There was a bare minimum of vehicles on the roads. Although Randolph had grown accustomed to the constant roar and stench of trucks, cars, and motorcycles, being without them was infinitely better. The air was easier to ingest, and the humans were forced to keep their piercing screams and grating music within the confines of whatever shelter they could find. When the wretches got hungry enough to make their rounds among the humans, even those annoyances were silenced.
In the distance he could hear gunfire. There was always gunfire.
Humans fought to protect their homes or keep the wretches at bay.
Soon, none of that would matter.
The quiet Randolph sought would be a complete one. No more gunfire. No more belching machines in the skies or on the roads. No more overconfident howls from the likes of Esteban or others of his kind flexing powers that had lain dormant for very good reasons. No more soldiers. No more Skinners.
Maybe . . . no more Randolph.
That last possibility had kept him from playing his hand until now. Ever since the humans became strong enough to pave over the earth and spread their young like locusts, he’d thought of ways to do away with them. Perhaps that was his natural instinct as a predator, or perhaps there was something within the human race that made them louder and more insufferable than other species. Whatever the reason, he’d held back his growing intolerance.
There was a Balance to be maintained, and extinction was no way to serve it. But through meddling on both sides of the scale, human and shapeshifter alike had upset the order of things. It was within human nature to strive for more, but the Full Bloods needed to be above that. Humans built their structures, forged their metals, and eventually whittled their own numbers down through sheer stupidity and greed. The power within a Full Blood’s grasp was much greater, however, and needed to be guarded. It had to be preserved, not wielded. Once something so beautiful was forged into a weapon, the Full Bloods became no better than the strutting humans.
Randolph covered another few miles in an easy, loping stride. He found another plane wreck he’d smelled a while ago, as well as a line of cars that had crashed into each other along a stretch of highway. Judging by the bones and flaking bloodstains on the cars, most of the drivers had been attacked by Half Breeds rather than turned into them. More than likely the people in the cars, distracted by the wreckage, had slammed into each other. Even after their world had crumbled, mankind could still find a way to shame itself.
Doing his best to filter out the stink of dead flesh and rusted steel, Randolph shrugged the makeshift sling to a more secure spot over his shoulder. As soon as he felt the slight weight of the torn wing against his back, he quickened his pace into a run that would make him almost impossible for mortal eyes to spot.
Extinction had already sunk its teeth into the living things of this land. The only question was if it was to be a quick or slow process.
Chapter Seventeen
The tendrils wrapped around Cole’s insides changed the experience of teleportation into something that left him dizzy. Mystic natural forces tugged at his clothes, pulled at his skin, and drew him forward like a massive intake of breath. Not only did he feel like he was falling from one temple to another, but it seemed as if something was shoving him forward even faster than anything as commonplace as inertia. The sounds he heard didn’t just assault his ears. The pulsing rhythms invaded his skull, slid against the back of his tongue and extended probing fingers beneath his clothes and rib cage to stroke his heart until his next breaths welled up and finally exploded outward into . . .
“What in the hell was that?” Waggoner shouted.
He had to shout because that was the only way to be heard over the driving beats coming from no fewer than ten towers of speakers situated strategically around the perimeter of a cavernous room. Soon, Paige staggered through the curtain as well, to grab her ears and wince.
Theirs was one of a dozen curtains, each at the edge of a large stage teeming with dancers of all shapes, sizes, colors, and states of undress. When Cole looked around at them, all of the dancers’ bodies congealed into a writhing mass of smooth, glittering flesh. There were definitely several bodies on all the stages, and he knew they weren’t combined into a single entity, but between all the writhing arms, strutting legs, and twirling hair, his eyes simply didn’t know where to start.
“I think we got fried in transit,” he said to anyone within earshot. “Because if this isn’t heaven, then I don’t want to know what is.”
Normally, when Cole felt the Dryad influence tugging at every Y chromosome in his body, he looked to Paige for support or at least a swift knock upside his head. This time even she was speechless as they were approached by a group of four girls dressed in nothing but ankle bracelets and streaks of metallic paint applied expertly to make it seem as if their skin had flaked away to reveal solid gold chassis. These women may not have been robots, but they were anything but human.
One of the dancers, a thin Hispanic nymph with a narrow upper body and perfectly rounded hips, smiled and said, “Oh my. Looks like Taylor wasn’t kidding. The new guy’s cute. Think you can keep him under control?”
“To be honest,” Cole said, “I doubt if I’ll be able to keep myself under control.”
The other three dancers consisted of a taller woman with coffee-colored skin and a full, generous figure; a petite young blonde; and a more mature blonde who seemed to have stepped out of the pages of Playboy’s golden years. The floor beneath their feet pulsed in time to the music, and the patrons occupying seats around the stage gazed up intently to see what would happen next.
Cole followed the tallest nymph toward a corner at the back of the room. It was tough taking his eyes from the swaying perfection of the Hispanic nymph’s backside, but there was plenty more to catch his attention. Women climbed poles that stretched down from the heights of a cathedral ceiling, or they crawled along horizontal bars without the slightest lapse in balance. The entire latticework glowed with colors that shot through the structure to illuminate it like pipes filled with blue and green luminescent water. Three cocktail bars were worked by six tenders, all of whom were human women, still gorgeous despite the supernatural competition around them. They smiled at the Skinners who passed, not seeming to notice the weapons strapped to their bodies or the gear they carried.
“Where the hell are we?” Cole asked.
The tall Hispanic Dryad pivoted toward him, which did nothing to break the line of her stride. “Didn’t Taylor tell you?”
“She said something about a hub.”
“There you go,” she replied with a flourishing wave toward a sign hanging above a towering wine rack made of gnarled wood. The sign looked to have been pulled from a vein of ore and crudely bent into two words: THE HUB. It was spelled out in smooth, yet rugged letters accentuated by the curving glyphs Cole had come to know as Dryad script. Now that he’d seen those markings, more of the symbols could be found etched into the walls, floor, and pillars stretching up past the poles from which several nymphs swung or twirled. If he could see the ceiling through the bank of milling steam hanging like a smoky layer of clouds, he guessed there would be markings on it as well.
Now that the smaller Hispanic nymph was closer, Cole couldn’t tell if she might actually have a Middle Eastern background. The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to learn. Being an expert in every sort of worshipping stare, she took his hand, shook it and said, “I’m Marissa. I know you’re probably a little dizzy right now, so just keep your eyes on me and we’ll take you to somewhere you can think straight.”
Since his eyes were already glued to Marissa’s swaying hips, Waggoner said, “That ain’t a problem, sweet thing.” Three of the nymphs pretended to think that was funny, as the tallest of the group cut a path through the crowd. When Waggoner was distracted from where he was walking, the younger blond nymph placed a hand on his back and kept him from walking straight into a group of businessmen. “What should I call you, honey?�
� he asked.
“Alyssa,” the blonde said with a smile.
The Hub was massive. Even more impressive was the amount of business it was doing. As far as Cole could tell, nearly all of the seats were filled, every stage was working to capacity, and there was plenty going on in the VIP lounges alongside the main room. The place was even big enough to have more than one climate. As he and the others were led toward the back, the air became cooler and the thumping bass lines of the music gave way to softer jazz tracks played from speakers embedded in the walls and ceiling of an insulated room.
“This is one of our private suites,” the taller Hispanic nymph said as she turned around and extended both hands to encompass the space around her. Generous curves tested the limits of her flimsy outfit and a wide smile put the Skinners at ease. The room felt like a plush cave that was insulated well enough to keep all but the lowest bass lines from seeping in. Dark red velvet lined the walls, and tastefully subdued carpeting muffled all footsteps into soft, whispering impacts. There was barely enough space for the Skinners to stand without crowding each other or bumping their shins against low, sumptuously overstuffed couches along both sides of the room. Another door, outlined in dimly glowing green neon, was at the opposite wall.
“I’m Lexi,” the tall Hispanic beauty said. “If there’s anything you need, just ask for me.”
“What we need is to get to Hungary,” Paige said.
“It’s being arranged,” Lexi replied. “Wait here and make yourselves comfortable.”
“I thought the arrangements were already made. We’re on a schedule here.”
“You’re also on our ground, Skinner,” Lexi said. “Mind your manners or we’ll mind them for you.”
Temporarily stunned by the tone in her voice, Cole moved toward the group of nymphs. He was immediately cut short by armed men who’d swarmed into the room from behind the other three girls. Although dressed in windbreakers bearing the Hub’s logo, they carried assault rifles rivaling the ordnance carried by the IRD.
“What the hell?” Paige said. “When did this shit start?”
The other blonde moved forward to directly challenge Paige. A gold one-piece swimsuit wrapped around her as if painted on by a narrow roller that had been placed on one shoulder then moved across her large breasts and over her stomach to barely cover her below the waist. Despite the lack of clothing, her eyes gleamed even brighter than the necklace that spelled the word STARR in gold letters. “It started when you took advantage of our gratitude by corrupting one of our most beloved sisters!”
“You must have us mixed up with someone else,” Cole said.
“No,” said a woman who eased past the armed men as if they were just another pair of slack-jawed customers. “They know exactly who you are, but their anger may be somewhat misdirected.”
Then Tristan, one of the leading members of the Dryad sisterhood, stepped into the room. She moved gracefully on high heels and wore her flowing chestnut hair loose over both shoulders. A flawless body sculpted from skin that begged to be caressed was wrapped in a relatively modest purple dress that gleamed like water hugging her breasts and hips to flow freely across her torso and legs. Something about her wasn’t the same, however. Her usual shine was diminished and her presence didn’t radiate the same effortless exuberance. Cole was drawn immediately to her eyes, and when she moved closer, he could tell they were now the color of moss that had never been touched by daylight.
“What happened was my choice,” Tristan announced. Since the other nymphs weren’t backing down, she approached Lexi and placed a hand on her smooth shoulder. “A choice that couldn’t have been forced upon me no matter who was asking me to make it.”
“The Skinners never stop asking,” Lexi said. “They’re never satisfied with what they’re given, and now we’ve all been corrupted.”
Waggoner shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “In case you haven’t looked outside lately, there’s a whole lot of corruption going on. From where we stand, it seems you ladies are doing better than most.”
Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off of Tristan, which had nothing to do with the beauty that still made every other beautiful thing in the world pale by comparison. She was one of the first supernatural beings Cole had met who hadn’t tried to kill him. He didn’t exactly swap greeting cards with the Dryad, but there was a connection between them similar to the one between a boy and the experienced older woman who’d lovingly given him one hell of a first time. “What’s the matter?” he asked her earnestly.
His tone, more than the words themselves, had an effect on Tristan. Her exterior crumbled just enough for him to see how much work was required to keep it in place. “Everyone,” she said with supreme authority, “leave us.”
“Who stays?” one of the armed guards asked.
“Cole and Paige,” Tristan told him. “Everyone else can move into the next room. There’s food there,” she said to Waggoner in a less severe tone. “Help yourself. If you’re going as far as you say you are, you’ll need all the nutrition you can get.”
After several affirming nods were passed between those concerned, the nymphs escorted Waggoner through a door at the opposite side of the room.
“The one with the beard seems new to the game,” Tristan mused as they left.
“That’s Waggoner,” Paige said. “He’s still wet behind the ears but stood up for me and a whole lot of people when things went to hell in Atoka.” She waited for the other two to sit down before making herself comfortable next to Cole on one of the couches.
“I heard about your home in Chicago burning down,” Tristan said. “That’s terrible.”
“What were those other girls talking about when they said you were corrupted?” Cole asked. “That is, if they were talking about you.”
“They were,” Tristan said with a single nod. “I was glad to help you in Atoka when the Breaking Moon rose, but I told you there would be a cost. I had to tap into darker energies, such as fear, hate, and rage.” When she said those words, her eyes took on an accusatory glint that was aimed at both Skinners. “There’s a reason we don’t use those energies. They change us.”
“But you’ll get better, right?” Cole asked. “I mean, you can’t have been the first Dryad to do something like that.”
“Definitely not. The only problem is that this sort of corruption makes us into something that isn’t Dryad. Human legends are filled with my kind as well as theirs. We are known as muses, mermaids, and sprites, while those others are commonly known as hags, cannibals, and . . .”
“Witches,” Paige said.
Tristan nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. The sight of her purposely dimming her own light made Cole feel ashamed for asking her to go through the ordeal. It had been necessary, but that didn’t take anything away from the burden he now felt.
“The reason I detained you here isn’t to make you feel guilty,” Tristan explained. “And it’s not to show you what you’ve done to me. It’s to explain that your actions have consequences. Sometimes, I wonder if Skinners fully appreciate that.”
“Believe me,” Paige said, “we know plenty about consequences.”
“Can you know how the actions of every Skinner before you have impacted the world in which we live?”
Picking up on the new edge in her voice, Cole said, “I’ve only been doing this for a year or two . . . maybe more.” Images of his time as a Skinner rushed through his mind in a flash, leaving him feeling older than before they’d arrived. “I may not know a lot, but I know we’re not trying to leave anything worse than it was before we got there. It wasn’t even our choice for all of this crap to go public. Paige and I did our best to keep people thinking werewolves and vampires were just hoaxes and perverts trolling the Internet.”
“I know you mean well,” Tristan said as a patient smile eased across her face. “I also know you are trying to do good. That’s why I’ve agreed to help you as much as I have, even when it meant sacrificing
a part of myself that I may never regain.” She shifted on the overstuffed cushions, drawing her legs in close. “I’m referring to all Skinner activity. The animals you kill have a place in our world. When too many of one species are lost, another takes its place. If one predator falls, another fills the gap. If no other predators fill the gap, more of the smaller creatures emerge.”
“Yeah, like Chupacabra,” Cole grunted. “I’ve still got the scars from those little bastards. The gargoyles seem to have gone back into hibernation for the winter, though.”
“You killed a Full Blood during the Breaking Moon,” Tristan continued. “Another will rise to take his place, just as one arose to fill the void left by Henry.”
“So what should we do?” Paige asked. “Just let them all go about their business so they can wipe us out?”
“It’s too late for that, I know,” Tristan said. “But you have to know that you cannot continue dealing with each individual fire that is started. You either need to commit yourselves to the larger struggle or step back and let the fires burn.”
Reflexively lowering her voice, Paige told her, “That’s why we’re going to Hungary. The Amriany are about to have the same problems we have here. For all we know, they may have already started.”
“Yes, things are just as bad there as they are here,” Tristan mused. “The Travelers have always been better at keeping things quiet. Why Hungary? Is that just where you intend on meeting the Amriany?”
Extinction Agenda Page 18
