I waved them away. “I’ll meet ye outside in a minute,” I called.
Christoff frowned. “One minute,” he clarified, pointing to his wrist. “Or we leave without you.”
I nodded. “They found me first,” I said, turning to Jimmy.
He seemed skeptical but shrugged that off. “Whatever. Where are you all going?”
“Unfinished business to take care of,” I replied.
“Which means what, exactly?” he asked.
I arced an eyebrow. “Which means it’s none of yours, Jimmy Collins.”
Jimmy sneered. “You mean it’s Freak related. Of course.” He exchanged looks with Maria, who stood on the other side of the room talking with a nurse. “When they brought in one of their people and we heard about the shootout, I knew you had something to do with it.”
“Me?” I asked. “Why would ye t’ink I had anythin’ to do with it?”
“Because that’s what you do. You come in and wreck people’s lives. You know, Jeffries kept hounding me to find you, but I knew they’d be better off if I didn’t. You get people hurt. Killed.” His eyes flashed, and I saw real pain lurking there. Hatred, too. I felt my anger brimming, threatening to spill over into a tirade that would get us both kicked out of the hospital.
But then, of course, he wasn’t wrong.
I had gotten people hurt, even if I hadn’t meant to. The list grew longer and longer every year. Jimmy had nearly died, and then there was Dez, who’d been kidnapped, and now Warren, who might never wake up. Thing is, I wasn’t angry because I felt guilty, I was angry because I was sick and tired of being responsible for other people. Dez was family; she hadn’t asked to get taken. But Warren was an FBI agent doing his job—he’d known the risks. And Jimmy? I’d done everything in my power to keep him away from my world once I realized what was at stake. Jimmy had to know that. Which meant what Jimmy hated wasn’t me so much as it was his own weakness, his own fragility.
Which was sad.
But not my problem.
“Goodbye, Jimmy,” I said, turning away. I had more important places to be, and I didn’t think for a minute that Christoff wouldn’t follow through on his promise to leave me behind. His wife was in danger; time was something he couldn’t afford to waste.
“Quinn,” Jimmy barked. “Quinn!”
I left the detective yelling my name in the hospital lobby.
And never looked back.
I frowned, studying the mechanic’s garage in Brookline that Robin’s directions had led us to. “Are ye sure this is the right place?” I asked, dubiously.
The garage in question was a large one, but privately owned— definitely not one of the chains I was used to seeing around town. Bizarrely, however, there wasn’t a car in sight. The bay doors were closed, the lights off. I couldn’t see any movement inside from where we were; Hilde had pulled us over a quarter-mile down the road. Unfortunately, getting closer wasn’t really an option, especially if the werebears we were after were in there. We couldn’t risk them smelling us until we were right on top of them.
“This is right place,” Christoff replied, before Robin could answer me. He pointed to a bit of graffiti sprayed above one of the windows. “That sign is from home, it means is safe place for Russian operatives. This area is known for such things. Every major city in the United States has one or two of these buildings, just in case.”
“Really?” I asked. “And here I thought the Cold War ended when the wall fell.”
Christoff grunted. “War is way of world. It does not end because you give it different name. Now, how will we go in?”
“I’ll take point,” Hilde said. “Lead with the badge. I doubt they’ll try to mow us down in broad daylight.”
“Do not be so sure,” Christoff advised. “If they see an opportunity, they will take shot. Bodies can always be taken care of, afterwards. And, in this neighborhood, no one will ask questions.”
Hilde frowned. “Then what do you suggest?”
Christoff studied the garage, then glanced over at me. “I have idea. But you will not like.”
Christoff was right. I didn’t like his idea. In fact, I hated it. But, after he’d explained it to me, I could at least see the logic of it. Eventually, pressed for time and with no other alternatives, I’d agreed. Which was how I found myself behind the wheel of Hilde’s giant pedophile van, staring at the bay door Christoff had insisted I approach. I honked, pressing the heel of my palm into the steering wheel for a solid ten seconds before finally releasing it.
A man, hands cupped over his face to block out the glare, looked my way, then disappeared. By now, I figured they should have recognized either me, or the van, or both. Of course, it was also possible that—if their noses were as sharp as Christoff claimed— they’d already smelled the older Russian man, who was trussed up and gagged at the rear of the van. Either way, I was betting their curiosity would overwhelm their caution. After all, what threat did the two of us represent to a group of armed, werebear soldiers?
The bay door raised as if in answer to my question. Six men poured out of the opening, each toting a rifle identical to the one I’d left at Callie’s. A seventh, dressed in a polo and jeans, ran outside with a sign that read “Closed for Filming.”
Well, weren’t they just clever as all hell? Any passersby would think they were witnessing a film production, not an armed assault.
A rap on my window drew my attention away from the seventh man. I turned to find the barrel of a rifle aimed at my face. The man holding it made a lowering motion with the muzzle, which I took to mean he wanted me to lower the window.
I did as he asked, cranking it down.
“Turn off engine,” the man said, his accent at least as heavy as Christoff’s, if not more.
I did that, as well.
“Step out with hands on head,” he said.
I opened the door, put my hands on my head, and propped it open with my foot long enough to slide out of the driver’s seat. As the man with the gun patted me down, I watched as the seventh man wheeled out a massive, Hollywood-style camera and set it beside the sign. The man with the gun nodded to his companions, who each assumed a pose of relative ease.
One even lit a cigarette.
“Is easy to carry guns in your country,” the man said, catching my expression. “Pretend to be actor and is easier still. Now, what have you brought us and why?”
“I brought the man you’re lookin’ for,” I replied.
“Yes, we can smell him. But this is not answer.” He leaned up against the van and pressed his ear to the metal. “I can hear his heartbeat. He is worried. This is good.”
“We didn’t realize who, or what, he was,” I said, my lie prepared in advance.
“Who is we?” the man asked.
“The Chancery.”
The man cocked an eyebrow and motioned one of his men over, speaking in Russian. His companion nodded. “Da, Kapitán,” he said, then hopped into the driver seat.
“One of your people killed two of my men. Are you prepared to pay off his debt?” the Russian Captain asked.
“That’s why we brought the bear to ye. To make amends. The Chancery doesn’t want a fight but is happy to remind ye that ye can’t go around causin’ trouble in Boston without expectin’ to pay a price. We’re even.”
The man scowled but seemed to accept the warning for what it was. “And what about children? I do not hear their heartbeats.”
I frowned. “Why would ye want the wee ones?”
“Consider it international property rights issue,” the man said, smirking. “The bear, as you say, took with him Russian property. It is possible his children will have inherited this also. This cannot be.”
The van shook a little as Christoff rolled, clearly enraged to hear they planned to come after his children, as well. The Captain banged on the side of the van. “This was choice you made, Alexei!” He turned back to me. “So, will you give them to us?”
I pretended to think a
bout it while I planned my next move. Much of Christoff’s plan had depended on us getting inside the garage, but so far, the Captain and his men had no reason to take our conversation somewhere else; unless an unusually suspicious cop cruised by, I doubted anyone would do much more than snap a few photos, given the sign and the camera.
So, I decided to improvise.
“Aye, but I’ll have to make a call. Not out here in the open, though. I don’t want me picture taken and tied to this t’ing,” I said, only partially lying.
The man glanced out at the quiet street, shrugged, and gestured to his subordinate. “Very well, we will wait inside,” the Captain said. His subordinate turned the engine over and pulled the van into the garage. The rest of the men filed back inside, including the soldier masquerading as a film crew member. The Russians spread out without a word, covering the entrances and exits, patrolling the windows and sighting through the bay doors. I realized Christoff had been right; even with Hilde at the helm, we’d never have made it anywhere near the garage.
Not that their vigilance would do them any good, now that most of us were inside.
I pulled out my phone and pretended to put in a few numbers, keeping my ears peeled for any disturbance. According to the plan, the second anything went sideways, I was supposed to find cover, stay there, and let Christoff, Hilde, and Robin handle the rest. Bullets weren’t really a problem for them, after all. I, on the other hand, very much preferred all my blood to remain inside my body.
I heard a clang, then a grunt, and made for the back of the van.
Only to be stopped short by the Captain, who had a firm grip on my hair. My head whipped back, and I screamed in surprise. “Oh, I’m goin’ to kill ye!” I hissed, scrabbling at his hand to get him to let go.
“We found this one below,” the driver of the truck called. He had his pistol out and pressed up against Robin’s temple. “As you say, he dropped down from undercarriage.”
I cringed. That had been part of Christoff’s plan; sneak Robin in and let him fall below into the pit operation area that sat below the car. From there, he could work his way around and surprise them from behind. Had something we’d done tipped them off? Or had they simply guessed our plan? At this point it didn’t matter, I realized; we’d simply have to depend on Hilde to come and save the day.
The Captain I’d spoken to yanked on my hair again, drawing me close, and released his rifle, trading it for a pistol. He pressed it up under my chin. “You may be beautiful woman, but bad liar,” he said. “Now, come out, shield-maiden! You think we did not smell you also? If you do not come and play, I will shoot this woman. Or maybe I will shoot the fei,” he said, whipping the pistol around. “Is not so hard, finding iron bullets. Is not so good for gun, but,” he shrugged, “less good for him, I think.”
I struggled, trying to break free from the bastard’s grip, but all I ended up with was his gun in my face once more. “Enough, woman,” he said, then scanned the garage as if he might find Hilde hiding somewhere. For all I knew, he would; she’d claimed she had a different way of getting in, and none of us had doubted her enough to pry. “Very well,” he said. He swiveled his arm around and put two rounds in Robin’s chest.
The redcap fell to his knees. He coughed, once, blood spilling from his mouth into his beard, and fell over. I was so shocked, I didn’t even scream. I waited, breathlessly, for the redcap to rise and strike back. But if the man wasn’t lying, and he really had shot Robin with iron bullets…
The soldier who caught Robin leaned down and tested the redcap’s pulse. “Gone,” he said.
The van shook again, and Christoff’s primal roar tore through the garage. The tires sunk as the weight of a small, muscular man became that of an enormous bear. The man who had hold of my hair grunted and barked out a command in Russian. Three of his soldiers turned and began firing into the van while the rest angled away from the trajectory of the incoming bullets. I tried to cover my ears and watched in horror as dozens of holes began peppering the side of the van, Christoff’s agonized roars almost inaudible beneath the sound of machine gun fire.
Blood dribbled along the van’s seams, pooling over the fender. Nothing moved inside. Two of the shooters broke off, preparing to open the doors, while the third lined up a kill shot, just in case. They threw the doors open, and I held my breath, prepared to see Christoff take their heads off. But he didn’t. The three men lowered their guns, not at all threatened by whatever they saw inside the van.
I dropped to my knees. The man released my hair and put his gun against the back of my skull. “Silver bullets, much better. Easier to buy, and better for rifle,” the man admitted. “Tell us, do you think she ran away, your friend?” he asked, sniffing the air, but then his eyes brightened. His eyes shot to the ceiling an instant before Hilde, in full armor, came crashing through the windows above. Shards of glass large enough to impale someone rained down to the floor as she soared above us, wings outstretched. For one, shining moment, I knew we could come out of this in one piece—if I could get to Robin and Christoff in time to pull the metal from their bodies, they might stand a chance. A slim one, but still.
But then I saw Hilde’s head snap back as a round from a sniper rifle took her in the temple, where her armor was lightest. The rest of the men took advantage of her distraction, turning as one to fire dozens of rounds at her wings, shredding them to pieces in the process. The Valkyrie screamed, crashing to the ground, but managed to roll and slice off one of the werebear soldier’s legs with her blade as she did so. She shield-bashed another, sending them flying into the van to land in a heap on the floor. Bullets flew, careening off her armor, but also clipping her flesh, which steamed wherever the silver bullets struck. The sniper, an eighth soldier nested in the corner of the room beneath a tarp, loosed another round that took Hilde in the throat.
The Valkyrie dropped her sword and pinned a hand over her neck to stop the fount of blood, her shield protecting her upper body from another spray of bullets. She took a step towards me, but slipped in a pool of her own fluids, falling to one knee. Her shield arm drooped, and eventually fell, as she slid sideways and toppled into one of the pits. The soldiers lined the edges and unloaded like a firing squad, their spent cartridges ringing like pennies hitting the pavement as they hit the ground.
I couldn’t believe it. We’d…lost. Epically. My eyes hovered on Robin’s back, then flicked to the van, and finally to the pit. I fell forward onto all fours, my breath coming in gasps. How? How could we have let this happen? I clenched my hands into fists, burrowing into my own skin with my nails. I had to get up. To do something. If I didn’t move soon, I knew I was going to die, too.
“Now,” the man said, crouching down next to me, “you are only one alive. Tell us, where can we find the children?”
I felt something inside me break, then. A part of me I’d felt shatter before—I could still feel my hands on Jimmy’s lifeless chest, pressing over and over again as if CPR could save a man without a throat. It was the part of me that refused to lose. The part that didn’t want to share, especially with death. I turned, leveling my gaze at the man in charge, prepared to free the power I always knew was hiding, deep inside me.
The power that had been locked away.
But, in an instant, time stopped.
Chapter 31
Then, time spun backwards.
I could feel it whipping about me, somehow, pulling at me through my belly button the way that woman’s voice had when she’d commanded me to leave. The instant I thought about her, I realized my wrist burned; the bracelet I’d been given had become scorching hot. I clutched at my singed flesh, gritting my teeth, but the pain fled before I could cry out, and a single drop of liquid silver hit the ground, sizzling. I stared at it, watching as it cooled, its shape warping and twisting. Slowly at first, then faster, until suddenly a chrome-covered crow no bigger than a pinball leapt off the floor and soared away, squawking.
And left me standing next to the Captain, wh
o waited for me to follow him into the garage as the van—no longer bullet-riddled—pulled forward into the bay, for the second time. I took a half-step forward, then shuffled back. What had just happened? I reached up and brushed the top of my head, which no longer stung from having my hair so viciously pulled. And there, visible in the corner of the room, was the sniper I hadn’t noticed before, sighting through his scope at the windows above.
I glanced down at my wrist, which ached, and saw that the bracelet looked exactly as it had before. Except for one thing: it was missing a crow. I only counted two, now. Wait a goddamned minute…
My bracelet…had turned back time?
I struggled to remember what the woman from my vision quest had said about the crows, about anything really, but I’d been too busy trying to figure out who she was to really listen to her advice.
“Is there problem?” the Captain asked.
I flinched, eyes wide as I stared at him, still trying to come to grips with what I was seeing and hearing—the past, but not. The Captain brought the gun to his shoulder, instinctively, reacting to whatever it was he saw on my face. I took a deep breath, then shook my head. “No,” I said, “no problem. I ate somethin’ that didn’t agree with me, earlier, that’s all.” I patted my stomach. “D’ye have a bathroom in there I could use, by chance?”
The man pursed his lips but lowered his weapon. “No. Is for employees, only.”
“Well, that’s rude,” I said, brushing past him to enter the bay right as the man driving the van pulled in. I slid up against the vehicle, fetched my phone out of my pocket, and let it slip out of my fingers right as he stepped out. The driver bent down on reflex and snatched the phone up off the ground, prepared to hand it back to me. Because that’s the funny thing about social graces; we all have them—even trained killers.
Which was what I was counting on.
The instant he bent over, I reached out, plucked the pin on the hand grenade I’d seen dangling from his belt when he’d held Robin at gunpoint, and shoved him into the pit where Hilde had been killed.
Old Fashioned_Phantom Queen_Book 3_A Temple Verse Series Page 19