by S. L. Eaves
“Keep an eye on Crina,” he whispers.
“She won’t disobey your wishes.”
“I know. But tonight brought back memories long buried. She’s got a lot to process.”
***
The mortal world is in upheaval, taking the brunt of the aftermath from our little fallout with the wolves. The news, which had been mostly covering an influenza outbreak, now blares dramatic headlines about dead bodies in the streets, the hunt for mass murders, pleas for witnesses to come forward, cautious warnings not to walk alone at night and to report suspicious activity. If they only knew the half of it.
For us, the repercussion is silence. There is no activity at any of the island’s docks, no werewolf sightings, let alone attacks. Striden’s hotel offered us nothing. Xan had returned with little to report. We conclude that Striden had covered his tracks and evacuated in a timely fashion. Xan had spotted a chopper leaving the scene—black, unmarked, and reeking of malice.
Catch’s target had been the best source of information. An avid Mets fan, Reece enjoyed talking in games with his clients. Prior to the night at the dockyard, Catch had been spending his nights sporting a Mets’ cap and a beer, pretending to watch the games.
He wasn’t the only one pretending.
Through snippets of conversation heard between cheers and jeers of the crowd, Catch learned that a virus had been tested on humans successfully. He caught the words antidote and vaccine, so he couldn’t be sure what exactly S&D was working on but he knew human testing was not on par with FDA regulations.
Franco, the client who frequently joined Reece at these games, would make various requests from building leases to international shipment authorizations. Reece was happy to oblige. And Franco was of the undead variety. Which brought us back to the rat hypothesis.
Now, with Striden MIA, we revert back to our remaining lead. However, Mets games are no longer an option. A terrified Reece is laying low. The recent headlines and the untimely demise of his co-workers have him on high alert. Surely he’d gotten word of our presence in his city, but with a wife and two children to consider, he does not flee. He does not go into work, either. We stake out his brownstone on the Upper West Side, a few blocks from Central Park.
As one might expect in this situation, he only goes out during the day, so we arrange a snag-and-bag plan.
We jack a windowless van and when Reece leaves one afternoon, I fire a tranquilizer dart from a window across the street.
He teeters, then drops.
Catch and Trent, covered head to toe, make the risky interception, grabbing Reece up from the sidewalk midday. The van speeds off, a cloud of exhaust left in its wake.
***
Marcus does not allow anyone in the conference room during his interrogation. I’ve heard rumors of his methods and have no interest in witnessing them firsthand.
When the screaming subsides, Marcus emerges and shares with us what he’s learned.
Reece, being human, was easily swayed and wisely opted for full disclosure, from his client’s dealings to his associate’s discretions, even offering up his family. Stand-up guy. Then again, if a couple vampires grabbed me off the street and threatened torture I’d’ve probably offered up my first born.
But it is one name that captures Marcus’s interest.
Deacon.
The name represents the D in S&D Pharmaceuticals. Deacon is Striden’s brother and the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, at least that’s how Reece saw it. Franco answers to Deacon. Franco brought in Reece and his law firm to act as an intermediary between the government—customs in particular—and S&D. Reece had also worked with Hanson and Alex overseas. Franco had initiated the meetings.
Reece was to ensure that medical supplies passed cleanly from ship to warehouse. If a box of weapons or suspicious chemicals crossed his path, he simply looked the other way. He knew their eventual destination was to a laboratory or several, but he did not know their location(s). To keep anyone from learning too much, the information was spread among his colleagues. The ones we’d done in. He suspected they’d been performing experiments for quite some time. Developing a virus of some sort. He wasn’t privy to details. And Franco was his only contact to that world.
Satisfied that he had extracted all he could, Marcus ended his suffering.
“So Deacon is Striden’s brother?” asks Catch.
We sit around the room while Marcus fills in the blanks.
“Yes. And they’ve developed a virus. Masked as a vaccine, a flu shot or something. Reece suspects they were devising a method of mass distribution, positioning it as a cure to the current flu outbreak that’s been hitting the entire continent. They may have even been responsible for creating the current strain that’s been making humans sick. He couldn’t say for sure. But the pharmacy that develops a cure will make a fortune.”
“S&D would play hero.” Crina’s face registers disgust.
“Bioterrorism,” states Quinn.
“That’s how Reece figured it. But he didn’t know the whole story. His version didn’t account for the supernatural element.” Marcus paces back and forth as he speaks.
“We now have two leads. Reece said Franco is big into live music. He frequents a local venue several nights a week. Catch, you know what he looks like—you and Lori will find him. Make him take you to Striden. Or at the very least, learn where he is so we can take him out. And try to find out what the hell is wrong with the bastard. A vampire answering to wolves. Incomprehensible.”
“No problem.” Catch gives nod and winks at me.
“You said there were two leads?” Crina asks.
“A possible location for S&D in New Jersey. We suspect it’s a front, but their headquarters is listed publicly at a location just across the river. And Jiro says there’s several buildings registered under Deacon’s name throughout northern New Jersey, so the rest of us will go investigate.
“But I don’t want a repeat of the warehouse. Xan, I need you to pull everything you can from the files Jiro’s sending over and comb through Adrian’s papers while you’re at it. He rambled extensively about the virus and made mention of S&D. If it’s something that could harm us we need to protect ourselves before infiltrating their operations.”
Chapter 28
I scan the crowd through the haze. Roughly a thousand people stand crammed elbow to elbow in this tiny venue. Once a factory of some sort, the old brick building has recently been reincarnated. The upper level holds a bar and some seating. It is equally jammed with patrons. Everyone is dressed head-to-toe in black and it appears a two piercing and tattoo minimum is required to get through the door.
Smoke rises from a handful of concert goers attempting inconspicuous drags from their joints despite the prominently posted ‘NO Smoking’ signs. I sniff the air. Musky sweat and cheap booze. I can’t help but be reminded of the night I met Catch. More by the energy of the crowd than their smell. I force the memory back and focus on the task at hand.
As I inch my way across the rafter beam, I press my body flat to keep out of the range of the rotating and flashing lights suspended from the ceiling. Between the lighting, dense atmosphere, and pungent aromas, I am out of luck. No way I can identify our target from this perch.
“Anything?” Catch’s voice comes faintly through my comm.
“Negative.” I slide toward the center when the lights cut out. “You?”
“They all look like him.”
A metal band takes the stage and the crowd goes wild. My chest vibrates to the beat of the music. I let the sensation carry me across the beam.
“Lori. I’ve spotted him. He’s toward the back of the crowd. Not far from you.” I look to the wall where Catch stands and follow his gaze.
“Describe him.”
“Uh, buzzed head, black tank top, ripped jeans, a serpent tattoo running up his shoulder on his left arm.”
“Got ’im.” I hop rafters and position myself directly overhead.
The band
on stage rages, fog machines crank into hyper-drive.
I pounce.
A stunned Franco doesn’t have a chance to react.
We hit the ground and Catch, who had spotted my descent, mashes his way through the pulsating crowd, unfazed by our sudden presence. We drag Franco out the side door.
Security comes over.
“Too much to drink,” I explain as Catch pulls Franco past the equipment van and into a nearby alley, wasting no time.
“Where is Striden?” Catch asks between punches.
Franco vamps and struggles to get to his feet. Catch keeps striking and Franco keeps shaking his head, not saying a word.
I linger by the van at the alley’s entrance. Security eyes me cautiously. I light a cig and try my best to look casual.
“We know you’re working for the wolves. Where is Striden?”
Franco strikes, kicking Catch back; he jumps to his feet.
“You got the wrong guy.” Franco’s plea is unconvincing.
Catch retaliates, alternating his blows midsection, head, midsection. Franco stays on his feet this time, braced against the wall.
“Don’t break his jaw; we need answers,” I caution, hearing a crunch as Catch breaks Franco’s nose.
I hang back at the end of the alley, exchanging threatening looks with the bouncers. A couple of actual drunks pour out of the venue, fists flying. Just the distraction we need.
Catch lets out a cry. Franco had driven a switchblade into his thigh and Catch stumbles back, gripping his leg. I sprint to his aide. Franco is already on top of Catch, stomping the knife deeper into his leg. Catch squirms under him.
I pull a stiletto-shaped stake from my boot and ram it into Franco’s back.
He screams and explodes into dust.
“Shit,” Catch cries, jerking the knife from his leg.
“That did not go as planned.” I reach to help him up.
“Definitely not.” Catch’s eyes dart past mine. “Lori!”
Over my shoulder, two vampires swing down from an overhead fire escape like crazed chimpanzees. Then everything goes dark.
***
“Bloody wankers. I’ll kill you!”
Catch’s voice sounds distant. I shake the fog from my head. The world jostles like a boggle board and I fight to right myself. Chains around my arms clank against the metal floor of the van. I recall the concert and the alley.
The van is new. So are the chains.
I drag them upward and make it as far as my knees. A large hand shoves me back. I try to fight it, but wires are bound tight around my wrists.
Catch is sprawled on his back, the other, smaller vampire, sitting on his wounded leg.
“Tough talk from a pile of dust.” He jabs Catch in the face, striking his jaw. “The fuck you want with Franco?”
“Stop!” I lunge forward again, and again the chains do their job. So does the brute with the big hands. He throws me back against the van.
“Lori!”
My face is wet. Likely coated in blood from the blow it’d taken earlier. I can smell it in my nostrils. Sweet and sour.
“Don’t touch her. I swear I’ll feed you your insides.”
“You’re in no position to be making threats.”
Catch swings his good leg up and conks the vampire hard in his side, throwing him off balance. In a blink he has him by the throat, pinning him against the floor. The van lurches and veers sharply left. The doors fling open and Catch moves to shove his attacker out head first. The second vamp charges Catch and he disappears from my sight.
“Catch!” I try to call to him, desperately struggling to gain some sort of footing. I blink and squint to see past the blood in my eyes. “Motherfuckers.”
Both our attackers are hunched in the doorway, their backs to me.
“Well at least we got his girl.”
They turn to me, shutting the doors. The van hits a pothole and something hard hits my head.
***
I am a rock star. Playing touch football in Central Park. Launching fireworks off rooftops in Alphabet City. Fucking a hot bartender on the pool table after hours. Riding a rollercoaster with tear jerking g-force. Partying till dawn at a beach bonfire after high school graduation…
I see my blood spray his face. Chains do not tear through flesh cleanly. The air whooshes, the metal stings, and I scream through clenched teeth.
“Who are you working for?”
Real memories are too anguished. Think about something else, anything else…
“What was your business with Franco!”
My head throbs.
“Tell me, bitch! What did you want from him?”
Sweet cocktails with little pink umbrellas. Winning the lottery. Racing a sports bike through the desert at sunset…
I am anywhere but here.
Think, think about anything to block them out. You hear what they’re asking and you might be tempted to answer.
Warm liquid oozes down my face, covering my eyes, dripping from my lips, nose, chin. I can’t see. Were my eyes open? Darkness everywhere.
I am a rockstar. I answer to no one.
The man’s voice booms again, his Irish accent growing thicker with rage.
“You gotta do this the hard way, don’t ya? Mo’ fun for us.”
Another crack in the jaw. Please don’t knock out a tooth. I drop to my knees. Arms tied behind my back, I flex and feel wires cut through the flesh on my wrists. I lean against the cold cinderblock wall for support.
I am a battle axe.
Last I knew I was in a van with Catch. Where is he? Now I am somewhere with two thugs. They aren’t human or werewolf. They are vampire and, likely, friends of Franco’s. Good friends judging by their actions.
Don’t know how long they’d been going to work on me, but my ribs are cracked up and they’d busted my face pretty good—nose is definitely broken. But they aren’t going to learn anything this way. I suffered years of abuse as a kid and I was human then. This is nothing.
A strong jab into my gut sends me sprawling backward. Hands twist beneath me, legs jutting out. I want more than anything to crawl into a fetal position and go to sleep. Escape from here.
Instead I lay vulnerable and completely powerless to my own fate. Sour blood trickle down the back of my throat.
“Why’d ya do it?” His voice is gruff and doesn’t match his physique. His buddy is larger. The strong, silent type.
I stare up at them, trying to focus, get my bearings. The smaller guy, one with the mouth, pulls a gun from his back.
“This is how iz gonna go. I’ma gonna keep shootin’ holes in yous ’til you start givin’ me answers.”
Oh, this is gonna hurt.
“You best start talking, lassie,” the bigger one throws in.
No response from me.
The room is temporarily illuminated by the spark from the revolver.
The little fucker blew a hole in my thigh just above the knee. Probably aiming for the knee cap, but missed at point-blank range. Pathetic.
“What was your business with Franco?” he tries again. He aims the gun at my abdomen.
The door flies open. They turn swiftly.
A voice bellows, “I spoke with Marcus. She’s not a rogue; she works for Marcus and what’s left of The Covenant.”
The gun quickly disappears. I try to turn my head without success. The small guy is first to speak. “Since when des the Cov’nant hunt their own kind? Fo’give me, Vega, but I have trouble believing—”
“Franco was a traitor,” I croak out.
They spin from Vega to me, then back to Vega for confirmation.
“It appears we’ve got quite a complicated predicament on our hands, but I won’t take any objections from you, Conner, and I won’t cross swords with Marcus. Whatever your feelings in this delicate matter, there is a logical explanation for Franco’s untimely demise.”
They both nod obediently.
‘You are dismissed. I need to have a word
with our…guest in private.”
Hasty exits, followed by the slamming of a door not far from where I rest. Vega is at my side now, propping me up against the wall. Leaning me forward, he bends over and snaps the wires with his fingers. He then proceeds to wipe blood from my eyes with a handkerchief from his lapel.
I rub my sore, bleeding wrists.
“We’ll get you cleaned up. I have an excellent doctor here. I’m sorry about the boys; they get a little…overzealous.” Vega’s voice is calm and sincere.
He stands about 6’5”, slender build, elegantly dressed, his black hair slicked back. His face is lean, with high cheek bones and a goatee hiding an exceptionally pointed chin. His lips, penciled on, barely move as he speaks in a Hungarian accent. Vega is the closest embodiment of the Dracula myth I’ve ever seen. A very intimidating presence indeed. His porcelain skin glistens like Adrian’s. A Pureblood. Then I remember why his name sounds familiar: Catch’s warnings.
We take each other in for a moment.
He examines my leg and helps me to my feet.
“Marcus contacted you?” I manage.
“No. I contacted him. I suspected you might be part of his clan. Atticus spoke of one like you.”
“Atticus?”
“Perhaps you know him as Adrian? He had many names over the centuries.”
“Marcus indicated you were underground. He spoke as if he had no contact with you.”
“True. I am. And our exchanges have been limited. I came to the States a few months ago because Conner had gotten involved…well, I’ll spare you the details, but he got in over his head with some vampires he’d been dealing blood with. I do not make a habit of cleaning up his messes, but the climate has been tense and I wanted to see just how bad things have gotten for our kind since the escalation of the war. Perhaps you can offer some insight on that end."
“Catch.” We are ascending a stairwell. I hobble on my good leg as he guides me down a long corridor. “Where is Catch?”
That’s when I lose consciousness.
Chapter 29
I awake in a cot. The room has wooden floors with faded lines and a tattered basketball net at the far end. An old gymnasium no doubt. The hum of florescent lights fills the room. A table with medical supplies sits a foot from my bed.