Gathering Storm: An Alastair Stone Urban Fantasy Novel (Alastair Stone Chronicles Book 17)

by R. L. King

  She paused. “That’s…not really a good idea right now. Listen—I’m sorry I called. I shouldn’t be dragging you into my problems. Just forget I—”

  “No,” he said, before he could stop himself. “It’s okay. I’ll come. What’s the name of the motel?”

  “You sure? I don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.”

  “Okay, then. The place is called the Capri.” She gave him the address. “There’s a 7-Eleven on one side and a Shell station on the other. Real high-class place. I’m in room 209.” Her voice still held tension, but he could hear a smile in it too.

  “Okay. That’s not too far from me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Great. Just knock twice so I know it’s you. And…thanks, Jason.”

  He stuck the phone back in his pocket and grabbed his leather jacket from the chair. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed his gun too. He still didn’t have a concealed-carry permit, but when dealing with potential supernaturals, prudence trumped legalities. For a second, he thought about calling Verity, or Stone, or both of them. It would have been wiser to have some magical backup, especially since he was fresh out of enhancement elixir.

  But he didn’t do it. He didn’t want to admit it even to himself, but it wasn’t entirely because he didn’t think a single meeting in a relatively public place would be dangerous.

  Part of it was because he wanted to see her again, alone.

  24

  The Capri Motel was one of those places that dotted certain parts of the San Jose area: it had probably been built in the Fifties, and might even have been nice back when motels were a new thing, Monterey Road was a main drag through San Jose, and more families started taking cross-country road trips.

  Right now, though, it looked rundown and old, like the owners were trying to keep up with the decay but didn’t bring in enough money to do it. It had two stories, patchy tan stuccoed walls with darker brown doors, and rickety, rusting exterior staircases at each end. A small, kidney-shaped pool, unlit and half-empty, stood in front of the place, surrounded by a high chain-link fence. A sign on the gate read CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Jason had visited several such establishments in the course of his work, tracking down various low-lifes who had reason to hole up in a place that didn’t ask questions as long as you paid cash and didn’t cause trouble.

  He’d brought the Mustang since this wasn’t official agency business. He parked it in front of the office and got out, looking around. Aside from a couple guys hanging out smoking near the other end of the ground-floor row of rooms, he didn’t see anybody else moving. Something about the guys suggested they might be undercover cops, but they didn’t seem interested in him.

  Room 209 was at the far end of the second floor, next to an ice machine that looked as if it hadn’t worked in this millennium. Jason paused outside the door to consider one last time whether he should have given Stone or Verity a call, then knocked twice, decisively.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened. He was about to knock again when he heard the room’s chain lock disengage, followed by a deadbolt. The door swung open to reveal Amber in a room lit only by the faint glow of a small, muted TV set.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Something about her seemed off—she wasn’t moving with her usual grace, and her tension was unmistakable now that he could see her. “Hey. You okay?”

  “I will be. Thanks for coming so late. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s only eleven. Not exactly past my bedtime. What brings you to San Jose?” He wondered briefly if it had anything to do with him, but that was ridiculous.

  “Kind of a long story. I’ll get to it in a minute. Want a beer?”

  “Yeah, sure, thanks.”

  She walked back inside without turning the light on, crouched next to the room’s tiny mini-fridge, and returned with a can of Corona. She already had one of her own open on the nightstand. “Bet you’re wondering what I’m doing in such a high-class place.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind.” He narrowed his eyes, trying to pick out what he thought was off about her. She wore a black, long-sleeved thermal shirt and jeans; a pair of black work boots lay next to the bed and she’d tossed her leather jacket over the room’s only chair.

  “Place seems fairly well protected, though. Did you notice the two undercover cops lurking downstairs?”

  “How’d you know that?” he asked in surprise.

  She waved it off. “Eh, cops are cops. There’s a look. You learn to notice it.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do. Didn’t expect you to, though.”

  “Do you have experience with cops? I suppose you would, being a P.I.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not all. My dad was one, so I grew up around them. Plus, I got kicked out of the Academy for punching out an instructor. So I took a few years off, then decided it was time to get my shit together and get my license.”

  She laughed. “Punching out an instructor, huh?”

  “It was a long time ago. I’ve…matured since then. I only punch people out when they really deserve it.”

  “Well, all right, then.” Her grin didn’t fade. She settled herself on the bed, moving with slow deliberation, and switched on the bedside lamp. She was definitely stiff, or worse. “Did the instructor deserve it?”

  “We had different interpretations.” He sipped his beer. “So, anyway, how can I help you? I gotta tell you, I was surprised to hear from you. After the last time I called, I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me. Are you okay? I can’t help noticing you’re moving like you might be hurt.”

  “How’s your car?”

  She was clearly being evasive; he wondered why, but decided to go with it for now. Whatever she wanted, she’d get to it eventually, and until then he could sit here and have a beer with her. He kept a close eye on the door, though, watching for any shadowy figures moving past the drawn curtains. “Totaled. I’m waiting for the check from your insurance company so I can pay for a new one.”

  “That sucks. I really am sorry about that, but to be honest it didn’t surprise me. Most modern cars might be safer in a crash, but that’s because they’re designed to crumple up like an old shopping bag when you look at them funny. Give me an old car any day.”

  “Oh, yeah? You like old cars?” Careful. Don’t get too chummy yet. You still don’t know what she wants.

  “Yeah. I grew up with older brothers, and they taught me to work on ’em. I think they thought it was cute at first, but that changed when I got better at it than they were.” She flashed him a challenging grin, as if expecting him to tease her about it.

  “Nice,” he said, and meant it. “I miss it—my personal car is a Mustang, only a few years old, and nowadays they’re so complicated under the hood that I’m afraid to touch anything. One of these days I want to pick up an old project car, or maybe a bike.”

  Her gaze turned appraising, but then she dropped it and sighed. “Sorry. I could sit here all day and talk cars, but that’s not why I called. I didn’t want to call—I don’t like to bring other people into my problems—but I’m smart enough to know when I have to.”

  “Yeah. So…how can I help you?”

  She took another swallow of beer and watched him again, clearly trying to decide whether to proceed. When she spoke again her voice was firm but held tension. “When you called me back that night, asking about the bruise on my arm, you said you thought you ‘knew what I was.’ What did you mean by that?”

  “Uh…” Jason considered his words with care, suddenly wondering if this was how Stone and Verity felt when trying to decide whether to spill the supernatural beans with a new acquaintance. “It’s…complicated.”

  “Not really. I want to hear what you think I am. Just spit it out.” Her attention was fixed on him now, her gold-flecked brown eyes focused on his.

  “Well…” he said. “There’s a general answer to that question, and a more specific one that’s probabl
y less likely to be right.”

  “Start with the general one.”

  He swallowed. If he said something and she looked at him like he was crazy, he could always claim to be joking. Ha ha, good laugh, right?

  “I…think you’re something supernatural.”

  She didn’t laugh. “And what makes you think that?”

  “I saw your arm,” he said, gesturing toward it. The thermal shirt’s sleeve covered it now. “I’m a detective, remember? I’m trained to observe things and draw conclusions. And what I observed was that you had a big, dark bruise on your arm after the accident, and it looked fresh. And then less than an hour later, when you shook hands with me right before I got out of your car, it was gone.”

  She nodded slowly. “And what conclusions did you draw from that?”

  “Either that I didn’t see it right—like you said, maybe it was a shadow or something—or…”

  “Or?” Her tone was calm, untroubled as she sipped her beer.

  “Or else there’s something about you that lets you heal injuries faster than you should be able to.”

  She considered. “That’s not the kind of conclusion normal people would come to. You know that, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I know it for sure. A few years ago, I would have convinced myself I was seeing things and never would have called you back.”

  “But you did call me back. And you said you have friends who…how did you put it? ‘Deal with this kind of thing all the time’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You also said you think you know what I am. You sounded pretty specific about it. So…what do you think I am?”

  He spent a little more time giving her a frank once-over, figuring she couldn’t complain about it under the circumstances. Her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, framing a tanned, attractive face with a strong jaw, heavy brows, high cheekbones, and a slightly turned-up nose. She wore only minimal makeup, but didn’t need it. Her shoulders, wide for a woman, fit the rest of her tall, athletic frame well. She wasn’t a slender waif, but she didn’t have an ounce of extra fat on her, either.

  Okay. Here goes. “I think you might be a shifter of some kind.”

  “A shifter.” Her voice was neutral and gave nothing away.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you know about shifters?”

  “Yeah. Some. Like I said, my friends—well, my sister and my friend, actually—had some dealings with some of them a few months back.” He leaned back. “So, am I right? And are you going to tell me why you need my help?”

  She sighed. “You’re sort of right.”

  “How can I be sort of right? You either are or you aren’t, right?”

  “No, not exactly. I’m part shifter.”

  Jason tilted his head. “You mean like half?”

  “I mean like a quarter. My grandmother was one. I got some of the abilities, but I can’t…you know…actually get big and furry.” She spread her hands and shrugged. “What you see is what you get.”

  That was odd. Jason was hardly an expert on shifters, but he remembered Viajera was half jaguar shifter, and she could change form just fine. If they interbred with humans too long, did they lose that ability? So it wasn’t like mages, apparently, where the talent turned up periodically with no way to predict it. “Uh…okay. So what do you mean you got some of the abilities? Obviously you got the regeneration.”

  “Yeah...not nearly as good as the real thing, though. I can heal from some pretty bad injuries, but it takes me a lot longer than a true shifter.” She took another drink of beer and changed position. “I’m stronger and faster than most normal humans. My sense of smell’s better, but again, nowhere near the level of a true shifter.”

  Jason thought back to the scene at the coffee shop. “So that’s why you said you weren’t worried about handling Hank. Is he one too?”

  “A shifter?” She snorted. “No. He’s just a big guy who’s used to people kissing his ass because they’re afraid he’ll beat the crap out of them if they don’t. He’s okay most of the time, but he gets a little possessive sometimes. As you saw.”

  “Are there a lot of you over there? What kind are you, by the way? The one I knew most was a jaguar, from Peru, but I also met a bear, a couple of wolves, and a cougar.”

  Her expression sharpened. “Wait a minute. That was you?”

  “What was me?”

  “Word got around a few months ago about some crazy old woman who’d kidnapped some shifters and was holding them prisoner, stealing their blood for something. Were you involved in that?” Her eyes narrowed into a predatory glare.

  “Yeah. My friends and I were. We were the ones who got ’em out of there.” He leaned forward, a ripple running down his back. “Do you know them? The ones who got out?"

  “No, not directly. I don’t think the wolves and the cougar were from around here. There’s a colony of bear shifters out in the wilds between Reno and Tahoe, though. I know a few of ’em, casually.”

  “Is that what you are? A bear?” It made sense—she did have a bit of a bearish look to her. He wondered if the colony was the same one Tony belonged to.

  “My grandmother was a bear, yeah.” She focused on him again. “So these friends of yours—your friend and your sister—what are they? Obviously not shifters, or you would have mentioned them before the ones you helped rescue.”

  Jason looked away. “Yeah. That’s the thing—it’s not my business to out them. They’re both a lot more familiar with the supernatural world than I am—that’s all I’ll say until I know a hell of a lot more about why you called me and what you want.”

  “Fair enough.” She sounded like he’d successfully passed a test. “So let’s get to what I want. I didn’t tell you the whole truth when I told you what I did back in Reno.”

  “No surprise there—I figured you were being evasive, but it was none of my business. So you’re not a bartender?”

  “Oh, I am, occasionally. But that’s not all I do. And it’s not why I’m here.” She glanced around the room and then leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a lower tone. “I’m…kind of a bounty hunter.”

  “What do you mean, kind of a bounty hunter?”

  “I don’t have a license, and I don’t do the normal kinds of jobs licensed bounty hunters do. I track people down for private clients, and my targets are a little more…special.”

  Jason stared at her. “You mean you go after supernatural stuff?”

  “Yeah, and other things. Not exactly the kind of thing you can take a test for. I’m known in certain communities around the Reno-Tahoe area for being the go-to girl when you need to track somebody down but you don’t want to get involved in…legal entanglements.”

  That made sense, and Jason certainly had no trouble believing she could handle the physical aspects of the job. “So what do you need me for? It sounds like you’ve got this pretty well under control.”

  “Yeah…I thought so too. But it turns out there’s more to this guy than I thought.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  In answer, she drew herself to a more upright seated position, and pulled up the bottom of her shirt to reveal a large, white bandage on her side. A small amount of blood soaked through it, and several purple bruises surrounded it.

  “Holy shit,” Jason said, leaning in for a closer look. “Who did that to you? Do you need a doctor?”

  “No, I’m okay. It’s already mostly healed up. Like I told you, I got the regeneration ability, but it takes longer for something like this.”

  “So…who’s responsible for it?”

  “I don’t know his name. He showed up in Tahoe a week ago and caused some trouble—broke into a jewelry shop and stole a bunch of high-value stuff. Obviously he got in, but he didn’t set off any alarms or show up on any of the security tapes except as a blur. The people who owned the shop called the cops, but one of them knows about…the other world and thinks the guy’s connected to that. That’s why t
hey called me.”

  Jason nodded. “Okay. So you tracked the guy out here to San Jose?”

  “Yeah, but then I lost him. It’s like the guy doesn’t leave traces. I was trying to figure out my next step when I got jumped.”

  “You got jumped?” If she was even part shifter, Jason was surprised anyone could manage to sneak up on her.

  “Right?” She looked as indignant as he did. “That’s not supposed to happen. That’s my whole shtick—people can’t hide from me. I track them down and deal with them. I’ve never met a man I can’t take in a fight, except for true shifters.”

  “This guy isn’t a shifter, is he? Because I’m flattered that you’d think of me, but I’m just a guy. I work out and I’m good in a fight, but—”

  She eyed him critically. “Are you familiar with magic?”

  He stared at her. “Magic?”

  “Yeah. I know you know about shifters, but what else do you know?”

  “I’ve…got some knowledge in that area,” he said, narrowing his eyes. Once again he glanced toward the curtained window, but still saw nothing moving outside.

  “Good. That’ll make things easier,” she said. “I’ll be honest with you—unless you’ve got abilities you’re doing a good job hiding, it’s not you specifically I need help from. I was hoping you might talk to one of these friends of yours. I’ve got some intel that the guy I’m after met up with a couple friends here—including the one who winged me. I think he’s trying to sell his haul and leave this area by tomorrow, so I need to find him fast. If he gets out of the area, I’ll have a hell of a time finding him.”

  Jason finished his beer, frowning. As much as he wanted to help Amber, he wasn’t sure he wanted to drag Stone or Verity into the situation. “You think this guy has magical talent?”

  “It’s the only reason I can come up with for why he can do what he does.” She pointed at the bandage on her abdomen. “This isn’t supposed to happen. I’m not just bragging, but nobody sneaks up on me. This guy isn’t just sneaky—he’s got some way of evading tracking, and I’m damned if I know what it is.” She winced and lay back down again. “Damn, this sucks. I know it’ll be fine in an hour or so, but if he’s turned the tables and he and his buddies are after me now—”