by J. C. Nelson
Bill opened up the door and our cargo crew emerged. Grimm moved a lot of goods into and out of Kingdom, specializing in interfacing between the races that couldn’t or shouldn’t leave Kingdom, and the rest of the world. “All our trucks are accounted for. I’m holding deliveries that were out away from the Agency. No contact with the office since the incident, but we don’t think anyone’s fighting now, on account of the other businesses ain’t called the cops.”
Keeping our cargo drivers parked in various places rather than letting them come back here made sense. Calling the cops could save us, or expose a bunch of policemen to things they were in no way ready to handle, like, say, a rogue donut baker. The cops were convenient, but not an option. “I’m going up. Come with me.”
I headed for the stairs. I chose the stairs for a couple of reasons. First off, when the elevator opens, you’re looking down a long hallway with nowhere to hide. I’d rather not have the elevator bell tell them when it was okay to start firing. If it were me, I’d have them shoot anything that happened to stop on our floor.
The other reason is that most mercenaries were lazy. They didn’t get paid to carry heavy guns or spell books up stairs, so it was unlikely I’d meet something unpleasant in the stairwell. So I climbed four flights of stairs, finally reached our floor, and got ready to kick some ass.
From the stairwell, I peered down the hallway all the way to the Agency entrance. Two bodies dressed in black lay in the hallway, but there were no other signs of an ambush. “I want you to wait at the front door,” I told Bill, “but don’t enter until I give the signal.” Then I slipped out of the stairwell and tiptoed down the hall as quietly as I could. I passed the service entrance to the Agency, counting steps as I went.
A few years ago, a troll punched a hole in the back corner of the building and took Liam. When we had it repaired I sprang for some magic, and had a safety door installed. From the outside it looked like a nonfunctioning water fountain. In other words, like every other water fountain in the building. I put my hand in the right place, and it clicked, recognizing my print. Then I walked forward, right through the wall.
Two seconds before, it would have been remarkably solid sheet rock. Three seconds later and it would slice me in half as it resolidified. I only needed two seconds until I was safely through, standing in a dark office-supply closet. The door on this room had no knob, and I’d had that done on purpose so it wouldn’t make any noise when I opened it. I slid it open a sliver and looked out into the main conference room. Blood covered everything.
From just past the table came a low moan and the sound of labored breathing. I swung the door open and stepped out, ready to shoot anything that moved. Nothing did. Then I discovered where the blood came from. Mikey lay pinned to the wall, shot through with silver crossbow bolts in more places than I could count. He was half wolf, which is to say that he was really, really hairy, and his eyes had changed to those black pits that all wolves have, but I think he recognized me as I approached.
I knelt and whispered, “Hold on, Mikey. I’m going to get you loose.” The bolts were obviously huntsman standard, anti-wolf bolts. Each ended in a tri-blade broad head, with hooks on both sides of the blade so that once they entered, you couldn’t pull them out. The silver, of course, kept Mikey from healing up the wound.
I took hold of one of the bolts, almost feeling bad for what came next. “You’re not going to like this.”
He nodded his head, letting it loll back over, his eyes closed in anticipation.
Then I broke the shaft of the bolt off. Kingdom knows it must have hurt, but all Mikey did was whine a little. If there were tears that ran from his muzzle, I’d never say so. With the shaft broken, I pulled his hand free.
We repeated that process five more times, when his arms dangled loose. Then I rolled him onto his stomach and stepped on his back, driving the one in his left lung out. Wolf blood covered my hands, sticky and red. Frankly, I was amazed that Mikey was still breathing. Not all wolves regenerate the same, so Mikey had serious mojo to keep generating blood like that.
I pulled the bolt on through and tried to cover the wound with my hands, but he pushed me away. “Break them,” he said, pointing to the bolts that stuck out of his legs. The bolts passed through the thick of his thighs, leaving me nothing to pull at.
I kicked each until they snapped. With each one he let out a muffled whimper, but nothing that would attract attention. When I had the last, he crawled away from the wall.
“Wolf,” he gasped. He needed to change to full wolf. He’d heal a lot faster that way. Grimm had a theory that being able to keep themselves human was a side effect of their healing.
“Okay. You wolf out, and I’m going to go see what else is waiting. Anyone else in the office?”
“Grimm—said no wolf.” Grimm knew how I felt about them.
“It’s okay. You go ahead. If Grimm says anything, I’ll handle it.”
He ran an inhuman tongue over his muzzle, wiping the froth clear. “The piper. In safe room with Rosa.”
I swore under my breath. Beth must have come for training and been in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Baddies?”
He nodded. “Outside Rosa’s safe room. Killed all but the huntsman.” He was talking a lot better. Even after that much silver. Huntsman bolts were covered in silver dust so that they poisoned the target. The fact that Mikey could heal through that was nothing short of amazing.
So I had a huntsman outside of Rosa’s safe room. Huntsmen were assassins that specialized in removing elves, dwarves, and almost anything that wasn’t human. The folks in Kingdom thought of them as pest control. The only nonhuman (if you ignored Rosa) had to be Mikey. Queen Mihail had sent a huntsman for him, and Mikey hadn’t even been around when I killed her son. I was definitely going to have some words with her when we finally got together.
I left Mikey in the conference room and headed for the lobby. Rosa’s safe room, he’d said. I had to laugh. Rosa detested any place in the Agency but the front counter. So her safe room was actually a bulletproof cage that locked down around her. From inside her private rectangle, Rosa could run the entire Agency, and with the cage over her, it was definitely a Mexican Standoff. Rosa, incidentally, came from Guatemala, and would win any standoff, Guatemalan, Mexican, or otherwise. I crept down the hallway to the front office and peeked through the window in the staff door. The man in our lobby was a huntsman, all right.
Six foot six, dressed in enough leather and fur to give every member of PETA a heart attack, and armed to the teeth with knives and a wicked crossbow. It was a crossbow only in name—the old string-driven ones were traded for cartridge-load bolts, meaning that he could fire them as fast as he could pull the trigger. Every clip held six, meaning that the son of a bitch had shot Mikey, pinned him in place, then reloaded and repeated. He wore the traditional gnome-skin hood like huntsmen always did. It was supposed to make him seem mysterious. I considered it cowardice.
In the corner, Rosa glowered at him from behind her bulletproof covering. I was pretty sure that the lump of black cloth and skin hiding behind her was Beth. Rosa held her shotgun, but couldn’t shoot the huntsman through the glass any more than he could shoot her.
I took a deep breath, checked my clip and my safety, then kicked the door open and started shooting.
He rolled to the side, taking a couple of shots. Now, since I’d never shot a huntsman before, you can forgive me for not knowing those skins he was wearing were some sort of armor. Who knew badger fur could stop bullets? He fired a bolt at me, barely missing my head. So we weren’t going for warning shots.
I put one bullet through the front door, ignoring the fact that it looked like I’d missed. Then I counted. One, two, and as I exhaled on three I shot at the floor.
Not because he was under me. Because I wanted him looking my way. Big Bill kicked open the front door and let loose. Those skins might be armor, but Bill carried a shotgun loaded with slugs. The force slammed the huntsman into th
e front desk, sending his crossbow flying.
I added a few bullets of my own, just to feel like I’d contributed. I nearly missed the blur of silver when he rolled over, throwing a knife at me. If I’d tried a graceful roll or anything fancy, I might have found out what a silver lobotomy feels like. As it was, blood spurted from my temple where the knife grazed me.
“The hunt’s over.” The huntsman pulled another blade from his belt.
Big Bill fired again, then shrieked as a silver blade blossomed in his knee, followed by another in his elbow. The huntsman advanced on me, and I weighed my ability to get a head shot in. The movies always made them look easy. Anyone who actually tried it learned better. I tried to push my way back through the door, but it was stuck, so I shot the huntsman a few more times. I might as well have been throwing spit wads.
“I said, the hunt is over.” He pulled out a second blade. The trick I’d used on the Gray Man wouldn’t play here against a trained knife fighter.
As I prepared to rush him, the wall behind me exploded, throwing both the door and me forward.
Through the dust something roared and leaped over me. Something monstrous and black. I’d never actually seen Mikey change into a wolf. The wolf bloodlines had weakened since the old days, and lots of their descendants were stuck as either fully human or fully wolf. Most in their wolf-man form were the same height as a human. Mikey stood at least eight feet tall, and as wide as a compact car.
With one swipe, Mikey tore the first knife from the huntsman. Then Mikey grabbed him by the leather hood, holding him so his feet dangled. Time and again, the huntsman slashed into Mikey’s arms, but as fast as the blade pulled out, Mikey healed.
Then Mikey ripped the knife away, tearing the huntsman’s fingers off in the process. Mikey reached up and put a claw into the huntsman’s mouth, then stepped on his feet. I winced, knowing what would come, but couldn’t cover my ears in time to prevent hearing the wet tearing of flesh as Mikey tore the huntsman’s jaw off. Then he snarled, a growling roar that ended with the crunch of teeth on bone.
I can’t say what Beth and Rosa were doing. I know I was curled up in a ball, unwilling to look. Not because Mikey had killed the huntsman. The huntsman had definitely tried to kill me. Not because Mikey tore the man’s throat out. Wolves do that sometimes. It was because I finally recognized where I’d seen that pattern of fur before. The jagged white stripe of fur down Mikey’s back, it was a birthmark of sorts, among wolves.
Mikey began to shift back. Shrinking, becoming paler, less hairy. I understood now why he insisted on pants with elastic bands. When his mouth had changed enough to speak, he came over. “Marissa, are you okay?”
I kept it together enough to ask him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Grimm tell me?”
His forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. He sniffed the air, like he could read my mind from my scent. “Tell you what?”
“That you came here to kill me.”
Fourteen
AFTER A MOMENT of silence in the Agency lobby, Mikey shrugged. “Fairy Godfather said he’d handle explaining to you.”
Grimm had definitely left that part out. In fact, when I first found out that he’d hired an intern, and that said intern was a wolf, I think my words were “over my dead body” for good reason. Grimm knew how the wolves felt about me. I’d killed their leader. It was like assassinating the pope, the president, and the guy who runs the local pizza shop all at once. Worse yet, that white-stripe pattern said Mikey was related to Fenris, ex-leader of the wolves, current buffet for compost worms.
“He might have forgotten to mention it.”
Rosa canceled the lockdown, and the door to her bulletproof cage unlocked.
“Marissa, if I wanted you dead, I’d have given the huntsman a couple more seconds.” Mikey walked over and slipped the crossbow out from under the chairs. “Can’t leave this here. Grimm says if it can’t be eaten by a toddler, it doesn’t go on the floor.”
“So why did you come to work for Grimm?” I ignored Beth’s whimpering and stuck with Mikey. Sure, I had a one-track mind, but when it came to people who intended to kill me, it was usually justified. I climbed up off the floor and sat down in a chair, ruining it.
Mikey sat down beside me. “I came here to kill you. Of course, Fairy Godfather already knew. Somehow he knew I didn’t have a commercial driver’s license, and somehow he knew I was supposed to kill you and bring back your heart.”
“And he hired you because?”
Mike wiped his hands on his pants. “Well, I was told that one way to become the greatest leader was to avenge Granddad. Fairy Godfather offered me another way.”
Granddad. So that explained the family fur. Also, the serious regeneration. Fenris had been so strong that it took several of Grimm’s most powerful weapons to kill him. Even then, it’d been a close thing. “I like the idea of anything that doesn’t involve killing me.”
“He offered to send me to culinary school. Did you know we’ve been living in the sixteen hundreds? There’s so many great ways to spice and prepare meat that don’t involve bacon. For instance, a handful of coriander and peppercorns complements white meat sausage in amazing ways.”
“Like pork sausage?”
Mikey studied the carpet for a bit. “Umm, sure. Pork. Coriander and pepper would be great with pork. The point is, we can eat so much better. Grimm sends me to night college, and during the day I work here. When I have my chef’s hat I’m going to go back and lead my people by their stomachs. And for once, I won’t mean by their entrails.”
“You don’t happen to go to the same college Ari does, do you?” I suddenly wondered if Grimm hadn’t arranged a little protection for Ari while she studied. Even a third-string princess like Ari tended to attract a lot of attention, not all of it positive.
Mikey grinned, waving to Beth as Rosa stood her up. “I walk Ari to campus every night. My building’s on the same block.”
At the thought of Ari, my stomach turned sour. “We got ambushed.”
Rosa led Beth out of the booth and into the back, giving Mikey a thumbs-up. If she ever offered me a thumb, it was in the eye.
“Rosa saved us,” said Mikey. “She hit the alarm the moment they came in, pulled the piper girl into her booth, and kept them busy long enough for me to gut the hired help. I’d have gotten the huntsman too, but Fairy Godfather said no changing to full wolf.” He traced a scar on his chest where a bolt had pierced him.
“All right.” I stood up and locked the front door, turning the “Closed” sign. “Take Big Bill to the hospital. Check on Ari, but don’t annoy the ninja, or you might get to regrow a few fingers.” Then I went back to the showers, washed the cut on my head clean, and began to worry.
See, we’d had other employees in the past. Previous agents who didn’t precisely work for Grimm anymore. Most of the others were dead, but one in particular had me worried. An older woman named Jess Harrison. Half djinn, with the beauty, speed, and incredible emotional imbalances that came with it.
From time to time, Grimm would spring her from the mental hospital, but invariably she’d wind up going off the deep end and hurting some waiter who got her order wrong, or breaking the knees of someone who parked in a handicapped spot without a sticker. I wasn’t saying they didn’t have it coming. Just that it got harder and harder to justify.
Eventually, we had her committed. On enough Thorazine, she painted beautiful watercolor landscapes without stabbing orderlies in the eye with the paintbrush. As soon as I got out of the shower, I put in a call to the hospital and waited for the automated attendant. A woman with a deep Irish brogue rattled off recorded options:
“You have reached St. Lecter’s Home for the Violent. Our menu options have recently changed, so listen closely. If you want to report an escape, press one. If you want to plan an escape, press two. If you are calling to report that a homicidal queen has dispatched an assassin team to cut power to the Home, then get slaughtered by patients while attempt
ing to break in, press three. For all other options, press nine. Para español, marque ocho.”
I pressed three, and then hung up. No wonder Grimm liked the place.
I’d barely had time to put my head down on my desk before someone knocked at the door. I looked up to see Rosa. Our receptionist had never been a people person, unless you counted “Can’t Stand Them” as a type of people person. Even after Grimm put me in charge, she still ignored me most days and infuriated me when she wasn’t ignoring me.
Under her arm, Rosa carried a metal briefcase. She walked into my office without so much as asking, and slammed it on my desk. “Listen.” Then she opened it up. What lay inside looked like a combination DVD player and sixth-grade science project. From the moment she pressed the large button marked “Power,” it hummed and shook. Then the whole thing lit up with a laser glow, and a picture of Grimm appeared on the screen.
I looked up at Rosa, who didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “If this is one of those ‘if you are hearing this, I’m dead’ messages, I’m not interested.”
Rosa left without a word.
I checked for controls. There weren’t any. Not even a volume button. “Isn’t this the part where it starts doing something? Some sort of message? Last will and testament?”
“No, my dear,” said the image on screen. “This isn’t a message. It’s a test.” Grimm, or something like him, watched me from the screen.
I carefully unhooked my Agency bracelet, noting that his image remained on screen.
Then Rosa came back. She carried her sawed-off shotgun and carefully loaded two slugs into it. Then with a click she closed the chamber and leveled it at me.
“A test?”
“Yes,” said the Grimm. “One that I sincerely hope you pass.”
A moment ticked by as I watched the screen for some hint of what to do. I looked back at Rosa, wondering if I could make it under my desk faster than she could pull the trigger. “So tell me what kind of test this is. No, wait. Tell me what you are. You aren’t him.”