by Kelly Meding
Stephen was shaking his head. "No. Chal, honey, we can get you help. Professional help."
"Okay, how about a few tricks of my own? Did you know magic is real? Real as you and me, but not all humans can manipulate it. Your daughter, Chalice, was one of those people. She could teleport, but only when she was close to a magic source, like in this city. When she was a kid and you moved away, she lost that ability, and being separated from her source is what caused her depression later. I don't think she ever realized what she was."
"Will you stop? Please stop, for your mother."
Lori was sobbing loudly, clutching at her husband. I felt horrible for her, but I wouldn't recant anything I knew to be the truth.
"Fine, give me a second." I closed my eyes and felt for the Break. Latched onto its static-like caress and let the power rush through me. I drew on my emotional tap, on loneliness, and let myself shatter apart. Everything tingled, sparked, and I focused on a spot six feet to the right. Pulled myself to that spot and let go of the Break.
The world focused in a blink and a snap.
Stephen and Lori stared at me, slack-jawed and open-mouthed. Lori's tears fell silently. Stephen looked like he wanted to vomit.
"That was easy," I said. "I can go further and through solid objects." A tiny headache beat between my eyes. "Look, I'm sorry you lost your daughter. I wish I could say I always intended to contact you, but I didn't. I didn't give much thought to Chalice's old life, to the people who might be missing her. I was selfish in that, but I have spent almost every day since she died battling for my own life. I've lost a lot of friends, people close to me, to a battle that I don't know if we can ever win. But I fight every day, because that's what I do."
Chalice may have lain down and died, but I would never do that. Not while I had breath in my lungs or a beat in my heart.
"I'm sorry," I said because I had no more words for them.
"Will you leave us alone please?" Lori asked, her voice broken and rough.
"Yeah, of course."
I nearly teleported out to drive my point home, but with my luck I'd land right in the middle of Sandburg, and we'd both be fucked. So I walked. Walked out the door, handed Sandburg his key, and kept on walking. Right to my and Wyatt's room, where I face-planted in our bed, too emotionally drained to handle anyone else right now. Marcus could find me when it was time to leave for his epic duel.
The last forty-eight hours had sucked major ass. Something had to start going in our favor soon.
Didn't it?
Chapter Twenty-one
6:02 a.m.
I don't think I slept. My mind wandered in indistinct ways for a while and my body never moved. I heard footsteps and twisted around to sit up before Kismet found me. "They're discussing location," she said. "Come on."
We quick-stepped it to Ops. Marcus, Astrid, and Kyle were chatting intently and I cleared my throat to get their attention.
"So where's the duel happening?" I asked.
"Black River Ferry port, so we need to leave as soon as possible," Marcus said.
"How'd you determine that location?"
"Privacy and space."
The Black River Ferry hadn't been in use for nearly fifty years. Two passenger boats and one freight boat had been tied up and left to rot, part of the landscape of a dying industrial section of town west of Mercy's Lot. Last month, we'd tracked Walter Thackery to the port and he'd sunk one of the ferries in an effort to kill the Therians he'd kidnapped. It gave us two boats or the Terminal Station as actual fighting arenas.
It also gave Vale several places nearby to stash Tybalt.
"Do we have any teams close by who can scout ahead for us?" Kismet asked.
"Already on it," Astrid said.
"Who's your third?" I asked Marcus.
"Kyle," he replied.
Okay, that answer surprised me. Kismet didn't seem upset about being left behind, and since I wasn't known for my tact— "Why Kyle?"
"Insurance."
"Are you going to expand on that for me?"
"In the car, yes. We have limited time right now."
Too true. "Did Vale happen to put any limits on us bringing weapons?"
"As a matter of fact, no." Marcus smiled. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I need to swing by the armory before we hit the road."
"Did he mention Tybalt at all?"
"No," Marcus said as we headed for the corridor, "and I did not tip him off. If he believes his mole is yet undiscovered, he may attempt to send her back to us."
Good point. I'd have been on the phone demanding to know where Tybalt was and how Vale was planning to use him. I hate surprises, especially in fights.
I strapped myself down with knives—the best use for knee-high boots, in my opinion, is for hiding long blades, and hide them I did. I also selected two guns and backup ammo, just in case. Shooting in an enclosed area was a last resort option, but I didn't want us to be caught without one if the situation required covering fire. Astrid, Kyle, and I were not there to fight, but that meant nothing.
These things never went as planned.
Marcus, Astrid, and Kyle were waiting in the car when I arrived in the parking area—along with almost every Therian in the Watchtower. They stood in a line, at attention, in a silent salute to their brethren. I didn't understand a lot about Therian duels and codes of honor, but this seemed like an even bigger deal than I'd thought. Wyatt stood to the side with Kismet, Rufus, and Alejandro.
I didn't have time to do more than wink at Wyatt. He mouthed the words "Be careful." I gave a thumbs-up before climbing into the backseat with Kyle. I was anxious, but not scared. For once, this wasn't my fight. I was going along purely as backup, not as the primary contestant.
The change was pretty novel.
The drive to the Black River Ferry port took all the time we had. Marcus's explanation of Kyle's presence took about five minutes, and I was totally on board with the plan. Good plan that, again, went beyond my knowledge of Therian politics and cemented the reasons why I was a soldier, not a general.
The hulking glass building of the Terminal Station came into view at exactly six-thirty. A weed-strewn, cracked parking lot spread out around the Station and dock, which was surrounded by a chain-link fence. Ostensibly, the fence was meant to prevent vandalism and trespassing, which was kind of hilarious, considering. Even after Thackery sunk one of the ferries last month, police rarely patrolled the area. The security entrance remained broken.
We rolled through the gate at the same moment that a blue SUV with tinted windows turned into the parking lot. It followed us inside. Marcus drove around behind the Terminal Station to hide our vehicles from street view. The SUV stopped a dozen yards from us, at almost the other end of the Terminal Station.
The downside to this particular location smacked me in the nose the moment I opened my door. The stink of tepid water, oil, and burned things combined in a nostril-tingling odor that turned my stomach. The smell would also make it impossible for Therian noses to tell if Tybalt, or anyone else, was lurking nearby.
We assembled at the rear of our car, while Vale and his entourage moved to the front of his SUV. I hadn't looked Vale in the eye since the moment he tried to turn Wyatt on me in that jail cell, and I curbed the impulse to stride across the asphalt and plant my fist in his eye. Vale stood tall, straight backed, a nervous man pretending he was bold. I couldn't guess as to his backup until our two groups began walking toward one another, and their eye colors flashed in the brightening morning light.
The blonde woman to Vale's left had copper eyes—female Felia, probably the same one who'd tortured the pups. Starr Tuck, if we were lucky. An older, silver-haired man also had the copper eyes of a Felia. The third man, barely a teenager, had the bright green eyes and multiple-shades-of-brown hair of the Ursia Clan.
What the hell?
Not that I had room to judge, since Marcus's backup was a Felia, a Cania, and a human.
We all stopped with a sa
fe distance of five feet between us, give or take. Marcus stood in front of us, Vale on point with his own group. A low, feline growl came out of them both, and something rippled in the air between them, as though their hatred had become a tangible thing.
"Where are the items you stole?" Marcus asked. His voice was deeper than its usual baritone, dripping with violence.
Vale snapped his fingers. The Ursia boy scampered back to the SUV and retrieved something from the rear compartment. He left that door up, open, then rushed back to us with the leather pouch and cylinder in his hands. The boy took a moment to show us that both the scroll and the powder were intact.
Kyle returned to our car and grabbed the briefcase of money that Eulan had provided. After showing Vale the cash, we made the exchange. A tiny part of my heart lightened, knowing we had the vampire cure back in our hands.
"And the Lupa?" Marcus asked.
Vale's eyebrows twitched, as if to say Marcus was pressing his luck. "Ben, show the human."
A bear named Ben. Sure, why not?
I followed Ben to the SUV, aware of each of my weapons and their distance from my hands. Aware of Ben's proximity. He led me to the rear compartment, where a thick green blanket covered a large lump. He stepped aside, seeming as eager to keep me at a distance as I was to return the favor. I yanked back the blanket.
John was wearing what looked like an entire roll of duct tape—around his arms, legs, ankles, wrists, even his mouth. He'd been trussed up like a hog in the most uncomfortable backwards position possible. Both his eyes were blackened, and a few other bruises peeked out from beneath his layers of tape. Layers over naked skin. Fuck, that was going to hurt coming off.
He was unconscious, and the only thing that kept me from flying into a rage was the lack of a silver collar. Eight hours in one of those things when already beaten up might have killed him.
"Stone?" Marcus hollered.
I stepped around the SUV and headed back for the group. "He's alive."
Ben slammed the rear door shut, then shadowed me to Vale. So far, Vale was being way too cooperative. He had a Tybalt-shaped ace up his sleeve somewhere so why hadn't he played it yet?
I was still a good ten feet away when Vale stepped forward, his hand extended. I thought he was offering to shake Marcus's hand because Marcus likewise reached out. Only Marcus withdrew quickly, holding something bright and metallic. He glared at the item, then passed it to Astrid without ever breaking Vale's gaze. Vale was speaking, but he shut up before I reached Kyle's side.
All three of my friends were livid, anger blazing in their eyes. Astrid handed the metal item to me, and I nearly dropped it—the prosthetic knife attachment Tybalt had been wearing when he left last night.
"Son of bitch," I said.
Marcus angled toward me, careful to never give Vale his back. "My life or Tybalt's. If I kill Vale, then Tybalt dies."
Vale had played his ace, the fucker. But we still had one move he wasn't expecting and—
The gentle rumble of an approaching car engine put Vale's group on high alert. We were expecting the black sedan that circled around Vale's SUV and parked between our two vehicles.
Elder Macario Rojay of Cania stepped out of the front passenger seat. He was a young Elder, with wild brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, and a ruddy complexion. He wore a snappy suit and carried a tablet in his hands. He was one of the few Elders actively involved in Watchtower activities and he had pledged the support of the Cania Clan to our cause. Kyle's Clan.
"Elder Rojay," Vale said. He looked stuck between wanting to cower and wanting to stomp his feet in a tantrum. "What are you doing here?"
Stupid question, really, since Vale was a fugitive wanted by the Assembly of Clan Elders. But he was pretty baffled by the Elder's planned appearance.
"This is a duel of honor," Kyle said, speaking up for the first time. "Duels are often fought in the presence of the Clan Elder in order to ensure all promises are kept. As the Felia Elder is unable to perform his duties, my Elder graciously agreed to oversee the fight."
Vale sputtered, clearly knocked on his ass by our little trick. He'd couldn't object because Marcus was completely within his rights to retain an Elder as a kind of referee. Vale's blonde touched his shoulder and whispered something that seemed to calm his indignation a little bit.
"Shall we observe the fighting grounds?" Elder Rojay asked.
He led the way. The doors to the Terminal Station weren't locked—someone had broken that long ago. We walked into a cavernous room three stories tall, mostly glass walls with a high tin roof. A line of boarded up ticket windows was on the left, and a dusty, linoleum floor spread out in front of us. Broken benches had been shoved to the side, piled up against walls in a feeble attempt to store them for some purpose or another. The air was stale, despite a few broken panes of glass. The rising sun shone through on the east-facing side, creating partial glare and partial darkness.
"Is the arena acceptable to both participants?" Elder Rojay asked.
Vale and Marcus both agreed.
"And what are the terms of the fight?"
"If I win," Marcus said, "Vale releases the Lupa boy named John back into my custody without further harm."
And Tybalt dies.
"And when I win," Vale said, "he remains in my custody, and we leave this location without interference from the Assembly or Marcus's witnesses." And Tybalt lives.
Maybe.
This was one of those times I was glad to be human, rather than Felia, because I wasn't bound to these little rules. If Marcus was killed, nothing would stop me from putting a bullet between Vale's eyes—after I had Tybalt safe and sound.
"Are these terms acceptable to both combatants?" Elder Rojay asked.
The combatants agreed.
"And this a fight to the death."
More agreement.
"Who are the witnesses for Vale Tuck?"
The trio stepped forward without introducing themselves. The Elder looked them over, then nodded. He turned to our little quartet.
"Who are the witnesses for Marcus Dane?"
Astrid, Kyle and I stepped forward.
"A human woman is not an acceptable witness to a Therian duel," Elder Rojay said. "Not even a Gifted human. She must wait outside until the matter at hand is decided."
I pretended to be affronted by the exclusion. Even Astrid mustered up a good dose of outrage on my behalf. But this was going exactly as planned. I wanted to be there and give Marcus my moral support while he fought for his life against the biggest coward to wear a fur coat, but my time was better spent on the hunt.
Hunting was what I did best.
"Rip his fucking heart out," I said to Marcus in a harsh whisper purposely loud enough for Vale to hear.
Vale hissed at me. I flipped him the bird.
"Out," Elder Rojay said.
I stormed outside, falling easily into my role as the excluded human. This side of the Terminal Station faced west, putting me in shadow. It also faced the river. A cement dock jutted out into the water, covered by a tin awning. The aging, rusty ferry tied up on the south side of the dock was smaller than the other two ferries on the north. The first ferry was half in the water, its lower decks fully submerged. I imagined a few Halfie corpses were down there somewhere, slowly being eaten by fish and other bottom feeders. A little farther down, the second passenger ferry was listing sideways, as though it had sprung a leak.
If the order was to kill Tybalt the moment Vale lost, then the person holding him must be within watching distance, as well as have a line of sight into the Terminal Station. Given its construction and the solid wall that faced north, the listing passenger ferry was unlikely. The half-sunk ferry was a decent option, but the dock awning blocked a good portion of the view.
The biggest problem with them being on the ferries at all was timing. Unless Vale was already in Mercy's Lot, he couldn't have gotten Tybalt and his captor here before he arrived—maybe. He could have been counting on the stink of th
e river hiding any fresh scents of arrival from Marcus and Astrid.
My best bet was the other side of the Terminal Station.
The scream of two furious felines shook the glass panes behind me. I squinted through the grimy window. A hulking black jaguar body-slammed a gorgeous Bengal tiger, and the pair went flying. As much as I wanted to watch the battle, I had a friend to find.
I sneaked around the north side of the Terminal Station and crept to the corner so I could peer across the parking lot to the street that ran parallel to the river. It was sparsely traveled. The block east of the ferry port housed a line of abandoned stone buildings, probably factories at one time. Anyone watching would be looking with the rising sun on their back and have a pretty clear view of the interior of the Terminal Station. And Vale had used a sniper more than once.
Marcus would do his best to make the battle last, to wound Vale without killing him, so I had time to search. None of us wanted Tybalt to die; all of us wanted Vale to pay for his crimes. Marcus would gladly kill Vale for what he did to Milo, but Vale's crimes didn't end there—Baylor, the Lupa pups, the hit on Elder Dane. Tybalt would hate for Vale to go free in exchange for his life. He'd cite the needs of the many.
As much as I wanted my friend back, I agreed with him. I'd sacrificed myself for the "greater good" once because I had no other choice. Today I still had time.
I closed my eyes and felt for the Break. It snapped and flickered all around me. Loneliness was easy to find. I thought of Tybalt, alone and hurt, a pawn in a larger game, probably anticipating his own death. The Break grabbed me and I fell into it, shattering and flying. I focused on the roof of one of the buildings, imagined a gravel surface warmed by the morning sun, and I hurtled that way.
Pulled out of the Break. Came back together.
I hit my knees in the gravel, arms pinwheeling for balance before I went face-first into sharp stone. A persistent throb between my eyes thanked me for the distance traveled. I blinked around the roof, grateful to not find myself staring down the barrel of someone's gun. The sounds of the city and stink of the river seemed far away up here, six stories off the ground.