When we got to the intersection, the lights and traffic nearly blinded me after the relative peace and darkness of the park. I spotted Caleb when he flashed headlights, and we piled into the back of the car. Michael, one of Caleb’s wolves, occupied the front passenger seat. They nodded at us in acknowledgement.
“You all right?” Caleb asked.
“Yeah. For now. How are Harald and his mate?”
“Her name’s Karin. Poor kid, too scared to even talk, but she seems relieved to be here. They’re safe, still resting. I’ve got someone staying with them who’s very good at this sort of thing.”
“Good.” I sighed.
Caleb knew his way around the city and steered confidently through the maze of streets. I was lost in moments. Nothing in this city was set up on grids. I imagined London’s citizens laying out medieval streets based on curving them around random trees, barrels, horses, whatever, that they didn’t want to bother moving. What other explanation could there be? He managed to avoid the worst of the evening traffic, until we were on a wide—even relatively straight—highway. The central congestion of the city gave way to suburbs, parks, industrial sections, dockyards. I caught glimpses of the river now and then, a wide, dark band reflecting lights.
The phone rang. Now I hear from everyone. “Hello?”
“Kitty. Ned here. We have some catching up to do, I think.”
“Yeah. I don’t even know where to start.”
“I’m hearing some very odd rumors. Did you really rescue those two wolves from Njal?”
“I guess we did,” I said, bemused.
“I’m getting visits, calls—foreign Masters wanting to know if I’ve really withdrawn neutrality, why Masterless wolves are running around, why their own wolves are standing up to them, asking them to keep out of the war. They’ve been talking to each other, haven’t they? And Vidal of St. Petersburg asked if I’ve really killed Roman. I admit I was cagey with him, and he seemed so pleased … Whatever you did this morning has everyone flustered.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying a second’s worth of victory. No one knew what was happening—our enemies couldn’t unite. We’d bought ourselves time. Maybe even allies. Any of the Masters who’d been waiting to see who was stronger in the coming conflict might side with Ned, now.
“I hope … I hope this works out,” I said.
“‘Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage,’” he said. “Where are you and your pack now?”
“In a car with Caleb, heading east to look for a friend who’s gone missing.”
“Your Sergeant Tyler, yes? What happened?”
“He was kidnapped out of his hotel room earlier this afternoon. We’re following a lead that says they’ve taken him to Creekmouth.”
“That isn’t good.”
“That’s what Caleb says.”
“You’ll need help.”
“Any you can spare. But you’ll never get there in time, they have a huge head start, it’s miles away—”
“Oh, have no fear at all about that.” His tone held a wicked smile.
“What—”
He hung up. I stared at my phone.
“That was Ned,” Ben said, a statement. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, frowning. I wanted to blame my exhaustion and muzzy-headedness on jet lag but wasn’t sure I still could, a week later.
While I’d talked to Ned, Caleb had gotten a call, and had driven the last mile or so with his phone pressed to his ear. He put it in a pocket and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I think we’ve found him. But we don’t have a lot of time.”
“What? Why not, what’s happening?”
“I told you there’s a shipping dock—they may be trying to smuggle him out of the country.”
Chapter 22
WE LEFT the highway and turned into a clutter of warehouses. This wasn’t the pretty postcard, touristy part of London. This was east of the city, along the river, past the bridges and castles and giant Ferris wheel and twenty-first-century development. London was still a busy international port, full of big steel warehouses, concrete docks, cranes, industrial sites, refineries. It seemed otherworldly, like we’d entered some industrial hell. A dystopian Terry Gilliam film.
Caleb switched off the headlights and stopped. Michael immediately left the car and trotted a ways out, turning between a pair of buildings.
“He’ll meet up with my scouts,” Caleb said.
“How many people do you have here?” Cormac asked.
“Two, plus Michael. Stealth will have to make up for numbers in this fight.”
Cormac made a noise, and I couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not. Me, I always liked stealth. If we could sneak in, grab Tyler, sneak back out …
I didn’t expect it to be that easy.
The rest of us left the car and moved into the shadow of the nearest building, out of the streetlights. Cormac held an object hidden in his hand, some charm against the dark.
A container ship, a hulking form just visible between buildings, was docked some distance down. Tyler’s captors could load him onto such a ship from here, take him anywhere, and we’d never get him back.
“This isn’t a real good environment for us,” Ben said.
His nose was flaring, wrinkling as he took in the smells in the area—oil, fuel, concrete, steel. Nothing natural intruded. I thought I should have been able to smell the river, the rich waterway of the Thames, but the air in that direction smelled of oil and volatiles, tainted and poisonous. The only scent in the mix that even resembled nature was a trace of rat and pigeon droppings. An industrial lamp sent out a circle of light gone hazy in the mist. Over the course of the evening, the clouds had returned.
“Not our territory, not our habitat. It sucks,” I said.
“A dead zone to people like us. Another good reason to bring Tyler here. I’m surprised your fairies were able to find him,” Caleb said.
“We asked them to rescue him, but they couldn’t get this close,” I said. “Too much iron.”
We listened, tense and alert, all senses turned outward. I suddenly wished Cormac wasn’t here. If our enemies sent lycanthropes, if any of them bit him …
“All we need now is the zombie apocalypse,” Ben said.
“Zombies don’t exist,” I said. “Not that kind of zombie, anyway.”
“What?”
“The brain-eating zombie—those are movie zombies. They don’t exist. On the other hand, Haitian voodoo zombies totally exist.”
“How do you even figure these things out?” he said.
“Long story.”
“I guess so.”
Caleb raised a hand; I looked to see what had caught his attention. A short-haired woman, small and athletic, young and jumpy, approached. A werewolf, she seemed at ease in a tank top and shorts, even in the chill air.
“We think we found ’im, gov,” she whispered to Caleb. “Spotted their car.”
“Lead on, then,” he said, wearing a proud smile. “Jill has the best nose in the south of England.”
Single file, we followed her, winding a path among the buildings. Ben, I noticed, had moved to put Cormac between us. Maybe an inadequate shield, but a shield nonetheless.
We stepped slowly, carefully, wolves on the prowl, pausing often to survey the air. I couldn’t smell much besides oil, concrete, and our own party. A couple of times, Caleb signaled to his three scouts. Michael returned, paralleling us on a different path—keeping watch on Jill.
When Ben let out a stifled yell, we all dropped into defensive crouches.
“Where the fuck did you come from!” Ben hissed to the figure behind him.
“You ought to keep your voice down,” Ned said in a stage whisper.
He should have been almost an hour behind us. “Wait a minute. How—”
Ned put a finger over his mouth and shook his head.
“Not funny, Ned,” Caleb said, glaring.
“Tell me you didn’t bring Emma,” I said in a sudden panic.
He had the grace to look startled. “Good God no, she’s just a child.”
He hadn’t put her in harm’s way yet, he wouldn’t start. The relief I felt at the news was painful.
“Anyone ever tell you you have a flair for the dramatic?” I said.
“Ha,” he answered flatly.
We moved on, and I wondered how much more of this exacting progress we had to make. Patience … if you waited long enough, still as a pond, the deer would come to you. For the fifth or sixth time, we paused at a corner to scout the lay of the land. The scouts returned to confer with Caleb. Jill said she thought Tyler was being kept in a building at the very end of the street. Ned, who remained like a statue, agreed with her. We still hadn’t met any guards or opposition, which was starting to make us all nervous. It was only a matter of time.
We should have expected it when a shot fired with an echoing crack.
“Aw, Jesus!” Michael stumbled and fell, clutching his shoulder. We pressed the wall.
He moaned around grit teeth. “Caleb, it’s silver, oh God—”
“Michael.” Caleb pulled his lieutenant into shelter with the rest of us. Jill and the second scout, Warrick, huddled together. A second shot fired, but no one cried out, so it must have missed.
“Silver bullets,” Ben hissed, and got in front of me, pushing me into a doorway. And Cormac got in front of him.
Wolf thrashed, beating herself against the bars of her cage, and I had to swallow her back, taking deep breaths to pull her inside. She wanted to run, to flee—it was the only response to such a deadly enemy. Get as far away from the silver as possible.
But we couldn’t do that. I huddled with Ben and tried to hang on to myself.
Michael let out an even more pain-racked groan and curled into a fetal pose. Caleb held tight to him, cradling him. He couldn’t do anything else. A very long time seemed to pass until Michael’s shivering stopped, until he was gone. Caleb, Warrick, and Jill all had hands on him, touching him, for his comfort and theirs, sending him on his way.
Ben found my hand and squeezed tightly. My other hand found Cormac’s arm. He stood before us both, a shield. He had a chance of surviving being shot with a silver bullet.
Only Ned seemed unconcerned, unaffected by the scene. He gazed out, and up. “I believe I see him. If you’ll excuse me.”
And he was gone. Just gone, like shadows vanish when the lights turn off. The scream came a scant moment later. I shivered.
We waited; I caught the touch of chill air the moment before he reappeared.
“There are four more of them watching the small warehouse on the next block. They’re human. Some brand of mercenary I should think. The warehouse is filled with heartbeats.”
Not vampires, then. “Whose mercenaries?” I whispered.
“I didn’t ask,” Ned said. “I thought we were in a hurry.”
“We are,” Caleb said, voice low, gravelly. “I’ll kill them all.”
“Leave them to us,” Ned said and paced away. I saw his retreat this time, or thought I did, until he disappeared into the next set of shadows.
Caleb’s expression was sour. I touched his shoulder, which was tense, hard as steel.
“They can stand up to silver bullets,” I said to Caleb. “Our job is finding Tyler.”
We should have been in forest, with familiar, earthy smells, trees blocking out the sky, the trails of our prey fresh as spring. Caleb said he’d show us where he and his wolves ran on full moon nights. After we got through all this, I’d take him up on the offer. It would feel like a vacation.
Carefully, cautiously, ducking around corners, constantly scanning our surroundings, we moved onward. I kept waiting for the sound of gunfire, knowing it would still startle me when it came, no matter how ready I thought I was to hear it.
“There,” Jill finally said, nodding to the next doorway. The building was low, only one story, made of prefab steel walls with a slanted roof. It might have been offices or storage. It didn’t seem to have windows.
I took a deep breath and still couldn’t smell Tyler.
We waited for what seemed a long time, but no guards appeared.
“Is it clear?” I asked.
Her eyes closed, Jill took a series of long, quiet breaths. “Two guys on the other side, I think. Human.”
“Armed with silver, no doubt,” Caleb muttered. “Door’s probably locked to boot. They’ll hear us coming no matter what.”
“There another way in?” I said.
“Other side,” Jill said. “But the SUV’s parked there. That door’s probably worse than this one.”
We still had no idea how many—or even what—we were facing here.
“I’ll go,” Cormac said, gathering himself to continue on.
“No,” Ben said.
I shook my head. “They’ll shoot you same as us.”
The hunter’s expression didn’t change. “We hit this door. I can give you maybe twenty seconds to get their guns away.”
“How?” Ben said.
“I’ll take care of it.”
I snorted. “Does Amelia have some hoopy spell for that?”
“I have lock picks. Amelia has the distraction. Assuming the wolf is right about there only being two guys.”
Caleb said, “Can you really get the lock?”
“What is it, a dead bolt? I think so.”
“Then Warrick and I will get the guards. You two”—he pointed at Ben and me—“stay put, cover our backs.”
Cormac nodded. “When I give you the signal, cover your eyes.”
I reached. “Wait a minute—” But the three of them moved off, and Ben held me back. It made sense from a tactical standpoint. Caleb and Warrick were bigger, tougher, and no doubt way more experienced fighters than we were. I still felt like I should have been the one on the front line.
“What’s he got planned?” Jill whispered. She was just a puppy—couldn’t have been more than twenty. She crouched, balancing on one hand, bouncing a little. I swore I saw the ghosts of pointed ears prick forward with interest.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Cormac pulled lock-picking tools from his jacket pocket. I winced—I could hear the scraping from here. The guards on the other side of the door would be waiting for them. They were all dead. I almost ran over and told him to stop, that we would find another way, that Tyler wouldn’t want anybody—anybody else—dying for him.
“Tell me he knows what he’s doing,” I whispered to Ben, who just shook his head.
Then Cormac nodded to Caleb and Warrick, who turned their heads, shading their eyes.
It happened quickly: Cormac kicked open the door, raised his hand, and a blinding white light flashed before him, floodlight bright, filling the room inside. The two werewolves rushed in. The sounds of fighting, a few meaty smacks, were brief. Cormac lowered his hand, closed his fist, and the light faded.
He may have picked the lock, but that spotlight spell was Amelia’s. The guards may have been waiting for someone to kick in the door, but they certainly hadn’t expected to be blinded in the next second.
“Brilliant!” Jill said. No pun intended, surely.
When Cormac looked back and waved, the three of us moved up to join him.
A single work lamp hung in the back of the room, giving off just enough light to see comfortably. The room was small, maybe the size of a garage, and might have been used for storage once. A few empty cardboard boxes lay around the periphery, along with some crumpled packing paper. Two men, hulking guard types in black fatigues, lay writhing on the ground. One of them was already tied, hand to foot, arms wrenched behind him, with what looked like nylon cord. Caleb stood on the second one’s neck while Warrick trussed him up—the cord looked like it came
from the guy’s own pockets, part of his own inventory. That had to hurt.
Their guns, mean-looking assault rifles, were tossed aside, against a far wall. Cormac eyed them thoughtfully.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ben said.
Inside, the smells were clearer. People had been moving in and out of the warehouse all day. I caught a trace of lycanthrope—wild, wolfish—as well as the chill that meant vampires had been here. One of Ned’s spies? Or an enemy? The guards from the front of the warehouse must have heard us. They ought to be pounding through any minute. So where were they? Step by soft step, I moved to the next door against the opposite wall.
“Kitty!” Cormac hissed, and I held back.
“Warrick, watch them,” Caleb said, pointing to the guns. The werewolf picked one up and held it on the two mercenaries, who stopped squirming in their effort to loosen their bonds.
Cormac studied the door, its handle, and the crack of light between the frame. “It’s not locked.”
Jill came close and took another of her long, quiet breaths. “Werewolf—maybe your man. He’s not alone.”
Great. The other guards weren’t storming us—they were waiting for us to come to them. The next room was well lit—Cormac’s trick with the flare wouldn’t work again. Maybe we could rush them. Without getting shot.
This was why I preferred talking my way out of dodgy situations.
“Everyone take cover,” Cormac said, hand on the handle ready to pull it open. The rest of us stood against the walls, waiting. I watched him take a breath, then another. Counting to three. Then he swung back, pulling open the door.
Nothing happened.
Inching forward, I reached the edge of the door frame and very carefully leaned around to look. Ben held my arm, as if he could yank me back when the gunfire started.
The next room was like this one—concrete, abandoned. In the middle of it crouched Tyler, fully conscious, muscles tensed, ready to spring. Another black-garbed guard lay crumpled in the corner, knocked out, a bruise marring his slack face.
“Tyler!” I said, falling into the room.
For a short moment, his lips pulled back in a snarl, and his eyes gleamed. Then recognition flashed.
Kitty Steals the Show Page 22
