The trio climbed the remaining stairs, lost to their own thoughts. They passed door after door of work levels until they came to the top. Jack was still thinking of the assassin, if she had any connection to the other inhuman hitman he had met during their locomotive journey to Burrow Den.
Two more soldiers saluted them as they entered the roof. Sloan and the lieutenant returned the motions; Jack gave a nod. There wasn’t much to the roof at all. A few vents allowed curling steam and smoke to escape during work hours, and a waist-high ledge bordered the square space.
Jack walked to the edge and looked out into the city. New Hope was a bustling hive of activity. Thousands of people walked to and from stores and houses; large buildings poured smoke into the air. The noise that came with it was a mix of white sound.
“She took her shot from right here.” The lieutenant’s voice drew Jack back to the reason for their visit. He was pointing to a section of the roof where a long rifle lay on the ground. “She must have seen Jack and Aareth spot her. That’s the only reason I can assume she left her weapon. The city inspectors have already come and gone. They’re checking leads as we speak.”
“Curious.” Sloan walked over to the rifle. She shook her head as she lifted the weapon from its resting spot. “That a professional would leave her weapon behind, even if she was in a hurry.”
Sloan examined the weapon from all angles before handing it off to Jack.
Jack accepted the long instrument of death. His dealings as a mage sorcerer in the Outland had brought him across dozens of rifles. The one he held in his hands now was a model he was familiar with. It had undergone a few enhancements.
“It’s a 1/14 Reaper.” Jack paused as he let his hands play across the smooth, wooden stock and up to the black scope resting on top of the long barrel. “But it’s been modified. This rifle usually comes with a shorter barrel, and this scope is something I’ve never seen before.”
“Upgraded to shoot farther and more precisely,” Sloan mused as she raised an eyebrow and took another look from their vantage point to the palace steps. “Someone knew exactly what she was doing, so how did she miss?”
Jack searched the rifle up and down. Besides what he had already pointed out, there wasn’t much else unique about the rifle. He handed the weapon back to the lieutenant, who accepted it with care.
Jack followed Sloan’s gaze and wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. The shot from the rooftop to the palace steps was a long distance, but not impossible. For someone with this kind of weapon and training, it would have been hard to miss. Did she mean to miss?
“And the mask?” Sloan asked the lieutenant. “Has anything like that been manufactured in the city?”
“The inspectors are running that lead down, as well.” Lieutenant Baker let out a heavy sigh. “But it’s a big city. Helmets like that aren’t common, but anyone with a shop and access to metal could have made one.”
Chapter Eleven
Aareth
Impossible. It was an impossible coincidence. Either that or he was seeing things; his mind showing him what he wanted to see rather than what was really there.
This foreign rage he felt inside and his kiss with Sloan didn’t help bring clarity to his current situation, either. An already stressed problem was threatening to break him mentally.
Aareth Emerson, temporarily appointed city inspector, was traversing the wide streets of New Hope in long strides. People who passed him were faceless objects he had to avoid to get to his destination.
She’s dead, gone. I held the body. Aareth wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or grateful for Abigail’s voice breaking his train of thought.
“Is there anything you want me to do when we get there? I want to help in anyway I can. And thank you for taking me along.” Abigail ran to keep up with his fast pace and long strides. “I know you didn’t have to take me along.”
“It’s all right.” Aareth shortened his strides to give Abigail a chance to catch her breath. “An extra pair of eyes and ears isn’t a bad thing when you’re looking for clues.”
“I can’t fight like you and Sloan and Jack, but I can take notes, or cover an exit, or I could—”
“You don’t have to prove your worth.” Aareth turned down a street, taking them from the hustle and bustle of the main section of New Hope to a darker, seedier piece of the city. “As far as I’m concerned, you’d proved everything when you pulled the trigger that saved Jack’s life.”
At once, Aareth knew he had said too much. Abigail looked down at the street in silence.
“You did the right thing.” Aareth turned his head for the first time in their conversation to catch her eye. “Don’t ever think there was another way, or regret your decision. Things happened as they were always meant to happen.”
“It’s not that.” Abigail turned dry eyes to meet Aareth’s stare. “I loved my father, but the man who set the wolf on Burrow Den and killed so many people, the man who killed Marcus and was about to kill Jack, that man was not my father.”
Aareth nodded, the final events in Burrow Den coming back to him in a flash. Elijah Ahab, Abigail and Elizabeth’s father, ready to stab Jack in the back, Abigail lifting the pistol and taking the shot that would save Jack and kill her own father.
Aareth pushed the events from his mind. He knew firsthand that dwelling too long on memories would kill a man. He directed his eyes now to the terrain and how much the landscape had changed.
Twisting out of the center of the city was a labyrinth of commercial housing projects. The address Sloan had given him to locate Aaron Jebson was taking them deep into a poor housing development. Men and women lingered on street corners; couples and trios of shady characters examined Aareth and Abigail up and down.
Aareth met their gazes to let them know he wasn’t intimidated, then turned back to his path, saying he didn’t want trouble. He stretched his right arm and worked it in a circle. A part of him actually welcomed a fight.
“Here.” Aareth ignored the urge for conflict and instead pulled out a piece of paper from the inside of his black coat. The writing on the parchment matched the home they stood outside of: 114 Anderle.
Aareth shoved the paper back into his pocket and walked up the short flight of stairs to the front door. The home was small with a black wooden door and gray cement walls. Before he could extract any other clues from the residence, wood shards on the doorstep grabbed his attention.
Splinters lay sprinkled on the ground just under the broken lock. Someone had beaten them to their destination.
“Abigail.” Aareth removed his jacket to ensure his movement wasn’t hindered.
“Yes,” Abigail answered in a steady voice that told him she was ready to enter if he asked.
“You stay put, no matter what you hear inside.” Aareth fought off a wave of heat that burned from somewhere deep in his body. “Do you understand?”
“I understand. I’ll stay here.” Abigail re-steadied her voice. “Be careful.”
Somehow, Aareth knew she was lying. Staying and waiting wasn’t in the Ahab girl’s wheelhouse.
Aareth slowly pushed the door open. The broken lock gave him no trouble; the door swung inward without a squeak.
Inside, the house opened into a living room, a kitchen to his right, and a half-open door in the rear. The window blinds were drawn, bathing the interior in darkness. The space was dusty and dank. The odor of ancient food caught in Aareth’s nose. At the same time, echoes of labored breathing caught his attention.
The sound was coming from the room in the back. Aareth crossed through the apartment and placed a hand on the door. The noise of someone or something struggling for oxygen steadily grew. Slowly, Aareth opened the door, and it creaked forward with a groan.
A body lay on the floor, quaking. A middle-aged man clutched at his own neck with both hands. Blood ran from a slit across his throat. In vain, he struggled to stem the tide.
Glass had been shattered all around the room, telling A
areth everything he needed to know. He had missed the attack by a minute, maybe less. He passed the man’s body, leaning out the window to see if they were safe. Nothing. No sign of even a fleeing figure.
Rage readying itself for a fight still flowed heavy in his veins. He knelt beside the dying man as Abigail walked into the room. Her eyes were huge.
Aareth had seen death enough to know the man had seconds left. There was no saving him now. All Aaron Jebson could do in his last moments was help Aareth in giving him the answer he so desperately sought.
“Who did this to you?” Aareth knelt close to the man. “Tell us! Was it a woman?”
“Not human… A pale man…” the dying scientist rasped as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. “A scar…”
“Were you in Burrow Den?” Aareth pushed, fearing he would lose the man before he had his answers. “Tell me.”
“Yes.” The answer was already fading as it exited his lips.
“Who did you work for? Was it Doctor Livingston?”
The man gurgled something unintelligible. A new wave of blood seeped from his mouth. The last thing Aareth caught before the man’s eyes went lifeless were two words: “The Order.”
“I need more answers,” Aareth raged as he grabbed the dead man by the shoulders. “Did you ever see a woman? Did she have a tattoo on her wrist?”
There was no answer from the corpse.
“I need to know, I need to know!” Reason left Aareth as frustration took over. “Tell me!”
His wrath was all-consuming. So much so, he barely felt the gentle hand on his shoulder.
“He’s gone,” Abigail said.
Aareth released the body, letting it fall to the floor like a marionette with broken strings. He calmed himself, breathing in heavy droughts of air. He needed to focus. Blind rage would get him nowhere. He knew that firsthand from his time as an assassin.
“Who are you looking for?” Abigail removed her hand from his shoulder. “A woman with a tattoo?”
“It’s stupid, but I have to be sure. I saw her body after she died. If there’s even the slightest chance she could still be alive, then I have to find out.”
“Who?” Abigail asked.
Aareth gave the girl a sideways glance. It was information he hadn’t shared with Sloan or Jack. Something deep within him said Abigail could be trusted. “My wife.”
Chapter Twelve
Jack
Livingston Industries was a massive collection of buildings occupying an entire block within the city. Smokestacks rose to the heavens, permeating the air with fumes. Workers walked in and out of a gated security checkpoint leading into the facility grounds.
“This place looks as big as the palace,” Jack breathed as he matched strides with Sloan. “And with enough security to match.”
“You’re probably not far from the truth, Jack.” Sloan motioned with a clenched hand for the company of city soldiers around her to halt. She walked to a security booth where a pair of armed guards stood carrying heavy barreled weapons. They wore dark brown uniforms stamped with the Livingston Industries sigil of an “L” and “I” producing fumes like smokestacks, the two letters surrounded by a gear.
“Captain Sloan here to see Doctor Livingston,” Sloan spoke without the slightest hint of patience. “Open your gates.”
The guards looked from one to another for a consensus.
“Are you expected, Captain?” one of them finally asked, breaking the growing silence. “We don’t have you on the visiting manifest.”
“I don’t have to be expected.” Sloan leaned into their booth. “I’m on the queen’s business. Now open your gates.”
The conflict at the entrance to the grounds was drawing attention. Two more security guards walked over from the left, a woman Jack had never seen before from the right.
She was tall with an athletic build like Sloan. She also wore a brown uniform, but hers was different. Insignias and a gold lining designated her rank. Her black boots crossed the pavement. In a few seconds, she ordered the gates open, then stood in front of Jack and Sloan.
“Captain, you are of course welcomed inside.” She offered a gloved hand. “My name is Commander Ashley Brookhaven. I’m the head of Doctor Livingston’s security force.”
“I’ve never seen you before.” Sloan accepted the offered hand. “Are you new?”
“I’ve been in Doctor Livingston’s employment for some time. Only recently have I been given the authority to oversee his security team.” The commander turned to look at Jack. “And you must be Jack Walker. It’s an honor. Your father was a great man.”
Jack exchanged a handshake with the commander. Her grip was surprisingly strong, and not because she was a woman. Her hand felt like a steel trap crushing his palm. An intensity burned in her eyes like a wild animal hunting prey. Just as quickly as the glance appeared, it was gone.
“Thank you.” Jack shook free of her grip. His fingers felt numb. He studied the commander, noticing the hilt of a weapon poking over her right shoulder. A sword, much like Sloan’s, was sheathed in a brown covering.
“I’ll take you to Doctor Livingston myself.” The commander looked from Sloan to her company of queen’s soldiers. “It may not be advantageous to show you around in such a large group. We aren’t exactly set up to give guided tours, with all of the workers rushing in and out and the level of dangerous material we work with here at the facility.”
“All right.” Sloan turned to address the group of New Hope soldiers. “Private Pia?”
“Yes, ma’am?” A dark-haired girl gave Sloan a tight salute.
“Wait here with your company,” Sloan ordered. “We’ll be back shortly.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the private said.
“This way.” The commander motioned with an outstretched arm. As the trio began walking through the facility grounds, Commander Brookhaven set her eyes forward. It was obvious this would be a quiet trip.
The commander’s silence was fine with Jack. There was more than enough to see. Inside the main gates, the buildings were guarded like fortresses. Jack counted twenty security guards before he stopped keeping track. They were stationed on the rooftops, at every entrance, and patrolled the grounds like watchdogs.
Apparently, Commander Brookhaven demanded respect wherever she went. Security guards walked straighter when they noticed her approach. Some offered head nods or salutes. She ignored them all.
The group headed for the largest building on the grounds—a stronghold made of crimson red brick. On the very top of the structure were a large “L” and “I” spitting vapors into the air.
Inside, the lobby was busy, with construction crews working on large boxes connected with cables and gears.
“What are those?” Jack asked without taking his eyes off of the contraptions.
“Our newest project.” The commander led them to a wide staircase on the other side of the construction zone. “When it’s completed, stairs will be an afterthought. They’re called elevators.”
Jack’s imagination ran away with him as he looked over his shoulder at the boxes. He could only guess at how they would work. The commander wasn’t offering any further information.
As they jogged up the stairs, it was Sloan’s turn to break the silence. “That’s a nice weapon you have there, Commander. May I see it?”
They breached the last stair that opened up onto a long, flat level with a set of oak double doors at the end. A pair of guards stood sentry.
“Certainly.” The commander spoke slowly as if still deciding on an answer before it came to her lips. In one smooth motion, she unsheathed her blade and passed it to Sloan.
If there was any question whether or not the sword was a mage-powered weapon like Sloan’s, the mystery was soon solved. The main difference between the two weapons was the actual blades themselves.
Sloan’s sword was a saber with a thick guard on the pommel to protect her hand when fighting.
Commander Brookhaven’s weapon
was a thick, two-handed one more befitting of a knight than a normal, everyday security officer.
Jack watched as Sloan flicked the switch on the sword’s pommel with her thumb. On command, the weapon hissed to life. A tiny shot of steam escaped as the blade turned a dull blue.
“Hmmm…” Sloan tested the weapon for balance. “And I thought I was the only one—whoops!”
The sword fell, escaping from Sloan’s sure grip. Much too quickly, though, and much faster than Jack had ever been or could ever be, the commander’s hand shot forward and grabbed the hilt before it hit the ground.
A moment of awkward silence passed as the commander turned off her weapon. Jack knew Sloan was thinking the same thing about the woman’s speed.
“Nice reflexes.” Sloan held the commander’s gaze without a smile. “I’m sure those come in handy from time to time.”
“This way.” The commander met Sloan’s gaze with a cold stare of her own. She sheathed her sword.
Jack and Sloan followed the commander to the end of the level. The two security guards at the door stood at attention as the commander knocked.
“Yes?” Doctor Livingston’s voice penetrated the barrier. “Come in.”
Jack felt a wave of awe wash over him. The room was spotless, with almost everything made from or outlined with gold. The floor was made of dark wood with sparkling gold specks; the desk and chairs were cushioned and outlined with gold. The man standing behind the desk even wore gold-framed glasses.
“Sloan, Jack.” He used their names as if they were longtime friends. Standing, he met them halfway across the room with warm handshakes. “I’ve told you you’re always welcome to visit, Captain. I’m glad you finally took me up on my offer. And Jack, I’m sorry to hear about your father. Anything you need at all, you only have to name.”
“Thank you.” Jack stood shocked by the warm reception. He had only ever met Dr. Livingston once in passing as they were ready to depart for Burrow Den.
The Complete Vampire Project Series: (Books 1 - 5) Page 24