Olivia nodded. It was more than she’d expected. “Thank you again,” she said.
“A final thing,” he said, “on a remotely related topic. What have you heard about a pair of Progeny enforcers who are brothers? One of them has a facial tattoo.”
Olivia considered it for a few moments. “I can’t recall anything from my reports,” she said. “Why?”
“Conflicting reports on my end,” he said. “I have some that say they’re just team leaders and another that says the tattooed one rolled a car onto its side bare-handed. Nothing confirmable, though. I just thought you might have some additional information.”
“Sorry, no, but I’ll definitely keep my eyes open for it. Do we have their names?”
“Screed,” the Arcane said. “Jordan and Carmine Screed.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Jordan Screed,” the caller said, “I am the Seer.”
The voice was even, calm, and completely androgynous. Jordan’s initial reaction was to call the person on the other end of the phone a liar and then hang up, but something stopped him. There was a quality to the voice, a tone that denied challenge and expected obedience.
Jordan and Carmine were sitting in the Private Charter Waiting Lounge at John F. Kennedy International Airport. They had been quietly sipping drinks amid the dim lights and muted bar sounds that whispered across the room while they waited for the jet that Ricardo had chartered to go through its preparations for its flight to Oceanside. The room was empty except for a bartender and an overweight businessman watching something on an iPad.
“Well,” Jordan said. “This is unexpected.”
“For you,” the Seer said. “Normally I would ask that you put me on speaker so that Carmine could hear me first hand as well, but that man with the iPad might hear. You’ll relay the message adequately.”
Jordan looked around. There was no one else in the room and no security cameras he could see. So, this was the Seer after all. “To what do we owe the honor?” he asked.
“Your plans have been changed,” the Seer said. “You are about to receive an address via text message. You will need to be at that address no later than 2:27 pm local time tomorrow.” As if on cue, Carmine’s phone chirped. He took it away from his ear long enough to check the display.
“Atlanta,” he said when the phone was back at his ear. “So they took them to the Silversky compound.”
“They did, but the man has escaped and is currently on the run. He will be at that address tomorrow at that time. It is there that you will intercept him.”
“I understand,” Jordan said.
“No, you do not, not yet. He has Awakened and in a fashion that I did not foresee. I am rarely surprised, but this has left me unprecedentedly so. His potential usefulness has been elevated substantially and you and Carmine will capture him but not destroy him as you were planning.”
Jordan sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Seer, I don’t know-”
“Do not lie to me, Jordan. It is a waste of time for both of us. I do not begrudge you and your brother’s desire to be the only Paragons on the playground, but even you must take a backseat to the machinations of our Masters. It is in their glory and wisdom that they have placed this new instrument of their arrival in our path. You will bring me the new one unharmed and you will do it willingly.” The voice never wavered, never betrayed emotion or intent. If he couldn’t hear the Seer breathing, Jordan would have sworn he was talking to some kind of machine.
“Of course, Seer. You said this is one of the Oceanside escapees. What of the other?”
“She has Awakened as well, but is proving… elusive. The Dwellers Between have not seen fit to grant me visions of her, but that will come. For now, focus on the male.”
“As you say, Seer. What bloodline is this man? What we can expect from him?”
The Seer told him. Jordan felt the blood drain from his face.
“Do not worry, Jordan. He is fresh to his Awakening and is more power than capability, I think. Use your skills and experience and it will overshadow the rawness of his nature. When we brought you and your brother from Sing Sing, I knew the day would come when your Awakening and service would lead to this. Trust in your training.”
Jordan had downed his scotch while the Seer had been talking. “Of course, Seer. I take it you have foreseen an outcome?”
“Not at all. Moments of conflict are nearly impossible to see. Too many things can happen and change too quickly. I merely have confidence in you and your brother. Ricardo will tell you where to bring him when you have captured him.”
“Of course.”
“Jordan, take all necessary precautions. The Veil must remain intact until we are prepared to rip it away for our Masters’ arrivals. This is paramount.”
“I understand, Seer.”
Jordan’s phone beeped softly before he was finished speaking. He looked at the display and saw that the Seer had ended the call.
He dropped it on the table. “That,” he told his brother, “was the mother-loving Seer. On my phone.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Carmine said. “So we’re going to Atlanta now?”
Jordan nodded and gestured at the bartender for another drink. Carmine did the same. While they waited, Jordan filled his brother in on the conversation. They stopped talking while the bartender delivered the drinks.
After the bartender had returned to his post, Carmine said, “Well, this will be new. Never went up against another Paragon before.”
“We’ve barely had to go up against anybody, Carmine, and that’s the way I like it. We get names, grab the people, and get to live like this. Low risk, stratospheric rewards- just the way I like it.”
“Yeah,” Carmine said, “it’s a sweet gig. But don’t you get just a little bored sometimes?”
“No, and neither will you. You getting bored is what gets us on the bosses’ shit list.”
Carmine nodded and waved a hand at his brother. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a problem child. Fuck you.”
They sat in silence and nursed their drinks. Another pair of travelers came into the lounge area. The businessman got up and left. A few minutes after that, Carmine said, “What the hell is a Necrophage, anyway?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Erin Simms was having the time of her life. She couldn’t remember a time when the streets of Las Vegas seemed so bright and new. Before, she could only see the glitter over the grime, the blinding lights that hid the dark heart, and all the people trying to suppress their fear and shame behind painted faces, flashy clothing, and wads of cash. Now, though, now it was different. The new and improved Erin Simms stared down the length of the Vegas strip and saw nothing but opportunity.
She stood on the roof of the Mandalay Bay Hotel. Cool desert air moved briskly around her, but she barely felt the chill through the new pantsuit she was wearing courtesy of The Boulevard of Shops at Paris Las Vegas. She wished she could’ve seen the look on the sales woman’s face when she had opened the changing room door and found Erin’s filthy clothing from the fight at the roadhouse. The woman had been a little full of herself so Erin was glad that she hadn’t seen her step out of the dressing stall and teleport into the small courtyard outside the shop. It occurred to her that they had probably caught her on security camera going in, but it also occurred to her that it just didn’t matter. No one could catch her.
She basked in the lights of the strip. The MGM Grand, Paris, the Tropicana, Excalibur: They were all spread out below her like an amusement park. Erin knew things that weren’t on the tourist maps, though. She knew which hotels would tolerate a working girl in their bars so long as she was classy about it, which street corners were the best for the tourists and vanilla Johns and Janes, and which ones would get you cut or beat down if you worked them without the right person’s say-so.
She thought it might be fun to hit up some of those corners- lure some John into a deal, get the money up front, and then- poof -disappear with the cash in hand. It wouldn’
t take her long to rack up a fat stack of large bills, but then she realized that she didn’t need it. So long as she had a view of the street and could lay her hands on it, Erin could have anything she wanted. It would be fun, though.
Even though those pervy asshats deserved it, Erin dismissed the idea. Back in Georgia, John had said something about all this Sentry Group and bloodline stuff being some big super-secret deal. There was also something about the government being involved. Erin suspected she could only get away with showing off so many times before somebody said something to the wrong somebody and suddenly everybody’s coming for her. That was not what she wanted. She just wanted to be left alone to go where she pleased and live how she chose.
There were, though, some things she needed to do and people she needed to see. Her eyes drifted to the west and, though she couldn’t see it, she knew that the club her brother owned was out there on Desert Inn Road, well off The Strip. She had to see him, say goodbye and say things she’d never had the courage to before. Some of the girls, too. She could get them going away gifts and… Erin clenched her teeth. That wasn’t why she needed to go and she knew it.
She also wanted to say goodbye to Israel. She wasn’t sure how she was going to pull that one off, but she figured it wouldn’t be that hard to score the cash for a plane trip to Atlanta. She’d have to do it the old-fashioned way since she couldn’t teleport where she couldn’t see and she damn sure couldn’t see that far. For an instant she wondered if she could pull herself into a moving plane, but remembered Rick’s ruined face staring down at her from the rafters and dismissed the idea. That was something for another time. Like Israel had said; safe, slow, and easy. That’s how she needed to handle this.
A slight shiver frosted over her. She wasn’t sure if it was the weather or the thought of seeing Tiko again. Either way, she knew it wasn’t going to get better if she just stood on a roof all night. She faced to the west again, focused on the roof of the Hampton Inn a few streets over, and pulled.
The club was called ‘Visions’. Erin stood in the parking lot and stared up at the word and watched it blink in purple neon. Two outlines of strippers flanked the word and blinked a bright green in an alternating pattern. She remembered how Tiko had agonized over what to call the place, not wanting it to just be another Whatever ‘Gentleman’s Club’. He’d gone through dozens of names before deciding on this one. He’d also bruised her ribs good when she’d called one of them silly. Come on, though- who names a club ‘Ragdolls’?
The parking lot was full and Erin realized it was a Friday night. The club would be full of blue-collar types, married guys looking for some strange in an out of the way spot, and college guys who didn’t have the cash for the top tier clubs. Erin started to focus on the door but then caught herself; it would be better to walk in this time.
She took measured steps across the asphalt parking lot and made her way through the rows of cars reflecting the neon dully from their hoods and windshields. When she reached the door, she took a deep breath and pulled it open.
Fast hip-hop thumped out at her in a wave of alcohol, perfume, and body-scented air. The inner doors were propped open and she could see into the club. Three women were spinning and gyrating around poles on each of the three platforms on the T-shaped stage. Other women were working the room in small bikinis, lingerie, and high heels. A bull of a man with a bushy, unkempt beard named Owen was working the door. His face lit up in surprise when he saw her.
“Damn, girl,” he said. “Boss’ been looking for you.” He didn’t smile, just looked her over with a keen eye.
“In his office?” Erin asked.
Owen nodded, his gray-threaded beard pushing against the black Led Zeppelin tee shirt he was wearing. “Yeah. You better butter him up a little. He ain’t been happy you being gone and all.”
Erin nodded; she could imagine. Erin wove her way through the crowd, stopping twice when a couple of the girls saw her and wanted to say hello and give her a quick hug. She talked around their questions about where she’d been as nicely as she could manage and finally found herself at the door to Tiko’s office. There was a keypad by the door and she punched in the four-digit code. Eight-four-five-six: her brother’s digital name. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The office was a large one. Not the size of Warbitch’s, but big. Mirrors hung on most of the walls along with black and white photography pieces that were mostly erotica of one kind or another involving couples or groups of women. A seating area with a small bar, large leather couch, and matching club chairs was off to one side of a large, glass-topped desk. A brass pole stood opposite that, so Tiko could hold private dances for business partners. The air was cold and had the sweet tang of lingering cigar smoke. Once the soundproofed door closed, silence squashed the club music like a bug under a boot.
Tiko Simms looked up from the laptop on his desk. Erin was always struck by his eyes. Barely into his thirties, Tiko had eyes that were older and more assessing under thick eyebrows and a narrow forehead. They seemed to take you in all at once and process your worth with only a moment’s glance. He was handsome, with masterfully unkempt hair over a face that looked like it belonged in a greaser film from the 1950s. His face had a scruffy but ruthlessly intentional five o’clock shadow that surrounded tight but full lips. The lips were almost identical to Erin’s.
“Well, well, well,” he said in a smooth baritone, “welcome home, little sister. I thought you’d gone and run away on me.”
Erin took a few steps into the room as he rose. He was wearing his usual colorful shirt and slacks, looking more ready for a disco dance-off than business. Brushed gold caught the light at his throat and the rings on his fingers.
“Sorry,” she said. “Client wanted a girlfriend for a work getaway thing. The money was good so I took it, but I forgot my phone.”
They met in the center of the room. They shared a hug. Erin tried to break the embrace quickly but Tiko kept his hold on her.
“You couldn’t borrow one? Or get the guy to buy you a new one?” His squeeze tightened just a bit.
“I was busy,” she said. “He needed a lot of attention.”
“You got paid, though?”
“Yeah, I got paid. Cash is in my bag behind the bar,” she lied.
Tiko’s hug tightened into something rougher for just a moment and then he released her. When he stepped back, he looked at her and said, “Well, all right. Baby sister’s taking care of business.”
Baby sister. He always called her that, no matter what they were doing.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” he said. He walked over to the small bar and said, “Drink?”
Erin declined.
Tiko poured himself two fingers of Maker’s Mark from a crystal decanter into a matching glass. He turned and looked his sister over intentionally. “So where was this getaway?” he asked.
“Oceanside,” Erin said.
“California? That’s a long way for a job, baby sister.”
Erin shrugged. “Turned out to be worth it.”
Tiko nodded. “Well, you aren’t the only one who’s been making it rain,” he said. “Remember that warehouse I picked up down in Primm? I finally found a use for the fucking thing. Check it.” He gestured her toward the desk as he moved around behind it.
Erin walked over and stood beside him. He was tapping through a series of photos of young girls. They were in their teens and looked to be mostly Latina. “Right before you went on your vacation,” he said, “some guys came to see me about buying the warehouse. I got a few drinks into them, had some of the girls loosen them up, and found out what they wanted it for. Rather than sell it to them, I convinced them to let me rent it out to them for a cut of their action.”
“Which is what?” Erin asked.
Tiko nodded at the screen. “These little beauties. See, there are some people out there, rag-heads mostly, who are rolling in enough bank that they like to buy their own rather than rent from peo
ple like us. These guys that came to me provide the product and the whales come in and bid on it. Now that I’m providing the space, I get a cut of that. First auction goes down in a couple of hours, in fact.”
Erin looked at the pictures. The faces were scared, exhausted, or had the glassy sag of the heavily stoned. “A lot of these are just kids,” Erin said. “Ain’t that a lot of risk?”
Tiko nodded. “Oh yeah, but that’s the beauty. These guys have an in with the cops so they get a heads-up if anybody gets wise to them. Besides, I don’t think you realize the kind of money we’re talking about. You’re forgetting the family motto, baby sister: Pussy is product.”
Erin watched him click through the photos. There were so many. Her gaze shifted up to her brother’s face. The cold dark eyes, the straight nose, and the mouth that was slightly curved into a hungry smile she had seen far too many times in far too many variations.
“No,” she said as her stomach roiled, “this is too much.”
In retrospect, she should have seen the blow coming. His right hand flashed up lightning-quick almost as soon as the words left her mouth and backhanded her across the bottom of her jaw. Erin’s teeth slammed together and she tasted blood as she staggered backwards. Tiko stayed with her and spun his left fist into her ribcage. Air exploded out of Erin’s lungs and she crumpled to her knees. Pain overwhelmed her and she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.
Tiko grabbed a handful of Erin’s hair and used it to drag her across the floor and throw her against the brass pole. He knelt down, grabbed her throat, and pressed her head hard against the metal.
“Do you think for one fucking moment I believe that bullshit story you just laid out?” he hissed. “I don’t know where you’ve been or who you’ve been doing, you little cunt, but I do know two things: First, I better see that cash you said you had or you’re gonna owe me a whole lot of hurt and, second, you don’t ever tell me my… fucking… business!” He shoved her into the pole with each of the last three words hard enough to leave bruises. He punctuated the sentence with a short, hard punch to the cheek under her right eye.
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