by Dannika Dark
Patrick rocked with laughter. “Our hackers have shut them down numerous times, and they’re always back in business within the hour. Ah, the stories I could tell…”
The conversation interested Shepherd, but not enough to distract him from Patrick’s offer. And furthermore, his mind was returning to a dark place he’d spent years trying to rise out of the ashes from, just as the phoenix tattoo on his right arm and shoulder depicted. The elaborate tattoo spread from his upper chest all the way across to his back, covering his skin like a cloak.
Shepherd studied the tip of his cigarette, which had burned more than halfway down to the filter. This could be his one opportunity to avenge a death, but at what cost? How much information was he willing to hand over to Patrick?
“All I need is a name,” Patrick continued. “I don’t require an explanation, not unless you don’t know the name.”
Patrick was good at reading people, so Shepherd mashed the tip of his cigarette against the plate and ironed out his emotions. “How do I know you won’t change your mind and use this against me?”
“You don’t. All I can give you is my word. If you walk out, the offer is null and void. That’s the condition.”
Shepherd took off his jacket and rested his forearms on the table. This was a personal offer and had nothing to do with Viktor. Even though Viktor had given Shepherd another shot at making his life worth a damn, he knew he’d never be able to move on until he permanently shut the door to his past. Maybe everyone else in the group had tucked their past into a tidy little box, but he still had nightmares that held him with a viselike grip.
Patrick kept his eyes locked on Shepherd. “Come now, every man has demons.”
“I don’t have a name. If I did, it would be written on a tombstone by now.”
Patrick relit his cigar. “What can you tell me?”
“He’s a Mage.” Just saying the word aloud filled Shepherd with a cold sense of dread, as if a dark shadow were swirling within his chest. “Shoulder-length black hair, a full beard—looks like a damn pirate.”
Patrick puffed on his cigar. “Any distinguishing features? Men change their looks all the time.”
Shepherd thought about it. That man’s eyes were seared into his memory, and he’d searched the streets for years for those same eyes. But that wasn’t detailed enough. “He had a red burn on the base of his throat, coming up from his chest.”
Patrick furrowed his brow. “You mean a scar.”
Shepherd lifted his eyes to meet Patrick’s gaze. “It wasn’t a scar. It was bright red.”
Recognition flashed in Patrick’s eyes, and he nodded. “A firemark. I believe they call those… ah, yes. Port-wine stains. That should make him easy to find.”
“Not if he’s covering it up. He was wearing a high-collar shirt. I only saw it because…” Shepherd pressed his lips tight as the memories crept into his mind again. He’d noticed the birthmark while fighting for his life against another Mage who’d shocked him twice over. Once the stabbing began, the Mage with the birthmark removed his shirt, saying he didn’t want to ruin it with all the blood. “He also has green eyes.”
Patrick enjoyed his cigar and studied the tip for a long time before responding. “What was his crime?”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“Just curious. Is he the one who put those scars on your arms?”
Shepherd leaned back. Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake.
Mr. Bane stood up and faced his ostentatious painting. “When was the last time you saw him? Was it here in Cognito? I need to know where to begin searching and whether enough time has elapsed that he might have changed his appearance.”
“About five years ago.” Shepherd stood up and walked behind his chair, resting his arms across the back. “He might be long gone by now. I spent years searching. I don’t search anymore, but let’s just say there isn’t a place I go where I’m not looking at everyone around me to see if they have his eyes.”
Patrick turned around and mirrored Shepherd’s stance, his arms over the back of a chair. “I can’t imagine a man crossing paths with someone like you. He’d be a fool to try. Some people are easy to run over and control, but others… You can see it in their eyes that if you do them a bad turn, they’ll never let it go. That fire is a dangerous thing.” He clicked his teeth together.
“I want him alive.”
“That’s a mighty high request. I can’t add conditions to the favor, or it becomes impossible to honor without risk. I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t be transporting people around.”
“Yeah, but—”
“There’s nothing you need to worry about, Mr. Moon. I think we’ve struck a fair bargain, and I’ll be sure to let you know when I’ve held up my end of the deal. It might not be enough, but it’s the best I can do.”
The door squeaked open, and Raven poked her head in. “I found your phone. I’ll be in the car.”
After the door closed, Shepherd collected his jacket and held it in one hand. “I’d appreciate if you kept this between us.”
Patrick approached him and clapped his shoulder. “Likewise. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll walk away. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but not at the expense of my reputation. You seem like a man I can trust. So am I, Mr. Moon. I’ve always been fair to those I’ve worked with, even my own idiot progeny who ruined every opportunity I’d given him.”
Shepherd nodded, feeling Patrick’s sincerity through his touch.
Patrick withdrew his hand. “I know we’re only acquaintances, but if you ever want to talk about what happened, I’m a good listener. I can’t profess to having any skills as a Relic to counsel you, but sometimes it’s cathartic to unload on a person who won’t judge you for it. Otherwise, that pain will eat away at your soul.”
Shepherd’s heavy breath bordered on a laugh. “You’re assuming I still have one.”
Chapter 9
Shortly after surviving the dinner from turtle hell, Shepherd and I accepted Claude’s invitation and headed over to Club Nine to join them. I needed a stiff drink. The sandwiches Patrick served me were fine, but I had a feeling I was going to be having nightmares about all that slurping Shepherd had done with his soup. During dessert, a beep had sounded from beneath the table, and Shepherd noticed his phone was missing. When they lifted the tablecloth to look beneath, the little boy scampered out the door with Shepherd’s phone in hand. I followed behind Patrick and decided chasing the kid would give me an excuse to stretch my legs. Mr. Bane seemed like a nice guy, but the whole dinner scene made me incredibly uncomfortable. Choosing this life meant I was going to have to be more of a social butterfly, like it or not.
And this butterfly needed a shot of tequila.
We searched the club until I spotted Gem’s violet hair in the limbo room. I didn’t care for limbo’s ambiance. Nothing about the color scheme was remotely gold. Yellow lights splashed against the brick walls, and the upholstered furniture was a lemony color that was off-putting in such a dark club.
I approached the table by the wall and took a seat on the yellow stool. “What’s shakin’?”
Claude and Gem sat across from me, plates of food in the center of the table.
“Are you done with that?”
Gem flicked her gaze down to the uneaten sliders and then up to me. “My eyes are bigger than my stomach. You can have the rest if you want, but I thought you two ate already?”
“That’s a long story.”
Shepherd finally swaggered up and spun a chair around before sitting to my left. A cigarette dangled from his lips, and he grinned. “I think I know what I’m cooking on my week in the kitchen.” He drew his arms against his chest and made a paddling motion with his hands.
I bit into the cold burger and moaned. Greasy bacon and beef really hit the spot. Mr. Bane’s sandwiches were good, but most of them had been bread and veggies, the meat shaved so thinly that a gust of wind could have blown it away.
“Good to see that appetite,
” Claude said. “You could use some meat on your bones.”
I caught Gem nodding at someone behind me, but she was trying to be discreet about it. I glanced over my shoulder at a waitress in a red shirt who was talking to another girl in a yellow top. The staff here matched their shirt to the rooms they worked, so the girl with the red top stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Find out anything?” Shepherd asked.
Claude propped his elbows on the table. “Dead end.” He took another swig from his beer and set it down.
Shepherd reached out and grabbed the bottle. “You mind?”
Gem’s eyes flicked behind me again. When I peered over my shoulder, the waitress looked at Shepherd and shook her head.
Shepherd guzzled the entire bottle and then stared at it. “What the hell are you lying to me about?”
Claude snatched his bottle away. “Since when did you start reading my emotions?”
He delivered a stony glare. “Since I tasted your beer and felt a fucking lie on my fingertips. What’s going on?”
Gem held her crystal pendant in one hand and shared a look with Claude. “Let’s tell them.”
I took off my coat and let it drape to the floor. “Tell them what?”
Gem fiddled with her hair. “The waitress saw a suspicious guy talking to Jennifer before she was fired, and he had a tattoo on the back of his neck.”
Shepherd’s jaw set. “So you thought I had something to do with this? Jesus. I need something stronger.” He launched to his feet and stalked off.
“Wait! It’s not—” Gem touched her upper lip, a look of uncertainty on her face.
I tugged on my fingerless gloves. The material was thin enough to be comfortable inside. “Did Jennifer know the guy, or was it an ex?”
Gem shrugged and put her hands in her lap. “A waitress said she got in trouble for talking to him a few times and ignoring her customers. She didn’t remember what kind of design was on his neck. Claude and I just thought…”
I laughed. “I’ve seen a dozen guys with tats on the back of their neck, and you go and accuse Shepherd. Maybe we should take our drinks over to the treachery room and finish this conversation.”
“He doesn’t have to be such a grump about it,” she declared. “If someone had described her talking to a girl with violet eyes, I’m sure Shepherd would have suspected me.”
I pushed the plate away, suddenly full. “Well, a neck tattoo narrows it down. Something we can keep an eye out for. If he’s been in here more than once, he might be a regular. Did she remember anything else about him?”
Gem shrugged. “She sees a hundred faces a night; I’m surprised she remembered that much. Alas, we’re back to square one.”
Claude scratched his chin. “Her whole life was in that car, and the Regulators didn’t find anything useful. All we can do is hope the baby turns up,” he said, hinting toward the black market offers that Wyatt was researching.
“How are we going to link that person to the one who broke into her car?”
He bent forward, menace flickering in his eyes. “Because I own his scent.”
Gem leaned against Claude, and it seemed to pacify him. She was a girl with a small frame, her features so unique that she looked like a fairy who’d stepped out of a storybook. Around her dark lashes, her skin sparkled with flecks of silver glitter. When she smiled, her cheeks glowed. And while she had a small mouth, her lips were full with the subtlest Cupid’s bow.
Claude put his arm around her and tilted his head down. “Are you ready to go home? I think we’re done here.”
I snorted. “So you just invited us over to get the waitress to ID Shepherd?”
“I’m never living this down, am I?” Gem scooted out of her seat. “Never, never! I’m going to hear about this for the next fifty years.”
Claude stood up and stretched. “Join the club. I still have to hear about the time I streaked through a supermarket.”
Gem chortled. “That wasn’t the funny part.”
He speared her with a hot glare as he put on his jacket.
“Tell me,” I said.
She poked her tongue between her teeth, a wide grin on her face. “He shielded his manlies with a box of Trix cereal.”
“They’re definitely not for kids,” he added. “Do you want a ride home?”
“Shepherd’s already hammered. I can’t leave him with the Jeep, so I’m the designated driver.”
“Don’t let him drink too much. See you at home.”
After they left, I switched seats to face the room and sent Christian a message.
Raven: Want to meet up for drinks?
Christian: The last time we drank, I lost a bet.
Raven: You’re missing out. Gem accused Shepherd of being the killer.
Christian: Better I stay at my bar and you stay at yours.
I wanted to tell him Shepherd was acting weird, but I let the conversation end.
My thoughts drifted back to dinner. That little kid was a good hider. I’d used my Mage ability to track down his energy, even though it was faint since he wasn’t a Mage. But he sparkled. Those intense emotions of happiness fluttered in the air like particles of light falling off a sparkler. He’d figured out how to take pictures, because he snapped one of me. I made a mental note to remind Shepherd to erase that picture.
And speaking of the devil, I watched Shepherd stumble to the table with half a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He filled each one, and even though I wasn’t a whiskey drinker, I accepted the offer.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked, noticing his change in demeanor. “Did you and Mr. Bane have a stimulating conversation tonight?”
He downed his entire glass and immediately refilled it. Shepherd was a big guy, just over six feet tall, and I was willing to bet I could bounce quarters off his biceps. He kept rubbing his hand across his short hair, his eyes squinty and not fixed on any one thing.
Shepherd gave me a refill and held up his glass. “To demons.”
Our glasses clinked together, and I took a small sip. “Is something bothering you?”
He lit up a cigarette and stared up at the wall behind me. “No matter what you do, the past always catches up with you. You wake up, brush your teeth, do heroic shit, make a sandwich, day after day after fucking day. Then all of a sudden, bam!” His fist slammed against the table and made me jump. “Resolve whatever shit you’ve got to resolve while you’re young.”
I set down my glass. “Easier said than done.”
He pointed at me, pupils dilated. “Truer words were never spoken.”
Shepherd’s speech was slurring more than usual. He liked drinking, but I’d never seen him this inebriated before. I wasn’t sure if something had triggered his drinking episode or if the alcohol had caused an old wound to reopen, but I knew that look. I’d been in that dark place where the only way to survive was to ignore or dull the pain.
Shepherd refilled his glass. “I used to be a nice guy. I could have been that guy.” He pointed at a table where a couple was sitting. “Guys like that don’t have a fucking clue what they have right in front of them. They just wake up and think their life is perfect.”
I remained quiet so he could have a moment to ramble. Even if his thoughts weren’t cohesive, he clearly needed to get something off his chest.
“Happiness is an optical illusion.”
“Maybe we should go home, where we can drink for free,” I suggested. “Give me your keys.”
He slowly shook his head. “Nobody drives my Jeep. I don’t need anyone stripping the gears. Paid good money.”
“Well, I could always call Viktor to come pick you up.”
A look of resignation crossed his face. Shepherd’s hands disappeared beneath the table as he leaned to the left, then to the right. He furrowed his brow. “I just had them on me.”
I searched around the table and on the floor. “Where did you go earlier?”
He pointed left, then right, then made a circle in the air.
>
While Shepherd filled up his glass and continued rambling about demons, I sent a message to Gem. She quickly replied and said Claude had to take another route because of an accident, so I decided not to trouble them. They were close to home and probably tired after a long night of questioning people in the bar. Christian was being antisocial, Niko was blind, and I wasn’t sure if Blue could drive. So I messaged Wyatt since he was Shepherd’s partner.
Wyatt gladly accepted, obviously eager to get out of the house. When I finished our conversation, I looked up, and Shepherd was gone.
Voices overlapped, and techno music thumped from the main room by the bar. I scanned the room. When I saw a neck tattoo, I stood up to go get him, but as I neared, I realized it wasn’t a lover’s knot like the one Shepherd had on the back of his neck. I turned in a circle, and my eyes widened when I spotted Shepherd sitting at a table, his arm around the man he’d pointed out just moments ago in his drunken stupor. Across from them was a very confused woman.
As I neared, their conversation became audible.
“You need to worship the ground she walks on,” Shepherd said, his anger barely quelled. “Men like you don’t deserve what you’ve got. Are you going to make her pay for her own drink? Are you one of those assholes?”
“I think you need to take a walk,” the man said. Thankfully he wasn’t a Vampire or Mage, but was insulted nonetheless.
I put my hands on Shepherd’s shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. “Let’s go. Wyatt’s coming to hang out with us. Maybe we should check out the gluttony room and order sandwiches. Or would you rather have turtle soup?”
Shepherd ignored my quips and tightened his arm around the man’s neck. “Infidelity isn’t your worst nightmare, brother.”
The young man wrenched away, and his chair legs scraped against the floor as he stood up. Fire burned in his eyes as he gave Shepherd a scathing glance. He was nowhere near the same size—just a young man with prescription glasses and a blue tie. Probably a Relic or Shifter if I had to guess, though glasses were less common among Shifters since most Breeds didn’t suffer the same degenerative afflictions as humans.