While Rico talked about the coat he was making, Cole continued to search the Web. Other than a bunch of doctors congratulating themselves about wiping out the Mud Flu, the only other hit was from a fresh batch of pictures from Kansas City and Janesville. He was about to pass over one entry on HomeBrewTV.com when he realized it wasn’t more wild dog footage from KC, but from Alcova, Wyoming. It was a shaky video file filmed by the passenger of a moving car. About five seconds in, the driver hit the brakes and pointed, screaming for the cameraman to look in the opposite direction. When the camera swung that way, three large figures were crossing the highway. They ran on four legs and resembled small bears. Two of the smaller ones looked like Mongrels and bolted out of frame in a blur. The third was a larger creature with coal black fur that either had trouble walking or wanted to make sure the camera had plenty of time to get a good shot. While the people in the car chattered back and forth, the camera zoomed in close enough to the creature’s face for Cole to verify it was missing an eye.
It was definitely a Full Blood. More important, it was the Full Blood that had torn up Kansas City. Cole could almost feel the burning under his scars just by looking at Liam’s image on Ned’s screen. After a few more seconds the ebon werewolf hung its head and took a few slow steps toward the car. Tires screeched. The driver panicked and nearly ran into a tree. The video ended with a screen swearing the footage was real. Several hundred HomeBrewTV viewers posted their opinions on whether the video was real or one of the many fakes doctored by Cole himself. The prevailing opinion on the site was that the Wyoming video was “fake as hell.”
Rico sat up and grabbed his bandaged midsection. “What’s that?”
Not wanting to give him a reason to jump off the couch, Cole e-mailed the video to himself and said, “Just another Mongrel.”
The new home page for Digital Dreamers, Inc. had some flashy animations advertising new projects that Cole hadn’t even heard about yet. The only mention of the game he’d been consulting on was that it was “alive, but indefinitely postponed.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled to himself. “I know how that feels.”
“Did you hear me before?” Rico growled. “What’re your damn measurements?”
“I don’t know,” he said as he closed his browser and pushed his chair away from the desk. “Take your best guess.”
“At least tell me yer coat size.”
Standing up, Cole caught himself looking at every one of the room’s cluttered shelves and dusty surfaces. If he stared long enough, he could find clean spots that had been left behind by the fingers of its former owner.
“Get me a tape measure,” Rico said. “I think Ned kept one in the top drawer of that desk.”
Cole opened the top drawer, found the tape measure amid some old lottery tickets and brought it to Rico.
Holding both arms straight out and to the sides, Cole asked, “Where’s Paige?”
“Dogtown.”
“Is that still in St. Louis?”
After jotting down one set of measurements into his little spiral notebook, Rico grumbled, “Yeah. Just south of Forest Park, right around Clayton Avenue.”
“Can you be more specific than that?”
“Sure I can. First let’s discuss lining and pockets.”
Less than an hour after his session with the ugliest seam-stress in history, Cole parked in front of St. James the Greater Catholic Church. He double-checked the address scribbled on the piece of paper torn from Rico’s notebook as well as the screen of his GPS. Not even the Cav parked nearby with smashed windows, dented doors, missing bumper, and multiple coats of rust was enough to fully convince him he was in the right place.
St. James was beautiful in the same way that most churches were beautiful. Stained glass caught the sunlight and scattered it throughout a large room filled with rows of pews and well-cared-for statuary. There wasn’t a mass being performed, so most of the seats were empty. A small line formed near a confessional, and a priest in his late fifties or early sixties acknowledged Cole’s arrival with a curt nod. He returned the nod and spotted Paige sitting just right of center of the sixth pew from the front. As he scooted over to her, he couldn’t decide if she was praying, studying one of the leaflets stuck in the hymnal rack in front of her, or sleeping.
A few silent moments passed before he smirked uncomfortably and said, “I never know what to do in Catholic churches. There’s all the books and shelves and these folding padded things down there. I guess those are for kneeling.”
Her eyes were fixed upon the front of the chapel, assessing the notched altar and the stoic, vaguely distracted faces on the statues around it.
“Speaking of kneeling,” Cole fumbled, “I have no clue when to drop down, when to stand up, when to cross myself. Do I eat the bread? Should I pretend I’m singing if I don’t know the words or just stand there? When I go by that big water bowl, do I touch it, flick it, make a wish?”
“How did you know I was here?” she asked.
“Rico told me.”
“How did he know I was here?”
“Was it supposed to be a secret?”
Reaching out to run her finger along the closest hymnal, she replied, “I guess not. Shouldn’t you be at Jack in the Box or something? I think Eat Rite is open twenty-four hours.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Paige looked up at the saints and martyrs frozen in everything from plaster to colored glass. “Good thing I came here. If you’re not craving greasy food, the world must be about to end.”
Closing his eyes and flattening both hands on the uncomfortable bench, Cole savored the cool touch of the old wood upon his scars. “I had to get out of Ned’s house. I know Rico’s still not feeling very good, but he’s acting as if we just checked into that place like another hotel room. I see all of Ned’s stuff, right where he left it, and think I’m still not allowed to look in those jars. I step over his shoes when I walk past the couch. His clothes are still on the hooks by the door, and I just can’t get over the fact that I had to identify his body. Is there even going to be a funeral?”
“No. He was already cremated.” Paige didn’t have to look at Cole to know what he was thinking. The breath he let out was slow, tense, and loud enough to echo within the quiet calm of the church. “Skinner funerals aren’t a good idea,” she explained. “Having too many of us together in one spot away from a defensible location is too juicy a target for some Nymar gang looking to prove themselves or someone like Liam or Burkis, who might decide to wipe our slate clean.”
“Did you see that video from Wyoming?”
She nodded.
“So you think that’s really Liam?”
“Full Bloods don’t live so long just because they can. They fight for it tooth and nail.”
Too tired to pursue that subject, Cole shifted to the previous one. “Wouldn’t you like to say goodbye to Ned? Maybe have a send-off or something?”
“Do you really think something like a funeral matters, Cole? If Ned’s going to hear us or see us when we’re all crying in our nicest clothes, he’ll hear us or see us whenever. He’s gone and it doesn’t matter where his body is or who gets his stuff. All that does matter is that he accomplished something while he was here. Ned was a Skinner, through and through. So were Brad, Gerald, and all the others who were killed fighting our fight. They made a difference where they could and passed on what they learned. That’s all anyone can do.”
“What about us?” Cole whispered.
“We did a hell of a lot. No matter who comes after you for any of those files or anything else of Lancroft’s, we’ll stick to our guns and take each case as it comes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You weren’t contacted yet?” Paige asked.
“No. Contacted by who?”
She sighed. “There are other Skinners who want anything Lancroft touched. Journals, notes, records, experiments, you name it. They also know we’re one of the few to see his home away fro
m the reformatory.”
“So they don’t know about the house in Philadelphia?”
“They know about a house and they know it’s somewhere in Philly, but that’s about it. Lancroft’s coming-out party hadn’t gotten rolling before we broke it up. Anyway, things may get touchy here between us and the rest of our little community.”
“I suppose it may be a bad time to bring this up, but I found some hardcore evidence on the Internet.” Reaching out to hold both of her hands, Cole stared into Paige’s eyes and told her, “There’s been a Bigfoot sighting in Colorado. It…looks like a bad one.”
After a few seconds she laughed quietly and rested her head on his shoulder.
“How’s the arm?” he asked.
“The same. A little stiff. Hurts. You know.”
“Rico told me he only drank some of the Memory Water and gave the rest to you.”
“I gave that to Daniels,” she said. “He knows he’s infected with the first component of Pestilence, and after all he did for us, I figure he deserves some peace of mind.”
“And you deserve to get your arm back. After all we did for those nymphs, I’m sure Tristan could find some more of that Memory Water for you.”
“Oh, she owes us and she’s going to pay up. Remember that deal Rico hashed out? We really have been granted access to the A-Frame Airlines. All we need to do is give them some notice and we’ll be transported in style. Well, if you can stretch your boundaries enough to call those tacky beaded curtains stylish.”
“Fun. So you’ll just keep your arm in a sling and feel sorry for yourself?”
Sitting up without leaning on him, Paige let her eyes wander about the huge room, taking in one sight at a time. “No, I’ll work through it the hard way. Learn from my mistake, figure out a way to deal with the mess, and move along. That’s how it should be.” Shrugging, she looked up at the cathedral ceiling and added, “I need a new weapon anyway.”
A large man wearing khaki pants ambled down the aisle carrying a box of hymnals and a dozen pens stuffed into the pocket protector of his gray shirt. The glasses sliding down his nose were wide enough to replace the Cav’s broken windows, and the eyes behind them showed a hint of friendly familiarity when they spotted Paige. He showed her a crooked smile and started filling the spaces on the racks behind each pew so every parishioner would know the words to their songs.
“When Rico told me you were here,” Cole said, “I thought he was kidding.”
“Why?”
Lowering his voice to reduce the risk of being struck by lightning, he said, “Because you told me more times than I can count that this religious stuff doesn’t work.”
“I told you it doesn’t work on vampires or werewolves, and it doesn’t. It also doesn’t work for magic charms. But maybe,” she added with a gentle smile, “it works on me.”
A special sneak peek at Book Four in the Skinners series,
VAMPIRE UPRISING
Available Fall 2010!
Alcova, WY
The pickup was covered in a yellow paint that had been faded from decades of punishment from a relentless sun. Even after the sky’s glare had faded to a soft, burnt orange, the truck still looked like something that had been flipped out of the proverbial frying pan. Its frame rattled around a powerful engine humming with a dull roar as it slowed to a stop on the shoulder of County Road 407. The passenger side window came down, allowing the driver’s voice to be heard as he leaned over and asked, “You need a ride, buddy?”
The man who’d been walking along the shoulder of the road didn’t take his hands from the pockets of his Salvation Army overcoat. A mane of tangled, dark brown hair flapped against his face when he turned to fix his blue-gray eyes upon the driver. “No, thanks,” he said.
“You sure? It’s a few miles until the next gas station.”
“I’m sure. Thanks, anyway.”
The driver grumbled something under his breath that he thought would go unheard.
Having heard the man’s snippy comment just fine, Mr. Burkis turned away from the truck and let it move along.
“Funny,” said a voice from the hills amid a rush of bounding footsteps and the skid of heels in rocky sand. “After all the death that has been brought to them from strangers, they still justify stopping to ask for more from a monster walking along the side of the highway.”
The County Road cut through a section of exposed rock that made the area seem like something closer to a desert than a place within range of so many rivers and dams. No running water could be seen from this stretch of road, although both of the men who now faced each other could smell moisture in the air as easily as they could feel the fading sunlight upon their faces.
“Hitchhiking, Randolph?” the vaguely amused voice asked in a guttural cockney accent. “You’ve never been one to indulge in the finer things, but surely you don’t need to travel on human roads.”
The man in the overcoat wasn’t impressed by the display of speed that had brought the other man to his side. He merely stuck his hands deeper into his pockets, turned away from the road and started walking at a normal pace into the surrounding wilderness. The new arrival fell into step beside him, wearing a set of rags that wrapped around his waist and hung over his chest thanks to the good graces of a few stubborn sections of leather and canvas. He wore no shoes. The hair sprouting from the top of his head hung in strands that looked more like greasy wires. A jagged scar traced a line down the side of his nose, but that was the least of his injuries. His right eye socket was filled with a mass of hardened flesh resembling wax that had been stirred right until the point of hardening.
“I stuck to the roads because I knew that’s where I would find you, Liam.”
“Have I become so predictable?”
“Ever since you became famous.” After cresting a small rise, Burkis removed his hands from his pockets so he could cross his arms sternly over a chest that was thicker now than it had been a few moments ago. “Didn’t you get enough camera time in Kansas City?”
Liam smiled wider than any human could. The corners of his mouth stretched almost back to his ears and a few of his teeth flowed into fangs as if melting down to points. “I made a damn fine run of it there, didn’t I?”
“You made a mess and stirred up the Skinners, just like I said you would.”
“Always know best, eh Randolph? Remember when you were the one listening to what I had to say?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And in that time, you’ve become the one with all the answers, have you?”
“This is my territory,” Burkis snarled. “No matter what our history may have been, you don’t get to come here and sully it by terrorizing humans for no reason. Feeding is one thing, but you’re—“
“Sending a message,” Liam snapped in a way that sent his last syllables rolling along the tops of the hills. Immediately aware of the impact he’d made upon his environment, the man in rags lowered his chin as well as his voice. “If you’ve picked up the same rumblings from the east that I have, something out there may very well have gotten that message of mine.”
Burkis pulled in half a breath and grimaced. “You reek of Mongrels.”
“Of course. The filthy buggers escorted me out of Kansas City. To be honest, I think they might have gotten closer to finishing the job than that group who cornered me in Whitechapel. I always knew the Mongrels were opportunistic little shits, but I never banked on them working with the Skinners.”
“That has yet to be determined,” Burkis said. “How did you get them to take your side?”
“A wild stab on my part. Common greed on theirs.” Casually shifting his gaze to the east, he squinted at the darkest horizon as if he could make out what was happening on the other half of a map. “I told the lot of them that Full Bloods are created when one of us bites one of them.”
Burkis recoiled as if he’d picked up the scent of cotton candy amid the desolate stretch of hardened terrain. “They believed you?�
��
“One of them did. That’s all it took to carry me away before I was damaged any further. After that, I suppose the fellow with the ambition to move up a rung or two on the food chain convinced some of his mates to join him because that’s all they could talk about when I was able to open my eyes.”
“Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I did,” Liam said with a wink. “Nipped at one or two as soon as I was able. Of course, the first one didn’t make it. Seems those Mongrels aren’t put together as well as they like to think they are. Their strength is in numbers, though, so they kept me from getting away. I needed a few more days to heal and then I bit the few who stuck around for their chance at immortality. Only took some fingers and half an arm. Doesn’t do the trick unless you get to the bone.”
“I know that. What happened then?”
“What do you think happened? They changed.”
“Into what?” Burkis asked.
“Into something that’s close enough to a Full Blood to fool the likes of them.” Seeing the other’s glare, he explained, “They’re stronger and bigger than what they started as, but they’re also a little slower. Takes away some of their advantage. After word spreads, Mongrels in this precious territory of yours may come to trust me.”
“You honestly believe they’d trust you after the history of blood spilled between our kinds?” Letting out a cynical snuff from flared nostrils, Burkis said, “They took you away from the Skinners to use you and they’ll keep using until they figure out a way to be rid of you.”
When Burkis started walking even further from the road, Liam dashed around to get in front of him. It took next to no effort to cover the short distance in a flicker of motion. “I know what I’m doing, Randolph. If you found me to try and show me the error of my ways yet again, you can stuff it up your self-righteous arse.”
“What I want is for you to help me find someone that can give us some of the answers we’ve all been after for longer than these cities have been scattered across this country. The one that may have gotten your message.”
Teeth of Beasts (Skinners) Page 40