The Watcher asc-3

by Jeanne C. Stein

  "But you're not sure?" I can't help but smile. Poor Williams. If Frey is right, he banished me to the one place I most need to be. Life's a bitch sometimes, isn't it?

  Frey continues, frowning. "I think you should know that there is another reason Williams wants you here, out of the way."

  Once again, he gets my full attention.

  "Williams heard from that agent, Foley, yesterday morning. Martinez has Max."

  My stomach lurches. "Williams told you that?"

  Frey nods. "Foley also said that somehow, Martinez found out about you. Martinez is looking for you now. Foley wanted Williams to tell him where you'd gone so they could offer you protection. Then the story broke about El Centra. I think Williams wanted to be sure he got to you before Foley did. He doesn't trust him. He wanted to make sure you'd go somewhere safe."

  And somewhere out of communication, obviously. I don't think I've ever been more angry with Williams. He kept the fact that Martinez has Max from me. Probably thought he was doing a good thing when I told him what I suspected about Foley tailing me. And I hadn't even filled him in on the other part—Max's conviction that Foley was now working with Martinez and my suspicion that it was Foley who shot Alan.

  Shit. I need to talk to Williams now. But what to do about the witch? If she has Culebra… "If the witch is here, can we stop her?" I ask Frey. "You and I?"

  He raises a shoulder. "It would be better if we had help."

  "You mean Williams? Get him here?"

  Frey nods. "Call him on your cell and …"

  My cell is with Williams. The cell he gave me is stuck on a cactus somewhere in the middle of the desert. But I spy Culebra's phone on the counter and start toward it. When I lift the receiver, I get nothing. The phone's dead.

  Frey reaches out a hand. "You do have your cell with you, right?"

  From the look on my face, Frey divines the answer. "That's not good. This isn't something we should try on our own. The witch has some pretty serious mojo."

  Serious mojo? This from an English teacher with a degree from Harvard?

  Frey interprets that look, too. "All I'm saying is, we're going to need help. Maybe I can change back into panther mode and find Williams."

  "Before midnight? And isn't he in Arizona?"

  "I could make it to Balboa Park in a couple of hours. Someone there might be able to contact him. A chopper could get him here in an hour."

  I glance at my watch. It's almost eight o'clock. Assuming Frey could do it, it's still cutting things too close. Could he get to a phone somewhere else in time? Where? And once he did, what would he do? Change back into human form and beg naked on the street for money to make the call?

  "Damn it, Frey, what are we going to do? We can't let the witch open the gates to hell or whatever she has planned. And we certainly can't let her use Culebra to do it."

  "So, you have another plan?"

  "Not yet. But we made a pretty good team once before."

  His brows draw together. "Against humans. This is different."

  "Well, unless you come up with a better suggestion, we're going to have to try."

  He crosses his arms and a tense, speculative expression settles on his face.

  "What?" I ask.

  "I'll help you. But, Anna, there's something else I should tell you. Now. Before we start out."

  I can't imagine what else there could be. My own expression must reflect my impatience because his eyes slide away and focus somewhere over my shoulder.

  Then he says, "We can't have sex when it's over."

  I can't have heard him correctly. With all that's going on, this is what he has to tell me? I just stare at him, speechless.

  Color floods his face. "I have a girlfriend now. She'd kill me."

  I step close to him. "Are you kidding me? The witch will probably kill us."

  "Well, just the same. I remember the last time. I took care of you when you needed it. I can't do that again."

  He's talking about what happened when we went after the men who hurt my niece. He offered himself, with sex and blood, and I took both. I had no choice. I pass a hand over my face and look into his dark eyes. "I promise to control myself, okay?"

  Frey uncrosses his arms. "Are you sure you can?"

  There's an uncomfortable minute while we both stare at each other. No, I'm not sure I can. But I will. I nod.

  He accepts it and moves behind the bar. I hear the zipper again. He's taking off the jeans, presumably to shapeshift into animal form. And he's doing it behind the bar.

  "I've seen you naked, Frey. I promised to control myself, didn't I?"

  I get only a growl in response.

  CHAPTER 29

  FREY'S OTHER FORM IS PANTHER. WHEN HE SLINKS out from behind the bar, I marvel again at the strange creatures I've come in contact with since becoming vampire. Creatures I thought existed only in the pages of novels or on the big screen. Some are beautiful and inspire awe, like this sleek, man-sized cat full of grace and primitive power. Others, like Avery and Simon Fisher, were vampires who inspired fear and dread.

  I'm still not sure where I fit in the continuum.

  Frey approaches, alert, watchful. His eyes hold a spark of humanity though I know from seeing him in action that the cat is in full control. He looks at me, then moves to the door. I follow him outside.

  I realize once we set off down the road that I should have asked him where we were going. But it's no problem for me to keep up. He trots ahead, muscles bunching and releasing under a pelt of dark fur. I follow, my own senses probing the night.

  There's no moon. The sky is huge and black and filled with a million stars never seen in a city sky. I spy diamonds moving swiftly overhead, airplanes, and the slower moving pinpoints of light are satellites traveling around the earth in their solitary orbits.

  I smell mesquite and dust and the decay of recent death. Animal. I wonder if it's the coyote Frey mentioned earlier. I see the outlines of cactus and rock and scrub oak. I also see the small creatures that slither or run away at our approach. Whether they're running from the panther or the vampire, I can't tell. Tonight they needn't fear either. I hear the calls of birds, the "ping" of bat radar, the single, lonely cry of a wolf somewhere far from us. It carries on the still, night air like an echo from another time.

  I'm filled again with a sense of wonder. I've never let the animal inside me free to observe the world from this perspective. When the vampire is released, it's to feed or fight. This is a new experience. Exhilarating. Liberating. For the moment at least, I push worry for Max into a dark corner of my mind. Right next to anxiety over what will happen to Culebra if Frey is wrong.

  Frey keeps going, deep into the desert, away from the road. He doesn't hesitate or falter but continues at the same pace until we're miles from the saloon. We hit no obstacles. I guess the witches did not expect anyone to approach from the heart of the desert. Approach what? I still don't know.

  Lights appear on the horizon. And I hear other noises now, sounds of traffic and the acceleration and deceleration of airplane engines. We're nearing the Tijuana airport. But from the desert side. The lights of the city of Tijuana stretch beyond. Are we going into the city? Would the witch be planning to work her magic in the middle of a city?

  Frey keeps going straight toward the airport. When we're about a half mile away, he veers toward an industrial park. Or what passes in Mexico as an industrial park. It's more like a landfill, but one dotted with junkyards, truck yards and small warehouses and workshops. The place floods with light when airplanes approach the runways, only to be plunged into darkness when they've passed overhead. It's like being in a time loop of accelerated sunrise and sunset, made all the more eerie because I detect nothing human here at all. Big trucks and small tractors crouch like cowering beasts. A dog barks inside one of the buildings but it's more a howl of loneliness than a growl of warning. The place feels utterly empty.

  Frey trots up to one of the warehouses. He looks up at me. Then back toward
the door.

  Doesn't take a genius to understand what he wants. But before I open that door, I put an ear to it. I don't want to be surprised by a welcoming party. I detect nothing. No movement. No sound.

  The door has an old-fashioned latch. It lifts with a touch. No lock. I half expect a siren or alarm to go off as I gently tug the wooden door open a fraction of an inch. When nothing happens, I pull it back wide enough for Frey and me to scramble inside.

  The instant I pass over that threshold, I'm hit by a wave of fear as tangible and painful as a gunshot. It knocks me back, breathless, shaking, numb, pins me against the wall with invisible hands. Images fill my head. The essence of anything that has ever scared me, every nightmare, takes physical shape and hovers before me, ready to attack. Donaldson is there, the vampire who turned me, and Avery. Fisher, grinning and blood soaked, reaches out to pull me close to him. I feel his claws dig into my arms, his bared teeth snap at my throat. My blood spills over his hands.

  These nightmares inflict pain.

  I can't move. The rational part of my brain knows this isn't real. It can't be. Donaldson, Avery, Fisher are gone. I saw Donaldson and Avery disintegrate into dust, felt the last shudder as I drained the life from Fisher. This is not real. Still, the instinctive part of my brain screams to run. Get out before it's too late. My body tenses to take flight. I have no choice. If I'm to survive, I have to leave this place. Leave and never come back. If I'm to live.

  "Anna. Where are you?"

  A voice shouts from the void. It's far away. Too far away to help. Fisher and Avery press closer. Avery is smiling. His hands trace a path down my cheek, across my breast. I'm naked and where his fingers touch, my skin blackens and sloughs off. I try to slink away but I can't. The door to the warehouse swings open. A light shines in. Outside. I have to get outside. That's where I'll be safe.

  My feet break free. I scream and whirl away from the nightmare. Move. Run.

  A hand pulls me back.

  No.

  A voice. "Anna."

  Over and over. Familiar. Coaxing.

  But it can't save me. If I don't leave this place, I'll die. Avery tells me. Fisher and Donaldson. Get away. Save yourself.

  I slash at the hand holding me. It doesn't let go. I snarl and bite down until I taste blood. Still, I'm held fast. Furious, the vampire erupts. Blindly, I seek the throat of the creature. I find it and rip until the blood washes over my tongue. I drink.

  And at the first taste, I know.

  The blood. The taste, the texture, the essence. I recognize it. I know this creature.

  It doesn't matter.

  I can't stop.

  The voice doesn't scream or beg. It doesn't struggle or pull away. It's grown quiet and still. Waiting.

  That is what stops me.

  I burrow against its neck, but not to drink. To listen. To understand. And when I grow quiet, too, it puts its arms around me and holds me. Then it pulls me forward, and I'm falling.

  Falling.

  Into the void.

  CHAPTER 30

  I DON'T KNOW HOW FAR WE FALL. AT SOME POINT, the creature holding me lets go but I'm not afraid. The fear is gone. Suddenly, there's a crunch of flesh against concrete. Mine. Brutal pain where my shoulder makes contact. When I open my eyes, I'm lying on a cold, damp floor.

  Relief that I'm no longer in the grip of terror washes over me. It's so dark, I think for an instant that my eyes are still shut. But I raise my hands and I can see them against the inky darkness. I press my fingertips together and raise them to my lips. I smell the blood, taste it in the back of my throat.

  Frey. Where is he?

  A tiny noise behind me brings me to my feet. I crouch and whirl around, ready to spring. The sound comes from something lying against a wall a few feet away. It's a moan, and it comes again. When I approach, the figure stirs and tries to sit up. I recognize him and rush to his side.

  Frey is in his human form. He is naked and bleeding, from a wound to his arm and another at his throat.

  Wounds I made.

  I kneel at his side and offer my hand, not sure if he'll accept it or knock it away.

  He reaches out and lets me help him into a sitting position.

  "Are you very badly hurt?" I ask him.

  He leans his back against the wall and stretches his legs out in front of him. "That will teach me to come between a vampire and her nightmares," he says.

  "Did you see—?"

  "Only your reaction. It wasn't difficult to fill in the blanks."

  "You weren't affected?"

  "I stayed in animal form until I realized you were in real trouble. As a panther, I was immune. When I changed, I felt the same horrors you did, but I managed to get you to the tunnel." He smiles. "I just wished I had had time to shapeshift back to the cat. It would have made the landing a hell of a lot easier."

  I look around. "Where are we?"

  Frey pushes himself up. He moves stiffly, stretching and testing each limb. He seems to have forgotten that he's naked. Not so long ago, he hid behind a bar to keep me from seeing the view I'm enjoying now. He catches me checking him out.

  "Didn't know I'd be changing back before we got back to the bar," he grumbles. But he doesn't try to cover himself. "You really should stop staring."

  Like there's anything else to look at. But I drag my eyes off Frey and do a slow turn. We're in some kind of tunnel. White tile walls. Cement floor. Recessed lighting. It has a familiar look.

  "I've seen this before." I press my fingertips against my eyes. "I can't remember when, though. I think the fall has affected my memory."

  Frey shakes his head. "I doubt you've ever been here. More likely, it looks familiar because the tunnels have been in the newspapers and on television. Not this particular tunnel, of course, or we wouldn't be standing here. But ones just like it. The desert between Tijuana and San Diego is riddled with them."

  Of course. It was discovered a couple of years ago that drug runners had built an elaborate tunnel system running under the border. The media made a big deal out of it, but as fast as one tunnel was exposed and filled in, another sprang up seemingly overnight.

  "Come on," Frey starts to move down the tunnel. "We'd better hurry."

  I follow, whispering, "How did you find this?"

  He doesn't slow down or look back at me. "Wasn't a lot to do while I waited for you to show up last night but prowl. I saw a car pull up outside the building. A woman and three men got out and went inside. No lights. No sound. When they didn't come back, I looked into a window. They had disappeared. So I changed and snuck in to look around."

  "You were able to walk in?" The memory of being trapped in a living nightmare still looms fresh in my mind.

  He raises both hands. "I don't know what to tell you. Last night I didn't feel anything like what we experienced a few minutes ago. In fact, I didn't feel or see anything at all, even in human form. I thought they must have gone out a back door. But then one of the men came back. Scared the shit out of me. I barely had time to hide. A trapdoor opened in the floor and this guy climbed out, went out to his car and drove away."

  "Why do you think it has anything to do with the witch? These tunnels are used by drug dealers."

  Frey gives me an impatient frown. "I did a little exploring after he left. Followed the tunnel until I reached the end. What I saw there had nothing to do with drugs. The woman who arrived in the car was watching a dozen or so men make something out of wood in a clearing not far from the end of the tunnel. An altar, I think. Of course, I didn't know then what it was for. I told you I thought it was a bunch of wannabes getting ready to dance their way into a sexual frenzy in honor of Halloween. It happens all the time out here in the desert."

  He may still be right. I won't know for sure until I see if Belinda Burke is here.

  "If the witch is using these tunnels," I reply, "whatever drug cartel dug them must be letting her—maybe she's giving them something in return. But if she is working with a cartel, why
the glamour to keep people out? Why not just have guards with guns?"

  "Last night, it was guards with guns," he says.

  And yet now, tonight when the ritual is to take place, there are no guards. A primitive warning sounds in my brain. Does she know I'm here? Is it what she wants?

  Frey raises a hand to his lips, and points, a signal that we're nearing the end of the tunnel. There's a staircase just ahead. He drops to one knee, lowers his head, and with an exhalation of breath, transforms back into the cat.

  I've seen him make the change once before, but that time it was gradual. One shape morphing into another. This time, it's accomplished in the blink of an eye. A shudder racks his body, a cry becomes a growl, and the human Frey is gone. It must be painful to make the change so fast. The panther trembles a moment before gathering himself to make the ascent out of the tunnel.

  I'm right behind him. It's a steep, slippery climb, on rough slabs of stone set into the concrete. I have to go slowly, Frey bounds up like—well, like a cat. There are about twenty steps leading into a darkened passageway. No lights here. We're guided by a strange sound, a litany sung in an unfamiliar language. And the scent of incense and burning mesquite.

  We tread softly. I have a hand on the scruff of Frey's neck. I'm afraid what will happen if I'm plunged into another nightmare-scape. Frey seems to sense it, because he presses closes to me as if for assurance. There's no doubt in my mind now that we're in the right place. Before we reach the triangle of light that marks the doorway, I lean down and whisper in his ear.

  "If something happens to me, stop the witch. Don't let her hurt Culebra."

  He pushes his head against my chest and makes a guttural noise.

  Then I straighten up and lead the way outside.

  CHAPTER 31

  WHAT WE SEE THROUGH THE DOORWAY IS A scene from a nightmare. This time, though, it's not my own personal hell, but a tableau from an ancient book on witchcraft. A huge fire crackles and dances, sending sparks and laps of flame into the night. The reflection cast by the fire is the only light, making the darkness beyond dense and impenetrable. In the flickering shadows, an altar rises like a specter, and something that looks very much like a gallows. There is a form suspended on the scaffold, not hanging from a noose, but spread-eagle on a cross. It looks human. And it's very still.