Nightmare City: Book 1 Of The Nightmare City Series (Urban Fantasy)

by P. S. Newman

  I aimed the gun at the chimera’s head and fired. The deafening bang almost drowned out the sound of another, bigger gun blast to my right. Both my bullet and Taylor’s shotgun pellets hit the chimera in the head, whipping it about as if the Hulk had caught it with a right hook. Liquid fire sprayed from holes in the black hide. The beast staggered to the side and the light in its chest dimmed.

  The chimera regained its balance, shaking its head. The bright orange holes in its face crusted over like cooling lava. It healed too fast for even a shotgun to put a dent in it. Time for plan B. I holstered my gun and drew the wakizashi, just as another of Taylor’s shotgun blasts tore across the chimera’s withers. The beast swung its massive head down the corridor, from where the second shot had come. Its orange eyes focused on Taylor, standing on the other side of the broken husk of machine I was using as cover.

  “Come and get me, freak of nature,” he screamed. The chimera moved towards him, its chest brightening again. I crouched, waiting. When most of the chimera’s front end had disappeared from view behind my cover, I began to climb. A tiny voice inside my head told me that this wasn’t necessary, that I could just use Taylor’s distraction to get close enough to the chimera to touch and phaze it. He’d be too preoccupied to see what happened. If push came to shove, I could say the chimera had simply disappeared at that very moment. Stranger things had happened to shades.

  But if he so much as suspected that there was something inhuman about me, he wouldn’t rest until he figured out the truth. Not Vaughn Taylor, shade-loather extraordinaire. And while he hadn’t connected the dots on the photo and drawing at David’s place, too many weird things happening around me would surely make him suspicious. Plus, his contempt for me as a hunter annoyed me more than I cared to admit. This was my chance to prove him wrong and shut him up. So I ignored that voice of reason and climbed on top of the machine that lay dead and broken before me.

  Whatever purpose it had once served, it had been big. When I’d managed to scramble to the top, I was so high up I could have swung a leg over the chimera’s back and ridden it like a bull. A fire-spitting, mutated Godzilla-version of a bull.

  It was watching something that moved not ten feet from its tire-sized paws. At first glance, I thought Taylor was writhing on the ground, but it was a large piece of busted metal. It lay over a thin beam, which disappeared in the wreckage of another giant automated machine like the one I was standing on. Looking down, I could just make out Taylor doing push-ups on the opposite end of the beam, providing enough leverage to lift the debris lying on top of it. The movement drew the chimera’s attention like a shiny bauble attracted a magpie. Not the brightest pup in the litter, that one.

  “Are you going to kill it or propose to it?” Taylor roared from below. His voice drew the chimera’s attention away from the shuddering decoy. It took a step forward, far enough for it to spot Taylor moving the beam. A growl rumbled from deep in its chest and the glow rushed up its throat. No time to think.

  “Move!” I yelled at Taylor, who was still down in push-up position. I took a running start on the last two steps my pedestal of choice allowed me. Then I leaped, both my swords stretching to reach their target - the chimera’s neck. It saw me coming and ducked. I almost sailed over the top of its withers. But I managed to adjust my spare sword and it bit home, driving deep into the chimera’s thick neck until the blade hit spine. I held on by my fingertips, my arm almost yanking out of my shoulder as I flailed around the beast’s neck like a puppet on strings. I was left dangling on one arm from the hilt of my sword sticking out of the monster’s neck. Not quite what I’d had in mind.

  Blood bubbled from the deep gash my sword had rent, joined by fire-bright sludge that oozed out of the thick layers of hide. I got drenched in both, though thankfully the sludge was slower in coming. It stung and burned my hands. I squirmed against the creature’s neck and shoulder, trying to maneuver away from the flow while holding on to my blade.

  The chimera buckled. Its scream of pain and rage cut off abruptly when bones, tendons, and flesh in its neck gave, and my sword sliced downward with a jolt. My arm and shoulder screamed a silent protest until I felt solid ground beneath my feet. With this new-found leverage, it was an easy task to slash the wakizashi across the front of the chimera’s neck, now at eye-level with me. A gash opened like a second fiery maw. With a gurgling sound, the chimera crashed to the ground beside me. The red towel of a tongue lolled onto the ground, the scarlet eyes rolled up in its head, and the huge body twitched and thrashed in its death throes.

  Taylor appeared by my side, brandishing his battle-ax. He swung it over his head and brought it down. The blade’s edge was razor-sharp and cut through the chimera’s crusty black hide like a hot knife through butter until it hit spine. Like my sword before it, Taylor’s ax came to a grinding halt. The beast’s big body twitched. Taylor tore his ax free from the bone and swung it again. And again. And again. It got stuck in the beast’s spine with every blow, making progress only by millimeters. The wounds my sword had cut into the back of its neck were crusting over. The broad chest was still glowing, the light getting stronger rather than dimming. It gave me an idea.

  I sheathed my swords and unhooked the small extinguisher from my belt. I pulled the pin and aimed the nozzle at the beast. “Hey Taylor. Aim for the chest.”

  He glared at me but did as I asked, reinforcing the next blow with a bellow of rage. The hide covering the chest popped open like a ripe tomato, exposing fiery flesh. The beast seized in a giant convulsion. White-hot ooze spilled from the gash like lava, liquid like blood, hot like wildfire. Smoke curled around Taylor’s ax. He yanked it away with a curse.

  I aimed the nozzle of the extinguisher at the open wound and pulled the lever. White steam billowed, enveloping the front half of the chimera’s body. I emptied the entire cylinder into the wound until it died with a last, defiant sputter. The fog cleared. We looked down at the chimera.

  “Is it just me or did it shrink?” Taylor asked.

  I could only stare down at the shade that moments before had been large enough to knock over a bus. Now its withers would, at a guess, stand as tall as my hips. At this adjusted size, I finally realized what that sense of déjà-vu earlier had been about. The chimera was a hellhound. One of mine.

  As if I’d said it out loud, Taylor recognized it, too. “Holy shit. That’s one of the shades that got away three days ago.”

  I swallowed. “There are still two more out there.” Three hellhounds had reportedly escaped at the foundry, where Greyson had killed several more. Now there were two left.

  “Yeah.” Taylor sounded as stumped as I felt.

  “We need to find them,” I said.

  He nodded. “Before the doppelgänger does.”

  “If he hasn’t already.”

  “How did he make this one… bigger?”

  “I have no idea.” I tried to wrap my head around the fact that the doppelgänger had somehow turned another shade into an even bigger, badder monster. But nothing I came up with could explain how this might be possible. The only connection was the fire; both the doppelgänger and the hellhounds used fire and flames as weapons. But how would that help the doppelgänger make minions out of someone else’s shades? Maybe we were jumping to conclusions.

  “It’s still glowing,” Taylor said, pointing at the blackened gash in the hellhound’s chest. A tiny spot of gleaming red shimmered in the black fleshy depths.

  I reached over and unhooked the extinguisher hanging on Taylor’s belt. “You or me?”

  “My turn.” He took the extinguisher from me. Two minutes later, it too was empty and the spot of red in the hellhound’s chest had died for good. When we cut the hide with our swords, only sluggish red blood spilled out. No more liquid fire.

  “Wait, how do you know about those other two hellhounds?” Taylor asked.

  I looked him in the eyes. We’d be working this case together until we caught the doppelgänger. I wasn’t going to jeopardize
the success of our mission by omitting that I may hold the key to finding the hellhounds, and with them the doppelgänger. I took a deep breath, preparing for the Taylor-tude that was bound to erupt at this piece of news. “Because they’re mine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "He said nothing?" Cecelia was so incredulous that she paused in the middle of pinning up my hair. Her wide eyes met mine in the bathroom mirror. “At all?”

  "Nope," I said. "He just turned around and walked outside, where you were waiting for us. There wasn't much time to talk afterward."

  The LAPD had entered the factory at Taylor’s and my all-clear and made an interesting discovery: an extensive lab was set up in the second subterranean level beneath the factory floor. This finding had finally been enough to entice Captain Ganner to make an appearance. She didn't come alone. By the time the LAPD's and Order's forensic teams had finished conducting their respective research, tempers had been poised to snap.

  Taylor hadn't stuck around that long. As soon as it became clear that neither the LAPD nor the Order teams were going to find anything that pointed us straight to the doppelgänger’s whereabouts, he’d gotten in his van and left without so much as a 'see you later'.

  "Not even back at David's place?" Cecelia asked, resuming her task of pushing hairpins with glittering beads into my up-do. We were helping each other get ready for the SHAID gala.

  "He stayed out on the roof all night and didn't come down until David’s bodyguards arrived to relieve us. He didn't even come to get his breakfast, much less say a word about the hellhounds. Or Greyson.”

  "So you know that's coming."

  I sighed. "Yeah." Taylor had to have made the connection between my hellhounds and the warrior shade who'd escaped him. The one the media was calling a hero. The one whose plea for aid would be shown tonight, to a gathering of people whom Taylor disdained, at a gala of an organization that he loathed.

  I had to change the subject or anxiety would hit me and sour this female primping ritual. There was nothing to be done about the Taylor situation until he confronted me. "So you found explosives in that lab?"

  “Sí,” Cecelia said with a nod. "The finest in C4. Including enough chemical compounds, solutions and concoctions to fill one of PharmaZeusic's test labs with. It looks like that's where the equipment came from, too. My partner Jerry found out that Sean authorized a transfer of outdated equipment to the factory four days ago. The equipment was supposed to be scrapped. But when Jerry asked Sean about it—“

  "Let me guess," I said, a chill starting at the back of my neck. "Sean didn't know anything about the transfer or the equipment."

  “The transfer was scheduled on the day you came across the doppelgänger in the garage,” Cecelia said with a nod. “The day he shot at David." The color drained from her face when she spoke the last words. Her hands, empty of pins, dropped to my shoulders. I reached up and put a hand over hers.

  “If the doppelgänger was at PharmaZeusics that day to get that equipment, killing David may not have been his objective at all,” I said. “He may have shot at David to distract us, so we wouldn’t try to find out his real reason for being there. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t shown up again - there or at David’s house.”

  Her gaze turned thoughtful. “It’s a possibility, I suppose. But that just gets us back to square one on the doppelgänger’s motives. We have no clue what he’s up to. And whether it’s his main mission or not, he’s still gunning for David.”

  "We'll get your honey-bunny through tonight in one piece.” It was as close to a promise as I could make it.

  She patted my shoulder. "Just be careful, okay? We still need you, too."

  "Always." I had to change the subject again, before the party mood was completely ruined. "Gorgeous dress, by the way," I told her with a glance in the mirror. The little black numbers always worked well on her bombshell figure. "Is it new?"

  Her cheeks brightened with a pink hue. "It was a gift from David.” A goofy grin spread along with the blush. "He guessed my dress size."

  "And guessed it right. You know what they say - never let go of a guy who knows your dress size."

  The doppelgänger was still on the loose, so David hadn't proposed yet. Keeping this secret from my best friend was driving me crazy. But it couldn't hurt to plant a few subtle hints here and there. Not that she needed help figuring out how great she and David fit together.

  "They say that, huh?" she asked, the loopy smile still on her face. "By the way, you look gorgeous, too."

  My dress was pale pink but, while it also complimented my figure, nowhere near as tight as Cecelia's. The neckline showed off my decollete, while the bodice was stretchy enough to allow me to breathe at a flat-out run. The straps sat tight across my shoulders and wouldn't slip to restrict my arms. The skirt fell to my knees, long enough to hide the dagger strapped to my left thigh but loose enough to flare up to my hips when I spun around. Instead of five-inch stilettos like the ones Cecelia wore, I would be keeping an eye on David in comfortable, non-ankle-breaker flats.

  "Do you think the overall impression will be ruined by a scabbard and two swords on my back?" I asked.

  Cecelia giggled. "If you were going for the princess look, that could pose a problem. But since you're opting for badass shade hunter and protector of honey-bunnies, mine or otherwho's, I think you'll be hitting the nail on the head."

  The doorbell rang. Cecelia turned her head towards the open bathroom door. "Bellita, could you get that, please? It's probably David."

  Bella's bedroom door opened and she hobbled past the bathroom, mumbling to herself about being treated like a slave. Aunt Vy wasn’t with her; Bella must have left her in her room. I hadn’t had the chance to talk to my sword much beyond a short greeting. I missed my opinionated weapon more than I’d expected to, and not just when staring the mutated hellhound in the burning maw. We had to fix this rift between us.

  “Gracias, cara,” Cecelia called after Bella, then turned back to me.

  My mind had returned to the doppelgänger and his myriad of potential motives. "So why steal and set up a lab and guard it with a mutated minion of hell? What’s the doppelgänger trying to cook up in there?"

  "That's what my guys and the Order's people are still fuzzy on," Cecelia admitted, "and they tell me it'll take a while to sort through. They have to make an inventory of all the substances and materials and then see if they can figure out what he was trying to do with them. We couldn’t find any sort of documentation on scene; he must be hiding that somewhere else.”

  "If he’s using any. Maybe he has a perfect memory on top of everything else. Where did the C4 come from?"

  "We're still trying to track down the source."

  We threw each other a dubious look in the mirror. I finally voiced what we were both thinking. "What do you think he needs explosives for?"

  "I don't know.” Cecelia shook her head. "But it can't be good."

  "Um, guys," Bella's small voice came from behind Cecelia. We turned around. She looked at Cecelia. "There's someone at the door who wants to speak to you."

  Cecelia frowned. "Who?"

  Bella shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She couldn't look her sister in the eyes. "Ummm..."

  "Bella Maria,” Cecelia said, her voice wandering dangerously close to deep-doo-doo territory.

  Bella was smart enough to know that prolonging the inevitable would only make it worse. "It's the Maxwells."

  "Who?" Cecelia asked.

  "Louis’ parents," Bella explained, looking at her bare feet. "They want to talk to you."

  Cecelia and I exchanged a glance. "Now? What about?"

  "Yes, now." Bella turned to leave, ignoring the second question, but Cecelia called her back.

  "Stay here and let Eden help you get ready for the gala while I go talk to them." When Bella didn't immediately turn back to us, she added, "I mean it, Bella."

  I stood up from the chair and motioned for Bella to sit. She limped over and s
lid into it, shoulders slumped, head down. As if she knew she was in trouble.

  "Be right back," Cecelia said and left. The clicking of her heels faded down the stairs. I picked up a brush and began to comb out Bella's long, curly black hair.

  "Do you want it up, braided, or just clipped back?" I asked.

  "I'd like a French braid over my shoulder.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes while I concentrated on the braid. When I had assembled most of it to Bella’s satisfaction, I asked, "you know why the Maxwell's are here, don't you?"

  It took another while for her to answer. "I may have done something stupid."

  My heart sank. For Bella to admit to doing something stupid, it had to be monumentally so. But I didn't push her. She'd just close up and tell me not to talk about it, from which point on I wouldn't be able to. So I waited for her to continue. She usually felt compelled to fill the silence sooner or later. To spill her secrets to me. This one had to be big or embarrassing, or maybe she knew she would get into a lot of trouble. She hadn’t found her courage to tell me by the time her sister returned.

  Cecelia had taken off her heels and instead wore an expression of careful neutrality. She held a rolled-up strip of bright red leather in her hand, her knuckles white around it. My heart sank further. I knew my friend. She was bracing herself for a fight. A big one.

  Bella recognized it, too. "Wh… what did they say?"

  "Why don't you tell me," Cecelia said. "I'm sure you know the gist of it."

  "Is Louis hurt?" Bella asked, sudden fear raising her voice an octave.

  "A little. A few scratches and bruises. He'll live, but he got a good scare." Cecelia pinned Bella with her gaze in the mirror. "I told them that you would have come to me if you'd had a nightmare about a bear attacking Louis. But I'm not sure. Maybe you woke up and decided not to tell me because you wanted him to get a good scare. Maybe you were willing to take the risk that the bear would kill him."

  "It wasn't like that!" Bella surged out of the chair. "I knew the bear wouldn't really hurt him."