Killing Time

by Elisa Paige

  “We are the most powerful beings this world has ever known! Yet our Ancients insist we mask that power. That we deny ourselves! Baisez les imbéciles antiques!” Glaring over his shoulder, Philippe caroled, “Anna, dear, wherever you are, I said fuck the ancient imbeciles! Fuck them all! The Elders, too, and the filthy immortal traitors who behave as if they are no better than the blood bags whose sole purpose is ensuring a better species’ survival!”

  Koda made a pained noise in his throat, but I was too stupefied by Philippe’s performance to tear my gaze from the television.

  “I cannot decide which is worse. That the betrayers hunt animals, if you can imagine the horror! The shame! The hairballs! Or that the more clever betrayers established a black market blood bank, sanitizing their own predatory natures and turning their immortal backs on all it means to be vampire! They are species traitors of the worst kind!”

  Koda muttered, “He’s talking about James and his mate Evie, about Siska and our other immortal friends. Any vampires listening to this broadcast will know exactly who Philippe means. He’s painted a target on them.”

  I swallowed convulsively. “Surely they can band together, set up a mutual defense?”

  “Despite what Philippe is implying, there aren’t many vampires who choose not to kill humans for sustenance.”

  “Then why is he setting up James and—”

  Koda’s face went blank, a sure sign he didn’t intend to answer my question. “That’s a story that isn’t mine to tell.”

  Stung, I returned my attention to Philippe’s ongoing diatribe.

  “There is no neutrality in this war. No Switzerland. No United Nations. And no pathetic Geneva Convention. You are either on the side of your blooded brothers and sisters, united to return us to our proper godlike status. Or you are our eternal enemy. Choose wisely. Decide with great care whether you are the predator or the loathsome vermin we will hunt down and exterminate.”

  The madness in his eyes sent chills coursing through my body.

  “From this point on, there is only one law: mine. Ancients and Elders, listen up. There is no you, there is only me.” He beamed, like he’d hit on a fabulous slogan. “Yeah. That’s right. There is no fucking you, there is only me!”

  As if any further proof was needed that the guy was bat-shit crazy, he abruptly assumed an expression of haughty European urbanity. With a flourish, he bowed his dark, gore-covered head. “Welcome to the new order.”

  As if on cue, smoke grenades exploded in the studio behind him and his form disappeared from view. The sound of multiple rifles on full auto crackled through the audio link. Someone shouted, “Cut the feed! Cut the feed!”

  The television picture went blank, although my imagination had no difficulty supplying the hellish scene that was taking place, even now.

  Koda stirred. “You’re not going after that psychopath.” At my reflexive glare—that had sounded perilously close to an order—he clenched his teeth. “Are you?”

  I gave him a cool look. “I was created an assassin. A living weapon, remember?”

  “Dammit, Sephti. All he has to do is force you to burn through your energy. As fast and strong as vampires are, you’ll have to stay shaded. Doing that while you’re fighting full-out will burn through your energy stores in no time.” Koda’s eyes flashed his anger. “When you’re exhausted, when you can’t shade anymore, then what? How will dying serve your people?”

  I wasn’t accustomed to justifying my decisions—hell, it wasn’t all that long ago that I’d been incapable of even making decisions—but something in me needed Koda to understand. “Which would be why I need to talk to Jack and learn all he knows about Philippe’s security measures, his habits, the places he frequents.”

  Koda said roughly, “To decide where to find him.”

  “To get to him, fast and silent. To catch him unaware. And to drive an ehrlindriel dagger through his black heart.”

  Before Koda could fire off the no-doubt livid words he was thinking, his cell rang from its place on the end table. Giving me a glare that said the argument was far from over, he answered the phone after looking at the little screen. “Hau, chiye. Thehan wanchinyanke sni. Tokheskhe yaun he?”

  I turned off the TV and paced around the room, almost vibrating with the need to do something. Even knowing it was far too late to make a difference in the studio, I yearned to slaughter Philippe with a fierceness that surprised me. His death would not be my trademark quick, merciful assassination, either. It would be dragged out over days, his vampiric healing abilities serving to prolong the agony.

  But first, I had to know where to find the bastard.

  Despite my distraction, I kept an ear trained on Koda’s conversation. I couldn’t understand his words, but reading body language was instinctive for bitterns and his was becoming increasingly tense.

  “Toka hwo? Hau. We saw it, too,” he muttered, guiltily casting his eyes in my direction, like he hadn’t meant to respond in English. “Um, no one you know.”

  My cheeks flushed at his dismissive tone. I didn’t know who he was talking to, but made the obvious conclusion he—or she, dammit—was also Native American or one of their allied supernaturals. Annoyed with myself and with him, I flipped him off, returning the dark look Koda gave me.

  “Finish what you started to say,” he growled into the phone. There was a long pause as he listened to the caller’s response, then he went rigid. He spoke a long diatribe in his musical language and turned off the cell.

  “What?” I asked, my throat going dry at his stunned expression.

  “The nations have elected a principal chief,” he said, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

  I shrugged. “And?”

  “All the nations, Sephti. One chief to lead all the nations. It’s never happened before.” Giving himself a shake, he headed for the bedroom where he’d tossed his dufflebag last night. Over his shoulder, he said, “The chief, Waneta, saw what Philippe did in that studio and immediately called a meeting for tomorrow morning. It’s to include a council made up of elders from every nation. Again, something that’s never happened.”

  I followed Koda as far as the bedroom’s open door and leaned against the frame. “Was that the chief on the phone?”

  “What?” Koda asked, distracted. “Oh, no. That was my brother, calling to tell me about the meeting.”

  I breathed in and out a few times. This must have been one of the men I saw in the dream. Feeling absurdly shy, I asked, “What’s his name?”

  “Ahanu.” Koda sniffed a sweater before tossing it into his bag.

  Watching him pack two shirts and a pair of jeans, I shoved my hands in the pockets of my robe. “So. I’m gonna take a wild stab here. He wants—”

  “Me there, yes,” Koda finished. A shaving kit disappeared into the duffle, along with two well-worn paperbacks. “There are others of our kind—lore-keepers, teachers, song-makers—but Ahanu and I are the last of the guardians.”

  “I don’t even know what ‘your kind’ is.”

  He shot an amused look my way. “Like bitterns, we have many names. Most often, we are called anzhenii.”

  “Which means?”

  “It is Ojibwe and roughly translates to angel.”

  My laughter died as I saw he was serious.

  Rolling up a couple pairs of socks, it was clear his thoughts were filled with the upcoming meeting. “This is a pivotal point in Native American history, Sephti. With the supernatural world in open turmoil and Philippe’s performance, things could change radically for the nations.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Humans long ago turned away from their ancestors’ knowledge—the legends, fairy tales and myths that were intended as warnings long before they were sanitized into sweet bedtime stories. Now only our elders remember the Old Ways.”

  “You’re talking about fighting.”

  “If it comes to that, yes. Absolutely.” His head lifted and his obsidian eyes glittered with fury. “More
importantly, I’m talking about rewriting the nations’ future in a way we never dared imagine. The people never recovered from the government’s treachery, from the loss of land, from the constant demoralization and attacks on our way of life. Even today, they face grinding poverty, alcoholism, infant mortality…”

  Knowing the role fae played in this, I realized I hated them even more—something I’d not thought possible.

  Seeing my expression, Koda stiffened. “We do not want or accept pity.”

  “Good, because what you saw was anger,” I growled.

  He nodded his approval. “Things will be different for our people. I swear it.”

  His intensity vibrated through every taut line of his body. And it was infectious. “Okay. Where is the meeting being held?”

  Koda’s expression took on a neutral cast. “One of the larger central reservations. It will take the rest of today and most of tonight to make the drive.”

  That he hadn’t answered my question tightened my gut, but I shook it off, figuring it didn’t make a difference if he told me now or when we got there.

  As I thought about what he’d said, I became excited. Here was an honorable purpose I could fight for. A way to atone for my creators’ role in his people’s history. That it would please Koda and increase my chances of finding Jack—since I had a sneaking suspicion Koda had stashed his vampire friends on or near the mystery reservation—only added to my pleasure.

  Pushing away from the doorframe, I flashed him a grin. “I’ll be ready in ten—”

  He was around the bed and standing in front of me before could finish the sentence. “You can’t come.”

  I absorbed his words like a body blow, reflexively hiding the sharp pain behind a pleasant expression. “Ah. Sure. That’s fine then.”

  Framing my shoulders with his hands, he ducked his head to meet my gaze, his eyes earnest. “It is my duty to protect my people, not just from physical threat, but also from emotional trauma and slights to the nations’ history, to our honor.”

  I tried to twist away from him, but he moved with me. “I get it, Koda. Really—”

  “Please, Sephti. Please let me finish. They would think I’d brought—”

  “Their most reviled enemy into the presence of their most respected leaders, during a crucial moment in their existence. I understand,” I interrupted in as level a tone as I could manage and broke free of his grip. I got my head up, my shoulders back. Forcing the words together in correct English first lest I reveal too much, I waved away his concern. “I was just thinking. In all his ranting, why didn’t Philippe say anything about Cham Reiden or his alliance with the fae?”

  Koda said roughly, “I don’t know and right this moment, I don’t give a damn. Will you please—”

  “But it’s important.” I clung doggedly to the topic, wanting…needing to engage my mind. “Was it purposeful, do you think? Something Philippe and Reiden agreed to up front, to hide fae involvement? Or has Philippe made a power play? Is he breaking away from the Dark king?”

  Koda glowered. “You’re so damn determined to find a way to kill the fae lords and Reiden, aren’t you?”

  Looking him hard in the eyes, I nodded. “It’s what I was doing when you interrupted my plans.”

  He jerked like I’d hit him. “Is that how you see it? As an interruption?”

  Unable to maintain eye contact, I shrugged one shoulder. Evading his question, I said, “It would benefit your people to know the relationship between the two bastards.”

  “Yeah, it would,” he admitted. He gave me a pleading look. “I have to go. Can we talk when I get back?”

  “Everything’s been said,” I whispered, hugging myself.

  He swore and turned to dig around in his duffle. Pulling out a little silver rectangle, he walked over to hand it to me. “I want you to keep my iPod for me. It’s a gift from my brother and it’s important to me. My leaving it is proof that I will come back. And when I return, we’re going to talk. Okay?”

  I gave him a pleasant smile. “Sure,” I lied.

  He narrowed his eyes, doubt clear in their dark depths. “Maybe you can figure out what’s going on with Reiden and Philippe while I’m gone. It’ll only be a few days, Sephti. So think fast.” Picking up his duffle, he bent to kiss me, getting my cheek instead of my lips as I turned my head.

  “I’m on it,” I said blithely.

  He gave me another penetrating look, then headed for the suite’s outer door as I trailed along. Opening the door, he paused. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

  I hesitated.

  His voice roughened. “Please be here when I get back.”

  Unable to lie to him again, I whispered, “Safe roads.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head. Then he swore and let the door shut behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  Time to get back to reality, I thought sternly.

  Ditching the hotel robe, I pulled on my bike leathers, their not-so-clean condition reminding me they needed replacing. Soon.

  Stuffing all the little bottles I found in the bathrooms into my backpack—no way was I leaving the heavenly smelling booty behind—I jerked open the suite’s outer door, only to freeze in the hallway, debating with myself. Swearing, I turned on my heel and went back inside long enough to get Koda’s iPod thingie, then left the room without a backward glance.

  Using the last of my cash, I caught a cab to Lake Highlands. You’d never know by looking at the tidy, tree-lined streets that this part of Dallas was renowned for drugs and prostitution. But I’d done a thorough job scoping out the city’s filthy underbelly when I tracked the vampires here and knew exactly where to find what I needed to get my plan back underway.

  After unobtrusively observing the action to see which dealers had the highest traffic—which meant the most cash—I shaded my form and trailed a jittery human male down the street, taking careful note of the deceptively quiet neighborhood. My senses told me that numerous pairs of hostile eyes marked the passage of every creature on the street—well, every visible creature. As long as I remained silent, I could strip naked and dance a jig and none would be the wiser.

  My own pathetic attempt at humor having done nothing for my sour mood, I studied the guy I was following. My mark’s clothes were worn and bore old stains, like he couldn’t be bothered to clean up or change. Ever. The twitchy way he walked and swung his arms was odd and arrhythmic, like he moved to a chaotic beat only he could hear. His scent was wrong, too—not just the unwashed stench, but an underlying chemical odor that undoubtedly had something to do with his spastic gait.

  At first glance, Twitchy was no different from the handful of young males leaning on a car at the corner, watching him with reptilian eyes as he lurched by. But the thugs allowing this one safe passage through their territory—just as a similar group had done four blocks earlier—told me the guy was connected. As did his surreptitious security—two males preceding him by half a block and the other two trailing him by an equal distance. All of which meant the heavy-looking backpack he carried and kept shifting from shoulder to shoulder held something valuable.

  I smiled coldly. Oh yeah. I’d picked the right guy.

  Eating jelly beans to manage the drain on my energy, I resolutely blocked the frisson of wonder that Koda had bought a pound-bag for me without my knowing and put it in my backpack. Shoving away the treacherously warm, fuzzy feelings, I focused on the here and now. Even supernatural assassins can get killed if they’re stupid, if they hesitate, or if they allow distractions. And my illogical, perplexing and—yes—growing feelings for Koda were enormous distractions.

  Damned if I’d let some punk Round Ear take me out. That’d be humiliating.

  I leaned into the shadow of a huge billboard next to the motel where Twitchy had led me and where he now stood in the parking lot, indecisive and bopping more frantically. An otherwise reputable economy inn, it had the misfortune of residing in Dallas’s highest crime area, just off LB
J Freeway.

  Idly watching the telltale gang traffic going in and out of a room on the back side, I chewed another handful of candy, waiting impatiently for Twitchy to work up his nerve and knock on the door he kept staring at. Finally he did. His timid first attempt didn’t yield any results, so he repeated the effort hard enough for me to wince—when he came off his high, his hand was going to hurt. A long minute passed before an enormous, muscle-bound human stepped out. Scowling at my anxious guide in his dirty clothes, the guard tossed a burning cigarette to the ground and gestured Twitchy into the room.

  Which was the cue I’d been waiting for.

  It was a simple matter for me to cross the lot and sift through the window air conditioner. Not my favorite entry point, since passing the bits and pieces of me over the unit’s freezing coils left an uncomfortable chill that would be hard to dislodge. But the thing’s open design made for an easy transition and I was in a hurry.

  I’ve expended more energy changing clothes than it took to knock unconscious the humans in that room—Twitchy, two hulking guards and a well-dressed man. Leaving the males where they fell and knowing another person like my jittery mark could show up at any minute, I unshaded so I could snag Twitchy’s backpack and dump its content onto the bed.

  “Yessss,” I hissed, grinning to see I’d been right about his carrying cash. A gratifying amount.

  Grabbing a pillow and pulling off its case, I shoved the bills into it before doing a quick perusal of the room’s standard motel-issue desk. In addition to money, there were stacks of flat, rectangular pieces of plastic and paper whose symbols I couldn’t decipher. Some cards had raised markings on them while others had a person’s picture, which was odd, because none of the photos looked like the men in the room. There was also a stack of thin, dark blue books with shiny gold markings and an eagle holding arrows in one clawed foot and what looked like a tree branch in the other. The books’ covers were identical, although each had a different person’s photo on the inside. I glanced at the four males again—nope, none of them matched.