Great. Just… great. Dried blood crackled on my skin, but my hair was still wet from rain.
"Every time I talk to him I feel slimy." She shuddered, a movement I could sense without looking. The shields shivered too, responding. "I don't know how you stand it."
I don't. Not very well, at least. I'm so scared he's going to get in, Galina. The more he plays with my head, the better he gets at taking me apart.
The better he got at that, the more dangerous it was for me and everyone I protected. "I don't stand for much.
Thanks for bringing me in." I closed my eyes, tried to relax my shoulders. They wouldn't go down, tight and taut and aching.
The faucet started to gurgle. Was she refilling the bowl? She wouldn't be able to dab much more blood off me with just the one washcloth. "I had to," she said quietly. "We can't afford to lose you."
I took refuge in bleak humor. "I'd hate to be lost." Thunder boomed again, the storm slacking despite the massive disturbance of the roused Sanctuary shields that had contributed to the instability of the weather pattern. You can always tell when a Sane gets pissed off, it gets rainy over their little castles.
"Seriously, Jill. Perry was just up the street, I sensed him as soon as I hit my doorstep. He was standing around, waiting."
I lifted my head, bracing my chin on both hands and slumping in the chair. She shut the water off, brought the bowl to the table, and dipped the washcloth in again.
"Up the street?" I turned this over in my head and got exactly nowhere with it, again. He was waiting. If he knew Cenci was waiting here too . . .
What the fuck is going on?
"I wonder if he was going to ride in to save you." Her touch was gentle as she sponged at the crusted blood along my hairline. "Or if he lured you down here in the first place."
Me too. My face wrinkled up, hard. I tasted blood and the sourness of failure. "Thank you. I was trying not to think that out loud."
"Just one more service I provide. You want something to eat?"
"More rum, if you've got it." I finally succeeded in pushing my shoulders down a little, unstringing the nervous tension in them. "Then I've got to go home. I'm calling it a day."
Chapter Twenty-two
My pager was battered and busted despite its padded pocket. The lightning hadn't helped; even insulated electronics can have a little problem when you start messing around with potential-paths in thunderstorms. I had a spare at home, courtesy of the Santa Luz Police department, and I needed more ammo anyway.
And—I'll admit it—I was feeling a little shaky.
Cancel that. A lot shaky.
I pulled through silver curtains of rain into the garage, was out of the car in a heartbeat, and walked through the utility room. It felt good to be home, for the first five seconds.
Then I realized entire place was buzzing and resounding. Unhappy Weres will do that.
I didn't blame them for being upset. If they'd lost the rogue they were likely to be a little more than upset. They'd be downright cranky. Which meant more food. It's a wonder they weren't all butterballs. Damn Weres.
Of course, their metabolisms run high and hot, like mine, and the change is metabolically expensive. I just had a hellbreed scar working on forcing my body to heal fast enough to stand up to the abuse I was taking.
I was hanging up my coat when I discovered they were arguing, and not quietly either. The acoustics of my home are good for a reason, I like to know when even a roach is scuttling in the walls.
Not that I have a roach problem. Sorcery is occasionally a practical thing.
"How am I going to tell your mother this?" Harp's voice, raised as it seldom was, edged like an axe and flung at someone.
"You won't have to." Saul Dustcircle's tone was quieter, but no less sharp. I hadn't heard this particular tone from him before, and I was glad of it. "I am not a kit, Harper. I'll tell her my damn self, like I should."
"What are you going to do?" Harp hit a pitch usually only reserved for a screaming-meemie fit at Dominic during a bad stakeout or shadowing. I couldn't remember ever hearing her sound this upset, even that time they came out to help Mikhail deal with the hellbreed who used to run Santa Luz.
The one who had declared it open season on Weres, and did his best to turn the barrio into a death-hole. I hadn't been allowed out onto the streets during that, since I'd barely started my training. But I'd heard plenty, and seen enough of it to fill in most of the blanks afterward—especially in my nightmares.
Saul's voice, again. "I'm going to do what I should, for once. Don't push it, Smith. I've made up my mind."
"You're a stubborn, arrogant, self-centered—"
I came around the corner out of the utility room to find Dominic leaning against the wall in the short hallway. His hair was pulled back into its leather-wrapped club, but a single tendril fell in his face, a sure sign of exhaustion. He nodded and laid one long finger over his lips, then made a pushing-down motion with his hand.
In other words, stay out of this one, Jill. It's Harp on the rampage again.
"That's enough." I almost didn't recognize Saul's voice. A touch of growl to it shook the walls and rattled the ikon of the Virgin hung in the hall, a gift to Mikhail from Father Gui over at Sacred Grace Seminary. I'd only heard this tone from a Were once or twice, usually an alpha snarling at a pack member who'd stepped out of line in a big way. "I didn't ask for your editorial. I did not ask you what you thought. I told you what I'm going to do, and that's final. I'm of age, I'm legal, and I've made up my goddamn mind. End of story."
Harp changed tactics. "Your sister—"
"Don't you dare." Saul's whisper was more effective than a shout. "Don't bring the dead into the business of the living. You know better."
Dominic saw his moment and took it. "Hey, Jill." He didn't have to say it very loudly, they all probably knew I was here. That's the drawback to good acoustics; everyone knows when I'm at home.
Unless, of course, I don't want them to.
I folded my arms to disguise the way my hands were shaking. Dried blood crackled in my hair and along my hairline as I lifted an eyebrow. "Heard the rogue slipped through."
"Only a matter of time. Weres are patrolling the entire city. When we flush him again, it'll be the last run he'll ever have." His dark eyes traveled down my body, and his nostrils flared a little. "You look awful. What happened?"
He jerked a thumb at the end of the hall and lifted both eyebrows, an eloquently silent warning. Good old Dominic.
"Got tangled up with our rogue's girlfriend. Tossed her into a Sanctuary's window." With Perry waiting down the street, for some nefarious purpose, no doubt. I didn't mention that part. I also didn't mention that I'd been lured down there by one of them, and I wasn't sure yet which one.
Dominic actually laughed, a mellow, relaxed sound. He had a nice face, attractive in a strong-jawed way. His sidearm was briefly visible as he reached up to tuck the one stray strand of hair behind his ear, an absently graceful motion. "You have all the fun. I just ran my ass off after a rogue who seems to know how to disappear."
"Yeah, well, it's been rough all 'round today." I followed him out into the south end of the living room, wishing the house was empty so I could start shedding clothes. A shower sounded really good right about now. Along with a nap, and a case of Scotch—and a flamethrower to take care of some unruly hellbreed.
Harp dropped down on my couch, pale with anger. Even the feathers in her hair seemed bleached, and they were slightly askew—just as shocking, in its way, as Dominic's mussed hair. They were both so contained and precise that the small imperfections blared like a bullhorn.
Saul, his arms crossed over his chest, dropped his hands to his sides. His face was pale and drawn under his coppery coloring, and his eyes were live coals, more like a cat's than I'd seen before. He looked literally spitting mad as he glared at Harp, and I had the sudden mental image of a housecat with every hair on end, eyeing a dog.
Since they were both f
eline Weres, the image was even funnier.
I managed not to laugh. But it was a close call.
Saul's eyes met mine, and the entire world stopped for a moment.
It was still there. That electric sense of contact, as if he knew something about me. Saw something about me, something nobody—even Mikhail—had ever bothered to look for.
It wasn't fair. What gave him the right to look at me like that?
"You okay?" Saul's gaze didn't move, but he would have had to be blind not to see that I'd been dipped in blood and air-dried, then dumped in again and run through a downpour once or twice.
Rain beat at the roof, splashing and overflowing the gutters. We would have flash floods out in the desert, and maybe a brief blossoming. Greased ball bearings of thunder fell through the roulette wheels in the sky. Maybe God was gambling with human lives again, hoping for a better turnout.
"Been worse." I seemed to have lost most of my breath. I wish he'd stop staring at me like that. "You?"
"Been better." The corner of his mouth quirked up. I could feel it in my own lips.
Oh, yeah. Something strange is going on here. I got a good deep breath in. We looked at each other. I could almost feel a taut line humming between us—me leaning back away from the connection, him shifting slightly to lean forward, pursuing it.
"You hungry?" The fur had gone down, and his tone softened.
I still got the idea that wasn't what he was really asking.
"I could do with a bite." I didn't look away. I got the idea that wasn't what I'd really answered.
"I'm on it." He turned sharply on his heel, his coat flaring briefly open. Stopped. Swung back, as if he'd forgotten something. "I'm glad you're all right," he said, abruptly. Like a challenge.
Not now. Don't pick a fight with me now. "Me too." I could have slapped myself, it was such a stupid answer. I was trying to be conciliatory, a new skill for me. "I'm glad you're okay, too. I mean. Yeah."
Who said you couldn't teach an old hunter new tricks?
Dominic made a slight muffled noise. When I swung around to look at him he wore an angel's innocent face, his mouth pressed down tamely and his eyes roaming away, searching for something to fix on.
"You two." Harp leaned back on the couch, the curve of her throat exposed and her arm flung over her eyes. A single feather fluttered out of her hair, came to rest on the orange Naugahyde, and I suffered a deep acute flash of shame for the shabbiness of my house. "Can we please have some answers here? What the fuck is going on?"
Just like the forensic techs; she didn't deal well with this kind of uncertainty either.
I took a deep breath. Saul's eyes were very deep, very dark, and quiet.
I dropped the bomb. "I saw Cenci, at Galina's. She didn't initially try to shoot me." That got me everyone's attention and a full ten seconds of silence, which I broke by dropping the other shoe. "I think she might need help.
I think she and the rogue are together, and I have it on good authority that the 'breed female's pregnant. She might be carrying a hybrid."
Chapter Twenty-three
Harp shook her head. "I don't believe it. It's not possible."
What's that Sherlock Holmes thing about the impossible? "It's only a theory." I gulped another mouthful of scorching amber alcohol. The smell of chicken frying wafted under the green oily curtain of rain and the ozone of lightning strikes. "You've got to admit, it fits better than anything else we've got. It also explains why Navoshtay's hot to trot out here and drag her home personally. I hear he's big into experimentation."
We were at the breakfast bar. Saul moved around the kitchen, each step graceful as a dance. He'd shed his coat, and I tried not to watch the movement of muscle under his black T-shirt.
Harp knocked back her glass of Jim Beam and frowned into the dregs. "Experimentation." She shuddered, mussed feathers quivering in her glossy hair. "Someone should kill that son of a bitch."
Yeah, someone should. But right now he's further down on my list than you'd think. "It's been tried. Several times.
Not very successfully, I might add."
"Why is he experimenting? And for what? A hybrid? Assuming that's even possible, genetically speaking."
Dominic set his beer down, stretched his hands out with fingers interlaced, stretching. His ponytail lay tame against his neck, raveling down his back now that it was free of the leather thongs.
"There's legends about Were females raped by 'breed." My mouth felt dry and clumsy, even mentioning it. "It could be Navoshtay's looking to find the truth of those legends."
"There is no truth to them." Harp moved, a sudden sharp twitch like an irritated cat. "Besides, we're human.
They're not."
"Still…" Dominic drummed his fingers on the counter, thoughtfully. "Navoshtay's a sadist. Who knows what his real reason is for this… experiment? Assuming it is one, and we're not just going down the garden path."
"Who knows why hellbreed do anything?" I muttered, staring into my glass. My eyes weren't focusing properly.
Exhaustion weighed down every limb.
"Hunters." Harp didn't sound mollified. If anything, she was sharper than ever.
If we knew that much, we wouldn't have people vanishing into the nightside. "Even the best hunter can only make an educated guess, Harp. Don't ride me." I reined in the flare of irritation. She didn't mean a word of it, she was just frustrated and probably as tired as me.
That got through to her. She sighed, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. I could smell the sharp iron-tang of dissatisfaction mixed with her peppery female musk. "I'm sorry. I just… we had him, and he slipped through our fingers. More people are going to die, and all I can do is sit around and wait.' ?
"A rogue Were runs on instinct. He shouldn't be this hard to predict or catch." Saul set a plate in front of me, and another in front of Harp. "Eat, both of you. Don't sharpen your claws on each other, they'll wear down."
I stared at the wheel of food in front of me. Fried chicken, new potatoes with rosemary, a small mountain of greens, and actual biscuits. I could smell the iron in the greens, craving waking up behind my palate. I'd lost a lot of blood.
Dominic made a small sound of pleasure as Saul handed him a plate.
Everyone blessedly shut up, which gave me a moment to think. We've got a rogue who isn't behaving, really, like a rogue should. We have a hellbreed covering his tracks and trying like hell to keep him away from Navoshtay—
not that I blame her. I wouldn't want my worst enemy trapped in one of Arkady's games.
Well, maybe Perry. That would be nice, and I would sleep a whole hell of a lot better. The colors on the plate blurred together as my eyes narrowed, both of them trying to pierce through time and matter to find the pattern, catch the rhythm and anticipate my opponent's next move.
Opponent? No. Prey.
Still, something was bothering me.
You're doing my father's dirty work… He's mine. Odd words for a hellbreed. Clarke swore she was pregnant, and swore he had it on good authority.
Pregnant with what? Another one of her father's experiments? Dark stories were whispered about Navoshtay, even darker than usual horror tales hunters like to swap. Most hunters are men, and love to bullshit endlessly over brewskis.
Stories about New York's oldest hellbreed were always whispered, though. Even Mikhail had referred to him as
"one scary motherfucker, milaya." Nobody wanted to talk much about Navoshtay. I was frankly surprised Clarke had called me back so soon.
If there's something a hunter won't talk directly about, you know it's bad news. Something a hunter won't mention unless it's daylight and the doors are bolted is the worst news around.
Pregnant with what?
Do I really want to know?
And who lured me down to Galina's, and why? Why is Navoshtay here to pick up his bastard daughter himself?
And last but certainly not least, why is she protecting the Were? That's what she's do
ing. It's the only way her actions make any shit-for-sense. The kaleidoscope of events shifted this way and that as I tried to figure out what the pattern was—or even where the blank parts in the pattern fell enough to give me a glimpse of the underlying cause of this whole huge mess.
Saul's voice broke my trance. "Jill? You don't like it?"
"Huh?" I surfaced, blinking irritably. My skin crawled with sweat, the residue of rain, and dried blood. I suddenly wanted a hot shower and a long uninterrupted thinking-session.
"I thought you'd probably like the chicken." He leaned on the counter, his dark eyes level with mine because he was bending down, hunching his broad shoulders. The silver bracelet lay tangled in one of his braids, winking wickedly at me, as if it knew a secret. "You look a little pale, kitten."
"Oh. No, I was just thinking."
The silver glittered, sharp darts of light. Why was he wearing it?
"About what?" he persisted.
Well, if you want to hear it out loud I might as well It might help me think. "About how this doesn't add up, any of it. All I have is one question after another, and the deeper I get the more weirdness crops up. By now I should be getting some answers, not more goddamn questions. Which can only mean one thing."
He nodded, took a hit off his beer. A Corona, and he'd even rubbed the mouth of the bottle with a slice of lime.
He'd make someone a fine wife someday. "What's that?"
"It means I'm barking up the wrong trees. It also means someone's lying to me." I picked up my fork, took a mouthful of butter-drenched potatoes. My God Weres can usually cook, but this is really good.
"Do you know who?"
I wish. The pattern still refused to make sense. "No. But I know what about."
"What about, then?" Soft, logical, reasonable, as if he'd done this before, giving me the questions to help me shape everything inside my head out loud.
I began with the central question. "About what exactly is going on between Cenci and this Were. Who doesn't even have a name yet, and that's another thing that bothers me. His kin should be looking for him too. You said the first murder was out in Massachusetts, but I'm willing to bet it wasn't. Harp, I need you to get on the horn with your boss and get them tracking all the kills following a certain profile."
Night Shift Page 18