Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)

by Colleen Gleason

  “Savina was calling for me?” he said, beginning to add a variety of objects—some innocent-looking, some clearly dangerous—in various place on his person. “Why would she be calling for me in particular?”

  “I don’t know. But she knew she wasn’t talking to you—that was clear. I think she was supposed to be giving you a message, but the person with her didn’t know someone else answered the phone. Which means the message wasn’t really specifically for you. It was for—”

  “I’m going,” he said flatly. “So we might as well be making a plan together and take advantage of the fact that we know more than the person on the other end of the phone line.”

  Macey hesitated, but then she nodded. She had to put her personal feelings aside—and anyway, he was right. He’d already proven how “dauntless” he was.

  “Savina said to come alone,” Macey warned.

  Grady began to pack a large duffel bag. “There are ways around that, lass. Where did you say this place was?”

  She tried to ignore the little offbeat thump of her heart when he called her “lass,” and told him the address. He called everyone “lass.” Even Savina.

  “I know the place.” He smiled. It was a grim one, steely and yet satisfied. “Just give me a minute while I check something.” He went over to the massive wall map of Chicago that hung on the wall and stared at it for a few minutes, tracing streets with his fingers, while Macey wrote a note to Max and Chas.

  When he was finished, Grady came over and scrawled a few sentences at the bottom of her note—“Telling them exactly where to find us”—and then she did something she never thought she’d do again: she drove off with Grady in his car.

  + + +

  “This isn’t the address she gave,” Macey said when Grady parked.

  In fact, the place they’d stopped was nowhere near the address Savina had given them. They were at a train yard that was long abandoned. Rusted-out locomotives and their cars sat unused on overgrown railways. A few decrepit buildings looked just as worse for wear. As Macey looked around, she saw two separate figures—tramps?—scuttling into the shadows.

  Her panic was growing. It was past seven thirty, and they weren’t anywhere near the place. She had to have time to get in, figure out what was going on…who even knew whether Flora would keep to the timeframe Savina had given. They didn’t have time to spare.

  “I know. But they’ll be watching the place, won’t they now? They’ll be making sure I come alone. We need to get you secretly inside before I make an appearance.”

  “Right.”

  That was the plan they’d agreed upon—well, that he’d insisted upon, and she hadn’t been able to argue him out of because it made sense. Grady would go in as if he’d received the message. But in the meantime, Macey would sneak in a different way and then… Well, they’d go from there. She’d find a way to take care of Flora once she saw what the woman had planned.

  “But we’re more than six blocks away, and on the other side of the street.” She looked around unhappily.

  Grady grinned as he yanked on the parking brake, and Macey’s heart did that sweet little ka-thump. For that instant, she saw the old Grady—the one who looked at her with laughing eyes. The one who knew her and loved her.

  Then the memory was gone—for the grin wasn’t directed at her. It was for the adventure about to come.

  “When you’re wanting to get into a building unnoticed,” he said coolly, “you have to look at it very differently than your average bloke. Even the architects who design the buildings…they don’t look at it the same way.”

  “All right.” She climbed out of the car and met him on the other side. “So…we’re approaching on foot, and going to sneak in somehow through a rear window?”

  “No.” He pointed to an old train tunnel as he slung a heavy bag over his shoulder. “We go in there.”

  “Ah.” She was beginning to see. “So we follow that underground…to where? There aren’t any train lines that run toward Delancey Street.”

  He was already walking across the street toward the building, his long legs leaving her behind. “You’re right about that. But there’s an underground creek that cuts across the block next to it. You see, the first rule of housebreaking is—you’re not using doors or windows. That’s for bloody pansies. And a sure way to find yourself apprehended.”

  His brogue had suddenly appeared, and he wore a crafty, intense expression Macey had never seen before. It was almost as if he’d become a different person, or taken on a different personality.

  “Housebreaking? So you have some experience with that, do you?” she asked, intrigued in spite of herself as she followed him into the musty old building.

  “Grew up making m’way into any number of fancy buildings that preferred to keep out the likes o’me.”

  He had a flashlight and turned it on to illuminate their way, and she saw a variety of creatures—from rats to spiders to a man dressed in ragged clothes—slinking into the darkness.

  To her surprise, Grady stopped and spoke to the man in ragged clothing. She saw their hands meet briefly as if Grady had handed him something, and she tried hard not to chafe at the delay.

  “Savina is in danger,” she reminded him. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

  “I’m not about wasting time,” he told her, continuing on his way down a ramp that led below the ground. “He’s doing me a favor. And we’ve got more than fifty-five minutes. Plenty of time.”

  Macey couldn’t argue with that, and she followed him along at a good clip. She had no difficulty keeping up with him, for she was wearing low-heeled shoes, dark trousers, and a dark sweater. Tellingly, he didn’t wait for her or even offer to help her along by taking her arm. He didn’t speak unnecessarily, or even look at her other than impersonally when he had something to say.

  True to his word, they followed the train tunnel only a few yards in before it became shorter and narrower.

  “I never would have known this existed,” she said when he led her deeper into the darkness where the passage became a more natural tunnel, with dirt ceiling and walls instead of brick.

  “I wasn’t completely certain until now,” he admitted, ducking a little. The contents in the bag over his shoulder made soft clinking and clanging noises as he shifted. “But the signs were there. You ever see a place on the street that always stays misty for longer than the areas around it, especially when there’s been no rain? It’s because there’s a creek running beneath it. If you’re knowing where the creeks and sewers are under a city, you’re already halfway into any building you want to be into.”

  Fascinating. Macey filed that bit of information away into the back of her mind. Venators tended to rely on brute strength, speed, and exemplary fighting skills—not to mention mundane things such as doors and windows—to make their way into a place with undead.

  They made their way along the creek quickly and efficiently, with both of them having to duck often, as well as brush away the occasional dangling root. Unlike sewers, or even underground railway tunnels, this passage smelled pleasant—like moist earth and vegetation. There were occasional twists and turns of the creek, and therefore of their route, due to man-made obstructions like the brick walls of random building foundations.

  It wasn’t long before Grady paused, checked his compass (which had appeared from the bag over his shoulder), and grunted something that sounded like “Here.”

  He’d stopped at a grimy, moss-covered wall and slung the bag from his back. Moments later, he’d withdrawn what looked like a stick of dynamite.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Macey asked.

  “If you’re thinking it’s an explosive, you’d be correct. Now step back around that corner if you want to keep those pretty legs of yours attached to the rest of you.” The way he spoke wasn’t a compliment; it was grim and flat and cold. Still underscored with loathing and rage.

  She did as he told her, and after a minute or two, he rushed back to join
her, hustling her even further backward through the tunnel. She heard him counting under his breath, and at ten!, he pushed her up against the wall and huddled around her. Macey didn’t have time to appreciate or regret the familiar, painful feel of Grady’s solid body around hers, for—

  Boom!

  The explosion wasn’t as loud as she’d feared, but it sent a cloud of dust rolling through the tunnel.

  “Let’s go.” He released her and darted back through, holding a sleeve over his nose and mouth.

  Macey followed and discovered he had indeed blown a hole into the brick wall.

  “So this is the building they’re in?” she asked. “You don’t think they might have heard the explosion and been warned?”

  He shook his head pityingly in the dim light. “Two doors down, we are. And who’s going to think twice about a muffled boom in Chicago? There’s gunfire and cars backfiring all the time.”

  “So now what?” Macey was beginning to get nervous about the amount of time that had passed, but when she checked her timepiece, she saw it had been less than an hour since they left Grady’s house.

  “This is the easy part.”

  He gestured to the hole and shined the flashlight on it. She climbed through quickly, and Grady followed then paused to check his compass while Macey looked at her timepiece.

  Thirty minutes. Her heart began to beat faster. She was just about to nag him again when Grady muttered, “Brilliant,” then started off on a route only he knew.

  She followed—up a set of iron stairs, into what appeared to be the back room of a store. Macey froze when she heard voices coming from nearby—as in, from the front of the store. But Grady didn’t pause, and they went on. She wondered how he knew where he was going.

  I know the building, he’d said. All right, she trusted him.

  At last, he stopped at a wall in the next building over, presumably attached to the one where Flora was keeping Savina. “Here we are.” He began to knock lightly on the wall, pressing his ear to it as if listening.

  “Normally, I’d be coming in from the ceiling in a case like this,” he commented, “but for the likes of you, we’ll do it this way.”

  Macey wanted to bristle at his implication, but she kept quiet. So far, he knew what he was doing, and she was only concerned about getting to Savina in time.

  She was not thinking about the fact that Flora had made Savina call for Grady. Why would she do that? Was it just chance? Had Savina just phoned Grady’s house knowing one of them would answer? Or had Flora forced her to do so?

  “Hold this there.” Grady shoved the flashlight at her, and she saw it was directed at the wall and that he’d drawn a rectangle on it flush to the ground. “There’s your entrance to the building. I’ll get you through, and see you on the other side, then.”

  While she held the flashlight, he used a saw to cut through the wall. Though she offered to help, he declined and kept at it. “Got a rhythm going.”

  It was incredibly, surprisingly easy to create a new passage from one building to another. He was right—most people didn’t think about going through walls or ceilings or even floors to break into buildings.

  Yet it was startlingly simple. And when he carefully kicked through the pieces he’d cut, Macey looked into a boiler room. By this time, the back of her neck was frigid and she knew there were plenty of undead in the vicinity.

  “Time?” Grady asked, swiping an arm over his perspiring forehead. A hank of dark hair, now frosted white from the drywall dust, fell back into his eyes.

  “Eight twenty.” Macey’s heart surged.

  But he nodded. “Good. Took far less time than I thought.” Then he handed her the flashlight. “I’m off, then. You’re on your own.”

  And before she could say another word—wish him well, say goodbye—he turned and loped back the way they’d come, leaving his bag of tools on the ground and her heart in pieces.

  Not a goodbye. Not a good luck. Not even a softened glance.

  So this is what it feels like to have destroyed a man.

  Blinking back tears, Macey checked her pockets, pulled out a stake, and went to battle.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ~ Of Memories, Expectations, and Blame ~

  When Max returned to Grady’s house with Woodmore and found it empty and still, at first he didn’t think much of it.

  Yes, it was far later than he’d imagined returning—and after two dead ends of tracing the white truck at the Beedle school, between comparing notes with Woodmore at the pub. They’d taken their time, both of them implicitly agreeing that it wouldn’t hurt for Macey to rest as much as possible.

  Now it was closing in on eight o’clock, and the house was silent. Surely Savina had returned, and she and Macey were likely sitting upstairs and gossiping—although that thought made his hair stand on end.

  But the house was too quiet.

  “Denton.” Woodmore was standing by the telephone, staring at a piece of paper. The tone of his voice had Max going on full alert.

  “What is it?”

  “A note from Macey—and Grady.” He thrust the paper at Max, and immediately began to check his pockets for weapons.

  Max’s heart plummeted to his knees when he read the letter. Terror exploded through him as the realization penetrated.

  Savina.

  No. Not again.

  Not again.

  He read the letter a second time and managed to get past the part about “Flora has Savina” and actually comprehend the words. It took him a little longer to decipher Grady’s scrawl at the bottom, which directed them to an old train yard in order to get access to the building where Flora was.

  After that, he pushed every bit of emotion out of his thoughts and turned his brain to cold and lethal.

  Things would end differently this time.

  + + +

  Now that Macey was inside, she realized the place she and Grady had broken into was nothing more than a three-story building that had burned at some point. At least two sections were attached, like row houses—which explained the wall through which Grady had cut—and that gave her a blueprint of the layout of the building where Savina was, for the row houses had identical floor plans.

  The part in which Flora was keeping her hostage had suffered fire damage. The windows were broken and boarded up, which was probably part of the reason it had been abandoned and taken over by vampires. The scent of smoke and must still lingered, and cobwebs and dust clung to many surfaces.

  Macey could hear voices, and she crept through the building toward them, stake in hand, flashlight turned off. There were several undead posted at doors and watching through cracks at the boarded windows—so it had been the right plan to break in the way they had.

  Macey dusted two vampires, easily and without fanfare. Brushing the ash from her arm and shoulder, she at last came close enough to discern the voices.

  They were coming from a room on the first floor, and Macey knew there were stairs on the back part of the building that led to the second floor…which in turn had a balcony that overlooked a large foyer. From the sound of the voices, that was where she suspected Flora was stationed.

  As Macey drew near, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and then a familiar voice through the oak-paneled wall.

  “Well, you’ve made it just in the nick of time, Grady.” Flora’s tones were high and triumphant, and from the sound of it, they were in the large, high-ceilinged dining room. “The deadline is only one minute from now.”

  “What is all this?” Grady asked. His voice carried easily through the walls, as if he wanted to make certain Macey could hear him.

  “Welcome, my dear. Welcome.”

  By now, Macey had crept down the back hall and was approaching via the kitchen, of which there was nothing left but burned-out appliances and a rusted sink. She paused just beyond the entrance to the dining room and carefully peered around the corner to look inside.

  Flora was standing by a large chair that h
ad clearly been brought quite recently to this location, for it was clean and new, padded with floral upholstery. It made the vampiress look as if she were about to be seated on a throne, for she stood next to it—tall, slender, and regal, with the glow of a lamp illuminating her bright red hair from behind.

  But instead of a scepter, she was holding a gun.

  Macey drew in a deep, silent breath.

  “Yes, indeed. Most undead don’t think to use a firearm,” Flora said—speaking to Grady. “They tend to rely on their brute strength and the effect of their thrall…but I say, why not use the sure thing that can stop a man in his tracks? Even a Venator cannot withstand a bullet. And it works quite well from a distance—much more effective than fangs.”

  Cold settled over Macey. Flora was correct. This had just become a much more tenuous situation than she’d expected.

  “What is going on here?” Grady asked. “Sabrina, are you all right?”

  Good for him—remembering to use the wrong name until they determined what Flora’s intentions were.

  “What have you done to her?” Grady’s taut voice had Macey tensing even further. She couldn’t see far enough into the room to know what had happened, but nor did she see any sign of Savina.

  Yet the scent of blood lingered in the air, mingled with dust and the mustiness of old wood.

  “Step away, if you please.”

  “What is going on here?” Grady asked. His voice was extraordinarily calm. Perhaps too calm. “Your people can take their hands off me anytime. And there’s no need for guns.”

  But Flora didn’t seem to notice his calmness. “What is going on here is a very simple prelude to someone—that would be yours truly—taking control of a very powerful object. The object is there—on the table. It looks quite innocent, doesn’t it? Hardly worth noticing. It’s not even particularly beautiful.

  “But from what I understand, Rekk’s Pyramid gives its master—or in this case, mistress”—she gave a delighted titter—“vast and far-reaching control over her…what did you call them? My people? Yes, over my people.”