“I need to finish what I started,” Wolffey said.
“What did ye start?” Rufus pressed.
Wolffey ignored the question as he removed fresh gauze from his bag and medical tape, both Topside products, and sealed off the wound. The outer infection was the least of his concern. The real problem was the venom in his bloodstream. He should’ve been dead instead of feeling half dead. Grabbing the bottle of ground white willow bark, he tipped the bottle back and filled his mouth with powder.
Rufus fluttered in front of his face. “Mix it with water. Ye will overdose.”
Wolffey coughed some of the powder into the sink. His lungs stung with the horrible mix. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and waited for his eyes to clear and the medicine to work. There was something added to the white willow bark, a special mix from the queen’s personal healer. It immediately went to his head, leaving him alert while his mind blocked his over stimulated nerves.
He pulled the towel around his waist and stepped from the wet tile onto the shag carpet. The door hung lopsided on its screws. Rose oil scented the room, but it wasn’t as strong as the stale cigarettes and the smell of the cave he’d brought with him.
“What are ye planning, Wolffey? It’s a dangerous game ye started,” Rufus said.
Wolffey held the towel, but it slipped when he bent down to retrieve his extra bag under the bed. The movement left his head spinning, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been dizzy. He pulled an extra pair of pants from his bag and paused, fingering the purple stripes on the edge of the fabric. Was he going to dress like the queen’s assassin when he entered the Bird Nest or was he going to go as a gambler? He left the clothes on the bed and dug deeper for something suitable for the Bird Nest.
“Ye can’t be going to the Bird Nest sick like this.” Rufus landed on the bed a split second before taking flight again, rubbing his hands against the ghostly fabric of his clothes. There was no way anything could’ve gotten on him. The icky factor of the room was a mental aspect for the ghostly specter.
“There is no time to waste,” he answered, grabbing his second set of fingerless gloves. He traveled with both, though the leather was cracking and the binds on the sides were stretched. They would work while his newer pair dried on the cabinet
“This is nary going to end well,” Rufus said.
He wished more than anything that the meeting was predawn, still dark enough for his contact to meet with him, but early enough that Rufus would have to return to the land of the dead. He didn’t want witnesses, and he definitely didn’t want Rufus trying to talk him out of this.
“My life will never have a story book ending, Rufus. You live by the sword, you die by it.”
His extra weapons were untouched under the bed. The swords would bring unwanted attention from the Topside society, so he strapped the throwing knifes on his hips so the leather wouldn’t rub the padded wound. There was room for one gun in the empty hostler at his back. He loaded it and put the extra shells in a pouch on the belt.
He tucked the strangle wire into the small pouch cut into the outer seams of his jeans. He tucked the tessen fan, which looked like a harmless paper fan, into a cutout pouch in his brown duster. Carefully folded at his hips was his manriki, a fighting chain. His bow set, the first weapon he’d learned to wield, had to stay behind.
“Are ye going to the Master Bohu?” Rufus asked.
Wolffey pulled on his duster. “If I don’t have to, I won’t.”
If he got what he needed at the exchange, he’d be gone by morning. Grand Master Bohu would just have to wait for another chance to speak with him, though there were less than a handful of things the Master Vampire could possibly want to discuss.
“Ye’re walking a fine line, lad. Bohu has a means of getting what he wants.”
“If Bohu’s request was urgent, I wouldn’t still be in the hotel,” he answered.
EIGHT
Wolffey stood in the alley watching the back entrance. Primarily staff entered through the door, but occasionally a disputable figure would slide in. These were people, much like him, that the bouncers would be less than thrilled to see and wouldn’t let through with the arsenal of weapons he carried. After the last couple of weeks, he’d be damned if anyone tried removing even a blade off his person.
“There are a lot of fey sectors and others in there that are nary a fan of Sayen-ael. They will nary like her assassin walking in on their territory,” Rufus said. He lowered his voice, though no one, but another faerie would’ve seen or heard him. “There are a few groups in there that ye personally terrorized. Ye have nary an ally here.”
“An ally is a friend waiting to stab you in the back,” he said. It was one of the first lessons Aire’Si taught him, and it was the greatest lesson he taught Aire’Si in return, when he trapped his mentor in order to make an escape.
He refused to let his mind wander to the consequences of such actions. Instead, he caught the door as it was about to latch shut, and slid into the dingy hallway with cement flooring. No doubt, the cement floor with the drain at the center made it easier to wash away blood when gamblers were brought in the back for personal lessons.
Rufus clicked his tongue nervously. “Nay, Wolffey. This is nary a well thought strategy.”
“I’ve always worn a face guard and the suit; they don’t know my smell or what I look like.” The suit was something Aire’Si perfected. It allowed the assassin to enter the territory of creatures with a highly sensitive sense of smell. As long as he wore the suit, from the top of his head to the soft soles of the built in feet, no one could smell him.
The vents overhead blew a great deal of cold air into the hall, instantly chilling the light sweat that dewed his skin. He rarely sweated, despite all the clothes he wore, but now, he was sure the fever had something to do with his body’s chemistry change. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling the unyielding top button. That top button meant more than conventionalism. It was self-reservation. It was proof that everything in his life was well maintained, controlled, organized. He was dedicated to structure.
Rufus disappeared for a brief moment and reappeared on his shoulder. “There are but three exits to this building and the building itself is spell protected. Ye can’t transcend through the walls if something goes awry.”
That’s why he made sure he entered through an entrance where no one would take his weapons. Despite the painful twinge in his side reminding him that time was now very limited, he was still capable of fighting. “We’ll be in and out before anyone officially knows we were present.”
There were only three doors, two on one side and one on the other. Having already been inside once, when he was younger, he knew the floor layout. The door would put him at the gambling tables, a place where he agreed to wait for his contact.
Wolffey reached for the door and his hand trembled. He pulled back, and fisted both hands, willing them to stop shaking, but he could barely feel the fists he made. It was the long-term effect of the white root powder he’d taken over the years to help stay mobile despite his injuries. The little he still could feel in his hands was enough to help him grip objects. At least he couldn’t feel the irreparable damage he’d done to his body over the decades.
“How do ye plan to fight with a tremble in yer hands?” Rufus pressed. “It is clear by the light of Gaia, ye are ill, laddie.”
“Get in and get out, Rufus, that is the plan,” he said.
The fey guide fluttered in front of the knob, blocking him. Though he could’ve reached through the spirit, he pulled patience to the forefront of his weary, and strung out mind.
“Whatever ye’re try’in to prove, it has gone on too long,” Rufus said. The spirit often gave good advice, but this time, the fey could not give advice on what he didn’t understand.
Rufus was back in motion. “What is this about? What do ye want from the faeries?”
“Not the faeries,” he hissed.
The spirit’s eyes narrowed
. “Ye’re doing this for Aire’Si, then? Ye’re wasting ye’r time. Aire is no different from any other Unseelie. He will no sooner accept a Topsider as a partner, than he would openly welcome one into the Hill. Ye’re there by request of the queen. If Aire were King, ye would be sent back Topside.”
He knew this all too well. He didn’t need the reminder, but Aire’Si wasn’t the king and he wouldn’t be without help. That help wasn’t going to come from anyone else. No one had the loyalty he did, nor the determination and skill to make it work.
“In that case, I’d be dead either way,” he said, pushing the door open.
He strolled into the smoke clotted room, closing the door behind him as if he belonged. Not an eye turned from their table to see who joined among the standing onlookers. The place was always crowded, though he hardly remembered what a normal schedule was for the Topsiders.
Rufus vanished from his sight, but he knew the spirit lingered somewhere he could observe the room. His words sharply echoed in Wolffey’s mind. In truth, he already knew where he stood. The fey would abandon him and the werewolves would kill him. Both were relevant scenarios and by helping Aire’Si, both were very likely to happen.
Borrowed time; that’s all he had.
It took less than a second to figure out the best spot in the house, which was a gambling table towards the corner with an open seat that would place his back against the wall. He spent a lot of time gambling, just not with currency, something he really didn’t need being an assassin to the queen. Tonight, he’d see what it was about.
oOo
The Bird Nest was nestled in the warehouse district. People still found their way to the illegal gambling hall without flashing lights or a sign that gave the entrance a name. The outside smelled of piss and dust. The inside smelled far worse.
“It’s so crowded. How are we going to find anyone in this mess?” Rider yelled over the trance music.
This being his first time inside the building, Mercer hadn’t expected the front entrance to be a dance hall. Colorful lights zoomed over the tightly packed groups of people. There were three dance cages sporadically placed, with women dressed like go-go dancers, inside.
“The place is bigger than it looked,” Axel yelled over his shoulder.
He nodded in agreement, forcing the frustration into something he could shove aside. A picture of Wolffey would’ve been more help than the perfumed smoke he swallowed. How was he going to follow a scent when the building was full of them and every bit unpleasant?
“Let’s start with the bar,” Mercer said. It was the best place to begin with the tip he’d been given.
He pushed his way towards the bar, keeping one hand on the studded fey collar he had attached to his back belt loop. The wait wasn’t excessive, though it was clear this was the meeting spot for a number of people. The counter was run sufficiently with the two bartenders. Drinks were on the counter as quickly as they were shouted out.
The two bartenders looked similar, tall, bald, scruffy faces, thick earrings. One wore a white shirt with black lettering that read Sugar. The one in the black shirt, in white lettering, read Spice.
It was Spice’s attention he caught. The man winked at him and leaned over the counter. “What can I mix for you?”
“I’m looking for someone named Wolffey. Have you heard of him?”
That carefully placed smile slid. Spice was thinking hard. Mercer had a feeling it was the name Wolffey that gave the man wrinkles between his brow. Spice’s jaw tightened. How far was he willing to take this to get the man to speak?
There’d be witnesses, though it was clear the owners of the Bird Nest wouldn’t want the police involved; though, he was sure someone was here to police the activity in the building. He wasn’t in a position to be diverted. Force wasn’t an option. He’d have to use persuasion, which Axel was far better at.
His money making smile returned. “The only names we get here belong to drinks. Sorry, I can’t help you, pretty boy.”
Axel stuck a wad of cash on the counter and Mercer was the first to glance over at his beta, who didn’t return the look. The bartender; however, took the money in one hand and glanced towards the back before setting drinks on the counter.
“Greatly appreciated,” Axel yelled over the music, grabbing his small glass and moving from the bar.
Mercer grabbed the other two glasses, handing one to Rider, for anyone watching. Wyatt, Dax and Briley had stayed outside the mess, watching the crowd.
“I assume he told you something useful,” Mercer said.
Axel sat his glass on the surface of an empty table already covered with drinks. “Yes, we’ll find Wolffey towards the back.”
In a building this size with a near approximation of four hundred people present, they’d be lucky if they found Wolffey within the hour. Mercer sat his drink on the table too, and took the lead, staying close to the wall where there were less people to push through.
The loud music and horrible lighting grated on his nerves. The roving lights didn’t reach the very back of the club where the air was chemically heavy. It almost masked the heady scent of sex. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, catching the flow of bodies, caught in drug induced embraces.
One scent stood out above the others; orange blossoms and rich cocoa bean. It’d been a long time since he’d smelled this, but it was a scent that was burnt into his memory sensors.
“Are you okay?” Rider asked.
Instead of answering, he glanced back the way they’d come. There was a doorway with black beads hanging over the opening to separate it from everything else. A bright, clear light slipped through strands in the beaded curtain.
Mercer’s heart started to race. The last time he smelled this scent, the gestohlen, the stolen child, had been at the farm when he was fighting Giordano for pack alpha. He distinctly remembered, as clear as day, the feeling that passed through him when he realized the young man was present.
“Mate,” the wolf spirit whispered.
“Are you okay?” Rider asked again.
This time when he glanced back, his betas were watching, concerned. “I know who the queen wants returned.”
He pushed through the beads. For as loud as it was in the main club, it was near silent inside the gambling room. Seven tables were set up, all with five players and a dealer. Observers stood around many of the tables. At first glance, he didn’t see anyone dressed like the assassin.
It wasn’t until a few observers shifted that he saw his target, but that young boy, wasn’t a boy anymore. His shoulders were broad in the black duster. His jaw was angular like a werewolf, not at all pointed and narrow like the faeries. His long, straight brown hair was now mid chest. He traded his wood mask in for a cowboy hat and man, he had a nice face.
“Where’s the fey runaway?” Dax cracked his fingers. “I want to get this business done with.”
The collar turned to lead against the back loop on Mercer’s jeans. There was no denying that the queen wanted him to collar her assassin. The excitement in his gut was all wrong. The feeling drew up his spine and into the forefront of his brain. He wanted to battle it out with Wolffey, force the assassin to accept him as an equal, as his mate. He shook the thought quickly.
This came from his werewolf spirit, and nothing was ever clear during the full moon. Emotions ran high. Decisions were often carelessly made. Yet, nothing spoke truer than the animal spirit, but he refused to listen. Bringing a rogue home would draw a whole new set of problems.
And if his memory served, Wolffey wasn’t the type to submit.
"Everyone in here looks normal," Briley said. He flanked Rider, while Dax flanked Axel. Wyatt sealed the back. They stood in formation, despite the limited space. "No one here looks dangerous.”
“How are we going to approach this?” Dax asked.
“Like we’re hunting an intelligent and deadly animal,” Mercer said.
Wolffey laid down his cards and the small crowd around him cheered. Cards were throw
n back to the dealer and the money was shoved towards the growing pile in front of Wolffey. Wolffey… What an appropriate name, though clearly not the one given to him at birth.
Mercer started between the tables, expecting someone to stop them. His betas stretched out further. Dax and Briley moved along one wall, so they could surround the table on their end. Axel and Wyatt took the other side, leaving Rider with him. The dealer started another round of cards when Mercer came up behind his query.
Up close, he took in more details, like the way Wolffey’s chestnut brown hair had blond highlights when it caught the light. He had two tight, small braids woven at his temples with bright red, colorful string. The faerie guard had yellow strung in his braids. Gone was the youth. Despite the heat from the surrounding bodies, Wolffey’s collar shirt was buttoned to his neck. The only real skin visible was his fingers poking out of his fingerless gloves and his face.
“Wolffey, a word in private,” Mercer said.
“Sorry gents, I’m not looking for company tonight.” There was a hint of a brogue to his words, well cultured and though slight, had gotten deeper over the years.
“We’re not prostitutes, but you already know that,” Mercer said.
Wolffey’s full attention was on him. His golden eyes with the lavender rings slid to Rider before returning to him. “That’s too bad. You gentlemen could make a bit of currency.”
“We need to speak,” Mercer said. The collar grew heavier and so did his heart. There would be a fight. The assassin was not going to allow them to slide it around his neck.
“Just you, or with your friends too?” he asked.
This question surprised Mercer, though it shouldn’t have. Of course Wolffey was trained to notice who entered a room. “All of us.”
Werewolf Forbidden Page 8
