I moved along with traffic until I neared the “haunted” Dakota Building on Seventy-second Street and Central Park West. The Pit’s location was shielded with Rodán’s magic, and New Yorkers and tourists never gave the entrance a second glance.
Like most supposedly haunted locations, the Dakota Building was just another place where centuries-old Brownies had their version of “fun” by scaring humans. The kids purported to haunt the building? Brownies at their best.
After I parked in the garage beneath the Pit, I smoothed my windblown hair. 1 pushed the loose strands over my shoulders before getting out of my car and locking it. The closer I walked toward the Pit, the more relaxed I felt. The nightclub was a “safe place” for paranorms to gather. Nothing could touch any being in the Pit—paranorms or the few norms allowed. Rodán had the place well guarded, inside and out. Between magic and muscle, it was covered.
If you pissed off Rodán, you’d never find the Pit again and you wouldn’t remember what part of the city it was in. If someone made him angry enough it was possible that person wouldn’t even remember his own name.
On the street level, I bypassed every being that was standing in line and made my way to the entrance. Hey, there were perks to being a Peacekeeper.
I reached the Doppler bouncer and smiled as Fred grinned at me. “Decide to take me up on dinner yet?”
No, I just couldn’t. To me he’d always be that sweet golden retriever I’d first met and played Frisbee with in Central Park. But when he’d shifted into human form, whoo-ha. Almost seven feet of solid muscle and killer good looks.
“I’ll call James and Derek, and we’ll make a date for the Great Lawn in Central Park,” I said. “I’ll come with a basket of goodies and some Milk Bones.” I added with a wink at him.
Fred laughed and waved me through the doorway. “Get your cute ass in there.”
Neon signs glowed from the walls in the darkened nightclub, reflecting off beer and cocktail glasses on tables around the bar. Soft black leather couches and chairs were arranged in corners and other strategic places that weren’t occupied by round high-tops or regular tables. Flashing colored lights on the dance floor were the only sources of illumination other than the neon signs.
Pipe smoke burned my eyes. The Pit, with all of its noise, the heat from so many bodies, and the myriad of smells, swallowed me. Music pounded through me like it was traveling from my toes to my scalp, but tension eased from my body.
The relaxed feeling may have been from all the pipe-weed smoke I’d sucked in when I passed the couches in the corner closest to the entrance. Several muscular Shadow Shifter males were lounging there, passing a paranorm version of a bong.
Since it was early evening, Rodán’s staff was serving up the works, and the shiny wood-bladed fans above guided smells of fries, steak, ale, and cherry-leaf tobacco around the room.
Along with sweat and bad breath. Too many Meta-morphs and Vamps in here tonight.
Olivia had beaten me to the Pit and waved to me from across the room. She was on an elevated floor crowded with pool tables and video games, hanging out with some of the paranorms she knew. Thankfully this time she wasn’t with some waxy-faced Vamp.
Goddess, Olivia cracked me up. She was in a bar full of paranorms and the green shirt she’d changed into read: Always remember you’re unique Just like everyone else.
With a gesture of her hand, she indicated that I should join her. I mimed eating and drinking, and pointed to the bar. She nodded and turned back to the Petite Abatwa, a Zulu Spirit Faerie, next to her.
At the center of the Pit, patrons were packed even tighter together as they danced—if you could call barely-able-to-move-to-keep-from-suffocating-madness dancing.
I caught a glimpse of Caprice, and she was dancing with a blond guy I’d never seen before. A really hot-looking guy.
Oooh, score one for Caprice.
Fast and sudden, it felt like someone was trailing an ice cube down my back as I continued to look at the blond she was with. A feeling of panic, so deep that I could barely grasp it, much less understand it. For a moment I couldn’t move as I stared at them on the dance floor. The man caught me looking at him and his smile was filled with sexual innuendo. I caught my breath as the man and Caprice disappeared into the dance crowd.
I rubbed my arms with both hands, trying to get off the imaginary feeling of ice crystallizing over my skin. What was he? Too many odors assaulted me from all the paranorms in the room to get a read on him from where I stood.
Maybe he was a Doppler or some other kind of Shifter. He could even be human, since Fred had apparently been cool with him and let the guy pass.
Yeah. He wouldn’t be here if Fred didn’t trust him, and Rodán’s magic had let him in.
Finally I made it to the couches and tables farthest in the back corner, situated close to the end of the bar. Most of the Trackers hung out in this corner before hitting our territories.
“Hey, Nyx!” Nadia, my gorgeous redheaded friend, called out to me in her sexy Siren’s voice and waved one of her slender arms. Because she was a Siren, she couldn’t help but sound sexy.
“Here’s a seat.” A good friend, Lawan, pointed to the place on the couch next to her, the couch’s backside close to the bar.
I plopped into the opening and caught Lawan’s appealing scent. Tiger flowers. She was a gorgeous Siamese cat in her Doppler form.
The other Trackers gave good-natured hellos. Robert, Jon, Tracey, Phyllis, Carlos, Dave, and Ice were seven currently at the Pit, and Caprice and I made nine. We had a total of fifteen assigned Trackers and five roving Trackers.
Almost every Tracker who worked Manhattan was born, hatched, or blossomed right here. The only exceptions were Lawan from Thailand, Nadia from the Atlantic Ocean, and me, from Otherworld. It was easy to say we Trackers were the twenty toughest people in New York City—and that’s saying a lot.
“The blue in your hair really shines tonight, chica,” Caprice said from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and looked at my hazel-eyed, brown-haired friend as she stroked a lock over my shoulder.
“New conditioner?”
I nodded and she let my hair slip through her lingers. “I went to that spa and salon on the penthouse floor at Bergdorf Goodman a couple of days ago.” In my human form, of course. “Great view of Central Park while I was totally pampered.”
Caprice ran her fingers through her own dark hair, tousling the curls. “We should have a girl’s day out with Nadia and Olivia at the spa.”
Spending a day with my three closest friends sounded really good to me. “Pick a date.”
Maybe I was an oddity in two worlds, but as a Tracker 1 had friends. They didn’t care that I had amethyst skin and blue hair. Or even that Nadia turned green when she sang her Siren’s song.
Almost all of the Trackers were my friends.
Although I did try to spend as little time as possible around Fere and Kelly, to avoid potential homicides and being taken away in handcuffs treated to contain any elemental magic.
“The Demons have been pretty consistent about showing up around midnight,” Jon was saying as Caprice sat beside him, clutching a highball glass with her slender fingers.
“Gives us time to take care of the idiots who come out earlier.” Caprice swirled ice in her glass and I could smell rum and Coke. “But it’s still early, and we should concentrate on more important things.”
“Eating,” Nadia and I said at the same time, and we grinned at each other.
I glanced up at the Doppler barman. Hector, as he automatically brought me a dry vodka martini with three olives on a little sword. I loved Hector. “How’s the jungle?” 1 asked.
“Wild tonight.” When not in his human form, Hector usually shifted into a huge, tawny lion. Scary.
“I’ll start a tab, Streak, and get your steak as charburnt as possible,” he said in his Hispanic accent.
Hector had always called me Streak from the first time we’d met and he’d caught
the black highlights in my blue hair.
By the time I finished my burnt steak, loaded baked potato, and two martinis, it was time to track.
I got up and bumped into Jon, who steadied me by my shoulders. 1 looked up at him and he smiled.
He was a much too good-looking Shifter who patrolled the Upper East Side. So hot that a girl’s heart should shout “Danger! Danger!” the moment she met him.
Caprice stood beside me and waved Jon off as he released my arms. “Get to work, pretty boy.”
He ruffled her hair. “Sure thing, Cap.”
“Hey.” She smacked his hand.
I barely listened to Caprice and Jon’s banter. Every muscle in my body suddenly burned as that bad feeling I’d had earlier overrode the smell of weed and the enjoyment of good company.
“Chica.” Caprice’s emphasis of her nickname for me jerked my attention to her. “You okay?”
I realized I was holding my hand to my belly. I forced a smile and glanced around the room. “So where’s that hunky blond?”
She laughed. “That describes a whole lot of the norms and paranorms in this place.”
I rolled my eyes. “The guy you were dancing with.”
Caprice was definitely holding back a big smile. “Chance had to leave to meet with a friend.”
“Chance, huh?” I started walking toward the doorway with Caprice. Again the sense that something was horribly wrong caught me off guard. The mention of the guy’s name filled my belly with a sick sensation.
“What do you know about him?” I said.
“Just met him tonight.” Even beneath Caprice’s olive complexion I detected a faint blush. “He said he’d be here tomorrow. I’m going to see him then.”
“Where’d you meet him?” I asked as we stepped through the doorway into the night and away from the head-banging music.
“Here.” Her bare arm brushed mine. “Tonight.”
I liked seeing the happy look on her face. Caprice had lost her Doppler family a few years ago, so she was alone except for her friends.
“So is he a Shifter or a Doppler?” I asked.
She shook her head and frowned. “I couldn’t tell what he was—I didn’t recognize his scent. And it just didn’t feel right to ask.”
Usually paranorms had no qualms asking if they couldn’t scent the other paranorm. Strange that Caprice had felt that way.
The closest lamppost’s glow caused light and shadow to fall across her face as I watched her.
“Maybe you can ask him tomorrow night.”
She shrugged. “Does it matter?”
I thought for a moment. “No, it really doesn’t.”
Then I did give her a serious look. “As long as he’s not a Metamorph.”
“No way, chica.” Caprice gave a visible shudder. “They’re almost as bad as Demons.”
“Not quite.” I frowned as I looked into the darkness. “Speaking of Demons, it’s time to hunt.”
CHAPTER 4
My prey had mutilated and killed a Tracker in Manhattan.
Dear Goddess. A Tracker. One of us.
And I hadn’t arrived fast enough.
Fury burned through me like liquid fire as I narrowed my eyes at the six Demons and drew one of my dragon-claw daggers from its sheath.
I raised my weapon. The two-inch-wide side of my dagger reflected the dangerous white light that flashed in my sapphire eyes.
“You’re going down,” I whispered to the Demons that would die from my blade. The Demons looked like they could be someone you’d bump into anywhere in Manhattan—if it wasn’t for the fact that when they attacked, their teeth became long and jagged, and their fingers turned into claws.
And if they weren’t eating a being’s flesh.
Acid burned my stomach and my throat. The desire to kill flamed higher inside me, combining with the urge to throw myself into the midst of the Demons. I wanted to start whacking the hell out of them and splattering then fluids all over the alleyway’s walls. But it wasn’t that easy. I had to find their one weakness, that one soft spot on each of the six Demons. And do it without getting myself killed.
I ground my teeth as I held myself back.
“Think clearly, Nyx. Remove emotion. No matter how difficult it is,” I told myself in a low voice, as if chanting it would force me to calm down.
The lid of the stinking alleyway’s Dumpster was rough and dirty beneath my fingertips as I crouched in the darkness. I had one hand braced on the Dumpster lid while the other hand wielded my seventeen-inch-long dagger, which would soon eliminate the six Demons.
How could the Demons have found, much less killed, a Tracker in New York City? It was one thing to kill a defenseless paranorm, but a Tracker? Countless paranorms had died in this same horrible way in the past three weeks, since the Demons escaped through the Ruhin Demon Gate. But not a Tracker.
This simply wasn’t possible. All Trackers were too well trained, too powerful in their fighting abilities.
But it had happened. Right here where the northeast corner of Central Park touched the Upper East Side’s territory. Close to Frawley Circle.
Jon or Randy. Dear Goddess, it could be either of them. Jon had the Upper East Side and Randy’s territory was all of Central Park.
The dirty asphalt didn’t give away a sound beneath my soft leather boots as I jumped from the Dumpster and landed in another crouch. Now, in addition to garbage, there was the increased odor of asphalt and oil.
Only a limited number of paranorms had Tracker abilities and there was only one of us per territory.
We’d had five rotating trackers over a fifteen-territory Manhattan spread. The operative word being had— now one of us had been murdered by Demons.
Shadows and my air powers absorbed the colors of my surroundings, allowing me to remain undetected while I surveyed the Demons and inched closer to them. Unfortunately I wouldn’t be able to maintain the glamour once I started fighting.
“Hold, Nyx,” I whispered. “One moment longer.”
I’d only been a Tracker for two years, but Trackers throughout this world had worked for centuries as part of the Guardian’s Peacekeepers. This new threat could destroy us if we didn’t find a way to stop them.
Bones crunched between their jaws, a sickening sound, and the Demons laughed and made growling and grunting noises as they ate like animals with their vicious, sharp-pointed teeth. Their claws were tipped with poison once they morphed, the poison fatal to any being. Including Light and Dark Elves. Right now that meant me.
A heavy weight in my belly accompanied the flames of fury that continued to rise within me. If there had been any real fire around I would have drawn on my fire powers, no matter the cost to me.
Then again, what good would that do? Fire didn’t affect the Goddess-damned Demons.
“Which Tracker was it?” My question was inaudible but I had to ask it. Truly I was afraid to find out.
My stomach and heart lurched together as the knowledge came to me.
The slow drift of his lifeforce to Summerland, his essence leaving. I knew who he was. Jon.
I swallowed, shaking in both grief and anger. I bowed my head briefly in his memory, seeing his grin in my thoughts from mere hours ago.
I paused only a second, so that I wouldn’t lose my advantage over the Demons in avenging Jon’s death.
Every Tracker was important to me, and Jon’s murder hit me like I’d slammed into a wall.
At that exact moment, each of the Guardian’s Peacekeepers—Soothsayers, Healers, Gatekeepers, Trackers, and our Proctor, Rodán—would have felt the change in the balance in Manhattan, and would have sensed Jon’s essence departing.
I wanted to yell, to scream from the pain of his death. But I would get my revenge. Now.
My movements were silent, fluid, and smooth. I reached the Demon closest to me, one that looked like a teenage female in jeans and a half shirt. Along with long blond hair and flawless pale skin, she had tattoos and a belly piercing. He
r flesh looked as vulnerable as that of any humanoid being.
She would have been considered beautiful—if not for the sickening claws and fierce teeth she now exposed, and Jon’s blood smearing her face.
I gripped the hilt of my long, clawed dagger with both hands. Too low for the Demon to hear me, I said, “This is for you, Jon.”
My glamour dropped just as I whirled from behind the Demon and rammed my dagger into its one soft spot. The hollow of the Demon’s humanoid throat between the armorlike flesh of its neck and chest.
I felt the sensation of my blade slicing into flesh, then fluid. The spurt, then splatter, of the Demon’s lifeblood in the alleyway, and the sudden stench of pus, was enough to make anyone shudder. It was also enough to capture the rest of the Demons’ attention.
I jerked my dagger out of the throat of the first Demon at the same time I planted my boot on its belly and shoved the creature away from me. I spun and faced one of the five remaining Demons.
“Hello, bitch.” My lips curved into a vicious grin and my dagger gleamed as I faced a dark-haired, dark-skinned, female-looking Demon. “Meet Lightning.”
Before the Demons had the opportunity to react, the movement of my arms was smooth and quick, a blur to human or Demon sight.
When I buried my blade into the second Demon’s vulnerable spot, it shrieked, stumbled back, and slid down the alley’s grime-coated brick walls.
The bellows of the four other Demons bounced off the walls as they dove for me.
I double backflipped away from the Demons. At the same time, I sliced my dagger up the first lunging Demon’s belly and ripped its shirt open from the waist to its neck. The sound my blade made against the deceptively fragile-looking skin was like metal against metal.
I landed lightly, about ten feet from the Demons and balanced on the balls of my boot-clad feet.
“You are so going to die.” Anger and venom spilled out in my steady words, and my slightly lowered canines brushed my lips as I stared at the Demons.
The four Demons charged at once. Their shrieks and growls were lost in the buzz and hum that was New York City, a city that truly never slept.
Demons Not Included: A Night Tracker Novel (Night Tracker Novels) Page 3
