“We stand a better chance together,” said Val.
“Son,” said Rex, “son, you need to get with the program. It doesn’t matter if we’re together. There are thousands of them. And our big gun went in the top.”
“He’s right,” said Carlisle. “I can do—” and she counted on her fingers “—maybe five at a time. Miles might account for one or two—”
“Hey,” said John.
“—and no offense, but Sky doesn’t look like a fighter, and Everard, and I’m saying this as a friend, Everard, you look like shit. Like you’re about to die anyway.”
“More or less true,” admitted Val.
“I can help,” said Rex.
“If your pacemaker doesn’t give out, you’ll be fine,” said Carlisle. “I’m just saying it how it is.”
“That was kind of my point,” said Rex, “except I was trying to approach it from the side. A little more, what’s the word, obliquely.”
“We don’t have the time for trigonometry,” said Carlisle. She checked her weapon.
“Can’t Danny … can’t Danny look after herself?” said Sky.
“Yes,” said Carlisle, “but if you remember, she’s got herself against the devil.”
“Which is, at best, an even fight,” said Rex, nodding. “So she’ll need our help. We need to get to the top. Some of us. Alive.” He looked back at Val. “Which stairwell you want?”
It was easy after that. Carlisle and Val — someone’s got to look after the invalid, Carlisle had said — went left, Rex and John and Sky — no way she’s not on my team, John had said — went right. And they began to climb.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The cold touched Danny’s skin, icy fingers trailing goosebumps over her exposed arms. She didn’t feel an urge to shiver — there are some benefits to being a hound of the Night, right sister? — but it was weird. Here she was, top floors of Trump Tower Chicago — she and Val had wanted to stay at a place like this when they had a little more money, a little more time, and fewer people wanting to kill them — and it was cold.
Sure, it was no Verkhoyansk, but it was still damn cold.
Ice collected against the walls, and her breath streamed out against the air. It wasn’t a lack of power. Sure, there weren’t any lights on, but there was no way AC could go this low.
She found herself wishing Val was here. She’d seen the bird go down trailing fire and smoke, but she’d been watching his eyes as they fell. He’d been looking at her like he’d let her down.
How could you have left that man? She rubbed her arms and shivered anyway, more from habit and something to do than from any real need.
Pack mate.
“Yeah,” she said to the empty room, “pack mate.”
“He will be your undoing.” The voice was from behind her and she spun, whippet-quick, to see an empty corridor stretching away. The voice had been heavy, thick as molasses, smooth as cream. It had been beautiful.
“Who’s there?” Danny pitched her voice, her shoulders squaring, ready for the attack that didn’t come.
“Your future,” said the voice, behind her again. She spun, caught the edge of a door slipping closed with a soft click.
She took five quick strides to the door — locked — and tore the handle from the frame. She pushed it open, scanning the room. Empty. Danny ducked inside, heeled the door closed behind her, and sniffed the air. There was a hint of cinnamon and apples, and a memory of breakfast waffles came to her unbidden.
This is a trap.
“No shit,” said Danny. “Stay quiet for a second. I got this.” The room was large, opulent, big windows and drapes and all sorts of things rich people could afford to love. No way she could have dropped enough dimes for a room like this on her bartender’s salary. Everything was coated in a layer of ice, the carpet crunching under her feet. The drapes were frozen stiff. She paced to a door, kicked it open — bathroom, empty, nice collection of soaps though — before moving on. The bedroom area was clean, she even dropped low to look under the bed. “I thought you were some kind of mighty hunter. So hunt this fucking thing.”
On this day, we are the hunted.
She wanted to shiver, pushed it down, looked around the room again. Put her back to the bed, faced a room covered in the excess of the wealthy, coated in ice. Where did he go? Because it was definitely a he, not an it, a honeyed voice pure with the promise of fulfillment, full of—
You are falling into the trap.
“Okay,” said Danny, shaking her head like a dog. “Let’s try this a different way. What do you want?”
“You.” She felt the breath on her neck as the word was spoken right next to her ear and she spun into the punch, her hand connecting with flesh, lifting —
Adalia. Her baby girl — no no no, not Adalia, why is she here, not her — had been behind her. Adalia’s broken body slammed against the wall, a shimmer of ice falling loose as she crumpled to the floor, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, eyes glassy as the life dimmed from them.
Danny screamed — “NO!” — and dropped to the floor next to her daughter. “Baby? Baby, it’s me. Talk to me. You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.” She was stroking Adalia’s hair, her hands shaking, but Adalia didn’t respond, her head lolling on a broken neck. “Baby? Please. Please, no.”
The pain hit her in the back, claws of pure fire drawing down her spine and she screamed again, her back arching as she tried to turn around. She caught the edge of a shadow ducking away as she swung, connecting with nothing but air. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was Adalia, her Adalia, her daughter whom she’d killed—
The floor was empty. Adalia’s body was gone. The only record was an outline of broken ice where her body had been. Had it been real? She’d been able to smell the shampoo she’d used, feel the texture of her hair, a texture she’d never forget.
It is as real as you make it.
Danny rose on shaky legs, wiped the tears from her eyes. She cleared her throat, then reached a tentative hand to her back. The cuts were deep, and she winced as her fingers found the edges of the wound. Silver. The hated metal meant the wound wasn’t healing, not like it should, not fast enough.
What is this? She wanted to scream at the thing that lived inside her, that forced her to be something she never wanted. I need some help.
It is Choler.
“Is that … is that a thing, or a person?” Danny looked around the room, dropping into a fighter’s stance, hands up. She could jump right out this hotel, fall a hundred floors to the street below and walk it off. She couldn’t take hits from silver and live.
It is Choler.
“Why did you leave, Danny?” Val stepped in from the corridor, pushing the door closed behind him. His face was a mess of burnt tissue, caked in blood. The crash. “We could have really done something.”
“Saved the world?” She started to walk to him, her feet wanting to stand still and run at the same time.
“Made a family,” he said. “But you left. You left me, left us, and now look what’s happened. Don’t you see? We’re all going to die because you walked away.”
“I didn’t mean it,” she said. “I—”
“Adalia will be dead by the morning,” said Val. “Talin will see to it. He’ll fix us though, so we can be together. You want to be together, don’t you?”
Danny walked closer to him, this man that she loved. “Yes,” she whispered.
Val reached out a hand to her, and she took it. He pulled her close, and she breathed in the smell of him, closed her eyes for a moment, then pushed herself back to look into his face.
That broken, ravaged face. One eye was gone, and she found herself raising a hand towards it, then dropping it away. She gave a rueful smile. “You’re not real,” said Danny.
“What?” said Val.
“You’re not real,” said Danny. “You know how I know?”
“I’m real,” said Val. “I’m standing here. I am as real as the dawn.”
Danny looked into Val’s face —ravaged by a fire he could no longer heal from. A fire that only left its mark because they had not been a pack. She’d left. Walked out, because she was confused.
Uncertain.
As uncertain as she was now. If she could just turn back time — put the toothpaste back into the tube — then this would never have happened. This wouldn’t be real.
This is not pack. This does not speak to us in the way we know.
The what now?
She looked at Val’s face again, at the hurt in his eyes, at the need that lay there. She looked at her hands, trembling, but not from the cold. What had the Night just said? It was important, but she couldn’t hold it in her head, it was so hard—
Hear. Taste. Smell. LISTEN.
Ah. There it was. She slammed a fist into Val’s face, sending him staggering back, crashing through the door and into the corridor beyond. She clenched her fists as she stood over him. “You’re not real,” she said, “because you don’t swear enough to be my Valentine.”
“We can make it real,” said Val, from the floor. He worked his jaw, pulled a tooth loose. “We can be together. Forever.” This last was spoken in perfect, honeyed tones, and she felt the yearning inside her, for just a taste of that perfection.
It will never be real. He is not our pack mate.
“Lover?” said Danny. “I’m going to beat the stupid right out of you.” And she stepped forward —
—into an empty corridor, covered in ice.
“We will be together,” said Choler, his perfect voice making her groin pulse with every beat of her heart. And she wanted this togetherness, she wanted it so bad. The certainty she had felt drained away, leaving her shaking and weak.
It is Choler.
The voice inside her head was fainter now, on the edge of hearing. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know which way to go. She hung her head, then screamed again as a silver claw raked against her back. Danny fell to one knee in an empty corridor, bleeding hot red onto the frozen carpet. “Tell me what to do,” she said. “Tell me.” The voice in her head was silent, or … pushed away. She was alone.
“Come to me,” said Choler.
Danny stood, then started her slow walk down the corridor.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“It’s cool,” said John. “This is nothing to be worried about.”
“Son,” said Rex. He waved his flashlight around. “Son, you need to work that one out for me a little. We’re in a hotel filled with zombies, going to fight a werewolf — if you can believe it — with nothing but our wits.” He gestured at the darkened stairwell they were in, the dim green of EXIT signs their only guide. “Also, it’s cold, and dark.”
“Point of order,” said John. “Two points, really.”
“Shoot,” said Rex. The old timer was breathing a little hard, but who wasn’t? John wasn’t feeling great after climbing twenty flights, and they’d barely scraped their way up a quarter of Trump Tower.
“First,” said John, “I don’t think we’ve seen anything but two zombies. Down in the lobby.”
“I’ll admit,” said Rex, “that is a little weird.”
“Where do you suppose they all are?” said Sky. She bent over on a landing, resting her hands on her knees, taking a breather. Her flashlight was resting beside her, the white beam picking out motes of dust in the air.
“Which leads me to the second point,” said John, working his arm in a slow circle, trying to get the twinge out of his shoulder. “When I say, ‘This is nothing to be worried about,’ I’m not talking to you, Rex.”
Rex blinked at him, then looked at Sky. Took in her pale face, wide eyes, then looked back at John. “You know? You’re right. Nothing to be worried about at all.”
“You’re so not good at this,” said Sky. “Hey. Anyone got any water?”
“No,” said John.
“Me neither,” said Rex.
“Could we get some?” Sky shrugged. “We’re in a five star. Bound to be some Evian in here.”
“Good call,” said John. “I’m the king of looting.”
“Got to be good at something,” said Rex, with a face that John figured said all looters should die.
“Wait one,” said John. He gave the corridor a quick check — empty — before pulling open the door all the way open on 21. The heavy fireproof door gave way to nice carpet if that was your thing, a cleaning cart standing against one wall maybe thirty feet away. No one in sight, nothing but crappy artwork hung on the walls. “Who puts those there anyway?”
“What?” Rex was looking over his shoulder.
“Art,” said John. “The shit they’ve got hung all over the place here. I mean, you go into any hotel, there’s artwork everywhere.”
“I used to rent a room from a couple who were into this,” said Sky, her hand finding his. “They’d go to a trade fair and grab up a contract to paint three or four hundred different paintings for the same hotel.”
“My God,” said John. He gave her hand a squeeze. “That’s not art.”
“It’s not great, but what are you going to do as an art history major?” said Sky. “The way they told it, they had to make the paintings match the decor of the hotel. So they don’t get to … exercise maximum creativity.”
“But,” said John, “if the hotel was in red and yellow, they could do a lot of Iron Man prints.”
“Son,” said Rex. “Son, there’s something wrong with the way your head works.”
“Right,” said Sky, “because Iron Man’s owned by Disney.”
“Because,” said Rex, “no one wants to wake up with Iron Man over the bed.”
“I don’t know,” said Sky. “I could stand to see a little more of Robert Downey. The real problem? Red and yellow — that wouldn’t work.”
“Tell you what,” said John. “Y’all wait here. I’ll take a quick look. Rex, hold the door.”
“Got it,” said Rex.
John crept out into the corridor, empty except for those damn art prints. He played the beam of his light around. Wall to wall luxury, carpet and dark-colored walls and light fittings that cost more than a week’s salary. Each. His breath misted out in front of him, and he shivered. Keep it cool, John. He laughed at himself. Cool? It’s freezing in here. After this, you’re taking Sky on a holiday somewhere warmer, like McMurdo Station. He reached out to touch a handle, the brass icy under his fingers. He gave it a push, and the door opened with a soft click. Of course it was a soft click, five stars shaved the rough edges off sounds as well, right? The lock wasn’t working, probably because the power was out, and that was just fine. The door opened into a luxury room, or what he reckoned a luxury room would look like if he’d ever stayed in one — drapes, tinted windows, a bed big enough to really play around in. Damn, but you could get three or four at a time in there.
The door sighed shut behind him. He started looking for a refrigerator — moneyed people wouldn’t have an appliance out in plain sight, no, that would be too easy — and found one behind some walnut paneling. Inside was an array of imported beers, a pack of nuts — who the hell puts nuts in a refrigerator? — and bottles of water.
Evian. Perfect.
John snagged a few of the bottles, then grabbed the nuts as well. Seemed a shame to leave them here. The beer could wait for after, when they had something to celebrate. He gave a last look around the room — Sky would love a stay here — and then pulled the door open to the corridor. “So I’ve got good news, and better news…” His voice trailed off.
Well, there’s something you don’t see every day. The corridor was gone, replaced by a large open area, pillars joining the floor to the ceiling. Instead of his feet moving soundless across thick pile carpet, the soles of his shoes squeaked against polished concrete. “Sky? Baby?”
His voice echoed back to him. John looked back at the door he’d just come through, found it gone, empty space behind him stretching back to a line of old windows letting in a dim light. He l
ooked down at the bottles of water he carried. “Well, shit.”
Let’s do an inventory. He broke the seal on the nuts, tossing a few in his mouth. You’re either going crazy or crazy shit is happening. You’ve got a couple bottles of water and some fine hotel nuts. You have no idea where your girlfriend is. Actually, you have no idea where you are either. And let’s add Rex to the list, cranky old bastard he may be, but he’d be more useful if he were here.
“Where are we?” Sky’s voice carried across the room to him, echoing across the hard surfaces. John looked around, saw her coming towards him from roughly where the stairwell would have been, Rex hard on her heels. The old man was trying to pull her back, but she shrugged him off.
“Baby?” said John. “Baby, don’t come over here.”
“You disappeared,” she said. “I heard you, but I couldn’t see you.”
Rex took a couple of steps after her, and the sound of a door clicking shut followed him. Both his steps and Sky’s slowed, and they looked behind them at the empty room — no door — before Rex cleared his throat. “This some kind of elaborate mouse trap?”
“Dunno,” said John, holding out the packet of nuts to the other two. “Try some. They’re good.”
“How can you eat at a time like this?” said Sky.
“I’ll take some,” said Rex, walking forward and grabbing a handful.
“Water?” John offered Sky a bottle. She glared at him, but took it anyway.
“Shamshoun!” The word thundered across the room, more a roar than a shout. The three of them turned to see a huge, muscle-bound man. Shirtless, skin taut across a frame packed with power. Sweat glistened against that skin, steaming in the cold air.
John stopped chewing. “Huh.”
“You know this guy?” said Rex.
“Nope,” said John. “I know a hundred like him though.” He raised his voice. “Hey, buddy. What you weigh? 300? 400 pounds?”
“Shamshoun!” bellowed the other man — again.
“Does he know any other words?” said Sky.
“Probably not,” said John. He tapped the side of his head. “It’s the ‘roids.”
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