by Dannika Dark
Worry filled her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “What’s the message?”
I scooted closer and lowered my voice. “Go to a club called Nine Circles of Hell. There’s a bartender named Hooper. You can’t miss him. He’s got patterns shaved on the sides of his head and a bunch of lip rings. He’s the only one there that knows my friends, so make sure he’s the one who gets the message. If he’s not there, go back and try again. Write down the message so he doesn’t forget.”
“But it won’t be your handwriting.”
I chuckled. “My friends have never seen my handwriting. Tell them… Tell them to stop searching. It had a surprisingly good outcome, and I’m happy now. And tell them to give my Mercedes to my father. Please don’t forget that part. He’s old, and it’s the last good thing I can do for him. Do you think you can remember that?”
“Stop searching because you’re happy. And give your Mercedes to your father.”
“That’s all.” I hoped the innocuous message would make up her mind.
Rachel collected my plate and glass. “I have to go. He might be awake, and he’ll get suspicious that I’ve been down here this long.”
I reached out and seized her wrist. “Thank you. For everything. The lamb was superb.”
A fragile smile touched her lips. “He likes that dish a lot, so it’s my specialty.” Her eyes flicked to the wounds on my arms, and they were numerous. “Do you want any healing light?”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. I don’t know you very well, but you seem like a nice person.” I let go of her wrist and scooted back against the wall, the blanket tucked around me.
She rose to her feet, breaking eye contact. “You shouldn’t fight him. Just let him take your light. It’s easier that way.”
Now that I had energy in me from a hot meal, I planned to defend myself. I’d managed to fight off Fletcher a number of times, and even though his physical abuse brought a different kind of assault, my light was the only power I had left.
Rachel made her way out, and when the door closed behind her, the last remaining candle snuffed out.
Christian lifted the newspaper and pretended to read as the next customer hustled into the butcher shop from the door on his left. Dead carcasses hung from the ceiling, and a revolting display of chopped flesh drew everyone’s eyes to the counter. He’d charmed the butcher and his assistant to pay no attention to him. That way he could sit there as long as he wanted.
It wasn’t a place people came to eat, but there were two tables pushed up against the long red bench. No chairs, so you had to sit facing the counter. Sometimes people ordered a ready-made sandwich to eat while they waited for their orders.
He glared at his plate of half-eaten pastrami. The other half had gone into the trash.
The black-haired young man behind the counter sang along to the Italian music on the radio. He and the butcher must have been a father-and-son team since they looked alike and cussed at their customers. Their red aprons over black shirts smartly masked blood and other stains. They were situated in the Breed district, and Christian quickly deduced that the workers were Shifters. During the long stretches of boredom, he studied their mannerisms and tried to guess what their animal might be. At first he thought wolves and then mountain lions, but today he guessed bears.
Each day Christian came into the shop, he wore something completely different and sat in a new spot so regulars wouldn’t notice. Sometimes he’d obscure his face completely with a magazine or newspaper.
The balding butcher wrapped a woman’s order in paper and secured it with twine. She tightened her maroon scarf around her neck before heading out with her meat.
Christian set the newspaper down, fantasies consuming his thoughts of what he would do to Fletcher if that malignant little numpty showed his face. Perhaps a shotgun up his arse. Men like him were a dime a dozen in the Breed world. Some were criminals, and others lived normal lives, but they all shared a dark secret. For most it was light addiction. For others it was a sick and perverted desire to own a slave. What Christian knew of Fletcher was that he was British, shaved his head, and had a long beard like a rejected member of ZZ Top.
A long-haired man entered the shop, and when his black hood fell away from his face, Christian recognized Niko. Beneath his black coat was the distinct bulge of a katana. Any seasoned immortal could spot it. Shepherd had given him a nice selection of sheaths and harnesses, making it easier to carry, conceal, and draw his weapon from all angles. If it weren’t for the Pink Panther shirt, he’d look like a ninja.
Niko stood still as soon as he entered the shop.
“What can I get for you?” the butcher said in greeting.
Christian cleared his throat. “He’s with me, so you don’t see him.”
Just in case Fletcher came in and they got into a fight, Christian made sure to plant the suggestion for the butchers to ignore people on his command.
“Straight ahead to my voice, Niko. It’s all clear.”
Niko’s quizzical look faded as he made his way over, his hand outstretched and his pace slow. Blue made an excellent partner for him, always making sure he knew his surroundings. Without her, he struggled in unfamiliar places. But Christian had to give credit to the man for learning his way without the use of a cane. Those tools made you stand out in the Breed world—they made you a target.
“Five steps, and you’re at the table.”
Niko bumped into the corner and felt around.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to sit next to me on the bench.” Christian scooted over to create a buffer between them.
Flecks of snow that clung to Niko’s coat were finally melting. “Apologies for intruding. I rode with Claude on his way to work and asked him to drop me off. I have news.”
Christian shifted in his seat and rested his right arm on the table. “I hope you didn’t come here just for me. Wyatt said he’d call with any updates.”
“Gem spoke with Hooper this morning. He had a message to deliver.”
“What message?”
Niko reached inside his coat. “Viktor’s already seen it.”
Christian took the small card that Niko handed him and read the note. It was handwritten with Raven’s name at the bottom. “Clever. She doesn’t have a Mercedes.”
“Exactly. Wyatt collected her notes from cold cases, and that’s not her handwriting. He’s certain it belongs to a woman.”
Christian examined the note for a while longer. “The cryptic reference to a car means she wants us to keep searching. How did you get this?”
“That’s why I came here. I thought you should see it in person. Now that we know she’s alive, what you’re doing here is important.” Niko glanced over his shoulder as if he could somehow tell if the butchers were listening or not. “A woman gave Hooper the note—probably the same woman who wrote it.”
“What are you blathering about? If Raven had someone helping her, don’t you think she’d be free by now?”
“Hooper said the woman gave off weird vibes on the paper. Paranoia, fear—it sounds like she’s afraid for her life. Otherwise, she would have given it to the authorities. If all this is true—”
“Then it means the lass has seen Raven in person.”
“Precisely. Hooper described her as having short hair, like how a man wears it. She was average height and build, no distinctive marks, and had large green eyes. He said they really stood out, probably because of her pale complexion.”
“And her style?”
“He didn’t recall anything distinct about her attire. Just a jacket and boots. He also noted that she didn’t paint her nails and kept them short.”
Christian faced forward and scratched his fingers through his short beard. “I’d wager she’s his Learner. That would explain her fear and connection to Raven. What color was her hair?”
“Brown. I didn’t ask the shade. Is that important?”
Christian hadn’t even noticed the two men standing in li
ne. An old woman hobbled over to the bench near the door and sat down. Time skipped like a broken record as he processed this new information. “Who did the Enforcers question at the hospital?”
“Viktor can probably get us that information. You don’t think she works for him, do you?”
“I bet that ambitious bastard created a Learner to fill his personal needs and do his bidding. Not everyone has the balls to escape. Some people are sheep.”
“Come back again,” the butcher said. “Next!”
Christian racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d seen a customer in the past few days who fit the woman’s description. If Fletcher had a trusted Learner he allowed to leave the house, then maybe she was the one doing all his errands. It was possible the woman was his lover, but that didn’t sit right with Christian. It seemed like acquiring a slave would be the deal breaker in a relationship.
“One pound of lamb shanks, please. I called in my order.”
Christian glanced toward the counter and saw the back of a woman in a brown coat. His eyes scanned down to her thin legs and furry boots. It had almost slipped his mind about how Fletcher liked his lamb.
A guy wearing a pub cap knocked on the counter. “How much is the veal?”
“Jaysus wept. I think that’s her,” Christian whispered, still looking at the woman. “Surely the heavenly angels didn’t just place her in our laps.”
“Don’t intimidate her,” Niko said. “Her light shows signs of nervousness.”
“Worry not. I just want to get the lass to do a twirl so I can see her face.” Christian knocked his bottle of water onto the floor, and it made everyone turn around to look.
He casually bent over to pick it up, smiling at the young woman with short hair and green eyes. She turned back around when the butcher appeared from the back room.
“I think we have a winner,” Christian said quietly. “Care to join me?”
“Are you certain it’s her?”
“For feck’s sake, of course I’m not certain. Unless you have her name and license plate number, this is all we have. She came in yesterday, but I’ve been busy looking for a bald-headed Viking. I didn’t see her face, but I remember those boots.”
When she collected her paper bag and headed out the door, Niko and Christian rose to their feet and followed swiftly behind. Christian put on his dark sunglasses, protecting his sensitive eyes from the sun. Winter was his least favorite time of year because of all the bright snow. Thank Jaysus for the twentieth century. Mass production made sunglasses popular, and everyone wore them. Back in his day, Vampires didn’t have dark shades to protect their eyes, so they’d mostly come out at night.
Christian approached his Honda and patted the hood. “Get inside. The door’s straight ahead.” He rounded the front and kept his eyes on the woman as she crossed the street and headed toward a green car.
Christian got in and turned the key. “Only one pound of fecking lamb? That’s hardly enough.”
“Raven doesn’t require as much food,” Niko reminded him.
“Do you think that justifies starving her?”
When the woman pulled out, Christian checked to make sure it was clear and circled around to follow. He kept a safe distance, hands gripping the wheel so tightly that he had to relax so as not to break it. Thirty minutes later, they were leaving the city and driving down a country road. Christian could no longer see the car, but he kept his ears glued to the familiar rattle of her engine.
“I don’t see energy trails anymore,” Niko said. “Have we left the city?”
“Aye.”
“Should we call Viktor?”
“Let’s wait until we get there. We’re too far out, so he’d never get here in time. I’m grateful you cared enough to tell me the news in person.”
Niko rubbed his mouth. “I used to have a sister when I was human. She was killed very young.”
Immortals rarely spoke in detail of the human life they’d left behind. Christian studied him for a moment. “I also had a sister. She was like you.”
“Blind?”
“Well, she wasn’t Japanese.”
They both laughed softly.
“Damn if she wasn’t the most self-sufficient girl,” Christian continued. “She could cook, clean, and do all the normal things expected of a woman in those days.”
“What happened to her?”
“My brothers and I left her behind. Families split apart in those days for golden opportunities. Turns out the grass wasn’t so green on the other side. Poor Cassie is dead and buried, but she was a spirited girl. I hope she lived a good life and found herself a nice young fella.”
Niko laced his fingers together. “Death isn’t the end.”
“Tell that to the bones in the graveyard.”
“We wouldn’t have Gravewalkers if there wasn’t more.”
Though it was hard to believe in something he couldn’t see, Christian couldn’t deny some of the things he’d experienced in his life. Especially after Wyatt’s ghost friend turned out to be an old acquaintance. Christian had never mentioned him to anyone.
Poor bastard. Even in death, the man couldn’t leave his woman’s side.
It scared the bejesus out of Christian to think he might end up in the same position one day—pining over a woman in the afterlife. Or worse, tortured by all the souls he’d put in the grave. Sometimes the idea of nothing after death sounded like a better ending.
Christian noticed the sound of her car moving to the right. “She’s slowing down. Call Viktor. He’ll understand that every second we have to wait for them is precious time lost.”
Niko made a call, repeating the directions exactly as Christian relayed them. Not long after he hung up the phone, they parked the car by the main road behind a grove of trees. The roads were somewhat clear, but there was still snow all over the land.
Christian rolled down the window and leaned his head out to listen. A car door unlocked, boots crunched on packed snow, and the woman made a shivering sound before slamming the car door. It was too damn far to hear every little detail, and he’d done his best to mute out the other sounds around him, like the popping of his engine, a plane flying overhead, and birds chirping frenetically in a thicket of bayberry.
When the muffled sound of a man’s voice overlapped hers, Christian opened the door. “I need to get closer.”
Niko clutched his arm, holding him inside. “Describe the landscape. If I need to find you, don’t have me run into a ditch.”
“I can’t tell how deep the snow is, but there’s a grove of fir trees outside your door. If you get out of the car and walk toward the back, you’ll hit the private road that runs left and right—house to the left. It’s a few hundred yards down, and I don’t see any ditches. But the trees are sparse around the property, so you won’t have any cover. It’s still daylight, so don’t come up unless you hear me calling for you.”
“Don’t get staked.”
“Put a cork in your arse before you jinx me. Give me a half hour. It’ll take time to circle around to the back without being seen. All this fecking white snow. If you hear a car coming from that direction, jump in the driver’s seat and throw it in reverse. You’ll block them in.”
“Which way is reverse?”
“Backwards. Jaysus.”
“I meant on the gear shift.”
Christian gave him a brief rundown on using the gearshift before getting out. With only one road leading in and bushes bordering the property, it made it easier to thwart any plans of escape.
A few inches of snow covered the dead grass, and because of the crunching sound it made, he kept his distance and cloaked himself in the shadow of dense evergreens. Whoever’s house this was, it looked fifty years old. Just a brown one-story with an attached garage on the side.
When he reached the back of the property, he saw an opportunity to get close. The side wall had no windows, so after a glance around, he sprinted across the field toward the house. His coat flapped in the
wind as he cleared the field and made it.
“Why did you leave an hour early last night?” a man asked, his accent unmistakably British.
A paper bag rustled.
“The roads are terrible,” the woman from the shop replied. “I didn’t want to be late for work.”
“Nobody cares what we do in the morgue.”
Christian’s breath caught.
“I just thought I’d get a head start.”
The man didn’t raise his voice, but his words were threatening. “Do you know what a turncoat is? If I find out you’re up to something, you’ll be down there with her.”
Down there.
With her.
Raven was in the basement. He peered around the corner at the steps leading up to the back door. The low shrubs along the house didn’t obscure the windows, so he had to duck while running past them. Christian had reached the door, completely prepared to break in, when he noticed steps to his left leading down to a white door. Snow gathered only in the corners because of constant foot traffic, so he hurried down and turned the doorknob.
“Fecking dolt,” he murmured as the door opened. The blundering idiot had left it unlocked.
He listened upstairs to make sure no one sensed his presence. Bottles clinked as a fridge door opened and closed, and it sounded like the woman was unpacking her lamb.
“I could have ordered two pounds,” she said. “This isn’t enough.”
“It’s enough for me. Be nice, or I won’t give you the leftovers.”
Christian went inside, his Vampire eyes adjusting to the darkness. There weren’t any windows, so he carefully walked down the remaining steps. Old pipes ran across the ceiling, and it looked like a regular storage room. Boxes, gardening tools, a wheelbarrow—nothing of interest.
