. How the hell was I going to fight Cujo on steroids? I could grapple my way to victory with something bipedal, but I was clueless at how to incapacitate something with sharp, pointy teeth and four clawed feet that looked as strong as 2x4’s.

  “I did!” I could hear him grunt as he stuck a landing. His breathing had quickened considerably. I no longer found it amusing. Irritation made his words sharp. “Didn’t you read the dossier I gave you?”

  My mind scrambled back to the printout on my living room coffee table, likely still under this morning’s cereal bowl. And a stack of mail. Where it had been for the past three days. Part of me wanted to tell him not to feel bad, that it was keeping good company with the stack of musty old fae history books I had been promising Seana I would get to for the better part of three months—but something told me he wouldn’t appreciate that. I’m sure I would have snapped back with some witty and bold-faced lie, had time not run out.

  Cujo has sized me up and found me wanting. Or maybe he just wanted to see if I had the tasty insides of Tender Vittles. His reasons didn’t matter when he burst into action and lunged at me with preternatural speed. I wasn’t sure how intelligent he was, but I didn’t have time to try and reason with him. In that split second when he pulled back on his haunches and readied himself to spring, my mind emptied. I wasn’t sure how I did it, but that didn’t really matter: I did it. My eyes darted to and fro, calculating the situation unfolding in the blink of an eye—faster than I would have ever have thought possible. There was no more than twenty feet or so left between me and Cujo. If his strength was at all proportionate to his size, he would be on me in seconds.

  I wasn’t sure how much mass was hidden beneath all that scraggly fur, but he had me beat three to one, at the very least. Even if I managed to find a weak spot and connect in the final, Hail Mary moment, the sheer weight of that damn thing could crush me. I needed something bigger; something with more force, to take it out at the knees or brain it into submission. Too bad the streets around me were bare.

  My odds were not looking good so I did the only sensible thing a girl can do, when facing down a gigantic, vicious faerie dog in a dark alley: I turned and ran.

  I darted back the way I had come, hoping the sharp turn would throw the damn thing off a step or two. A wild baying erupted behind me, echoing off the buildings around us. I heard a crash that vibrated up through the soles of my boots but I couldn’t turn to look. The scrabbling sound of nails on concrete and guttural snarls told me all I needed to know: Cujo was hot on my trail. I needed to maneuver it into some sort of position where I could gain the upper hand. I had no clue how I was going to do that, mind you; I just figured it was my best shot at not getting dead.

  I tilted forward and aimed for the next corner, hoping I wouldn’t wipe out myself. I made a grab for the nearest wall, feeling its sharp edges bite into my palm as I gripped it tight and propelled myself into the next cross street. I stumbled but kept from hitting the ground. I mapped out the roads ahead in quick succession. A few more turns or the straightaway to the pier. Dammit. Neither of those options worked for me. What if I took a turn into a dead-end? I still wasn’t sure how I was going to stop this thing when we inevitably locked horns.

  Another crash resounded behind me. It sounded like Cujo was ricocheting itself off the walls in its attempts to get to me. Come morning, there were going to be all sorts of a mess left behind to confuse the dockworkers. Another angry snarl rolled over me. The air was humid but I was sure, somehow, that I felt his fetid blow past me. I needed to gain more distance, but my calves were already starting to burn. This was not good. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  Gannon crackled to life in my ear again, an unwelcome note of panic raising the pitch of his voice. “Caitlin, what the hell are you doing?”

  I gulped in air. “Running like hell!”

  “Dammit! I can’t get to you if you’re moving in the opposite direction!”

  “No time. To argue,” I panted. Talking was not going to work. I wasn’t built for this kind of sprint. I could barely catch my breath around the words.

  I ignored the long, loud string of curses in my ear. They weren’t conducive to staying alive, at the moment. Instead, I bolted around another corner. I was coming in too fast and went skidding through a large puddle. Unable to slingshot myself as I had before, I gritted my teeth and prayed for the best as I mimicked Cujo’s method for myself.

  Let me tell you, bouncing off of a solid brick wall wasn’t as easy for squishy human flesh as it was, apparently, for a large, angry canine. I lost precious air as I collided with the wall, grunting as the wind got knocked right out of me. My bounce wasn’t nearly as controlled as I had hoped and I found myself tumbling to the ground. I fell into the roll and let the momentum carry me forward. It was easier to spring back up than to land flat on my face, but I lost a few seconds doing it. At least I’d still have a nose.

  Splashing and scratching and snarling exploded in a cacophony behind me, all crawling up my ass once again. I guess worrying about my nose was pretty stupid. It wouldn’t matter much if I had my entire face chewed off in about ten seconds.

  Dredging up whatever will to live I had left, I pushed myself up, hard, and bolted. I ignored the stinging on my palms and the ache where my shoulder had met wall. Hell, I ached from top to bottom. My chest burned like all get out and my lungs threatened to seize up with each breath. This was my last dash. I didn’t have much left in me.

  “Up
date.” It was a bark; a command. Was that an echo I heard? I couldn’t tell if he was close, or if my scared shitless brain was playing tricks on me.

  “Gaining. On me,” I rasped. “Crossing. Seventeenth street.” God, each word hurt. My eyes darted right, then left. The building just ahead to my left had a rickety looking set of rusted metal stairs leading up to a second story entryway. The landing they lead up to looked equally dubious but it was the best shot I had. “Corner lot. Second floor landing. Going for it.”

  I barreled ahead with all I had left, taking the stairs two at a time. They shuddered in protest. I felt their pain. I threw myself up the last two steps and collided with the railing. I hung there for a few breaths, every muscle in my body shaking. Finally, I could look behind me. Finally, I could see the demon coming at me in the dark.

  Another long, loud bay resounded down the alley as the damn thing straight up charged down the street. He was a surging mass of teeth and fur, tail streaming out behind it like a banner. When he caught sight of me, those flashing eyes burned with a savage hunger. He never slowed. He would be under me in a moment. The sight of that mad beast bearing down on me lit a fire within me, filling me with a cold, familiar rage. I yanked one of my stilettos from its sheath and gripped it tight in a sweaty palm. I stepped back from the railing and backed up as far as I could, praying I wasn’t about to kiss pavement as took a literal leap of faith.

  Good lord, I hoped this worked.

  My timing was spot on, but the landing wasn’t nearly as soft as I hoped. My chest collided with a solid mass of writhing fur, knocking the wind out of me once again. Though I was gaping like a fish, I knotted my free hand in a mass of musty pelt and scrabbled for purchase. I managed to get myself astride the beast and gripped its wide back as firmly as I could with my knees. Immediately, Cujo ground to a halt, which nearly succeeded in sending me sailing over its massive head. My face bounced off its thick neck. Blood filled my mouth and a metallic burn shot up my nose. I held on tight, retching from the combined stench of garbage-y, wet dog and the vile taste of the blood in my mouth.