The White Rabbit Chronicles

by Gena Showalter

  I wanted to rush over and hug her more than I wanted to take my next breath, but she was a spirit, and just like with zombies, spirit could not tangle with flesh.

  I winked at her instead.

  The dark eyes she’d gotten from our mother beseeched me. “Alice,” she said again. Almost a moan.

  Something was wrong.

  My grin fell.

  “Ali?” Jaclyn asked. She couldn’t see Emma. Only Cole and I could. I’d always thought it was because I was connected to my sister and Cole was connected to me.

  “I’ll be in the hall,” Emma whispered and vanished.

  A sense of urgency overcame me. “Stay here,” I said to Jaclyn. “I mean it. I can take care of Justin, or I can take care of you. Your choice.”

  She sighed. “Justin.”

  “I’ll keep you updated.” I practically sprinted into the hall. Thankfully Emma was the only person in sight, and all the bedroom doors were closed.

  “I’m so happy to see you.” And I was. Even if she’d come bearing bad news.

  Her hands twisted together as she said, “I heard what happened. Four of your friends were killed and—”

  “Four?” I interjected and shook my head. “There were only three.”

  She peered down at her ballet slippers. “No. There were four.”

  “You’re certain?” Of course she was. When had she ever been wrong? I closed my eyes and let the knowledge sink in. Another life lost. Another friend taken from us.

  Only two slayers were still missing. Justin and Collins. So, which one was it?

  The urge to fall on my knees and scream, “That’s it! I’ve had enough! No more!” hit me, but I somehow found the strength to remain in place, quiet, another storm of tears on lockdown. There was too much to do. Starting with my promise to Jaclyn.

  Compartmentalize.

  “Anima is planning something else,” Emma said. “Something big.”

  I’d figured, but confirmation managed to rip me apart. “Do you know what?”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, shook her head. “All I know is this—what happened last night was only the beginning.”

  Chapter 9

  PREY FOR ME

  I told Cole what I’d learned from Jaclyn, and what I’d learned from Emma, and his reaction was similar to mine. Shock, anger...agony. It was hard, watching him suffer. Worse than dealing with my own riotous emotions.

  He fisted a handful of his own hair, yanking at the strands as if he meant to pull them out, and stalked around my bedroom. His boots thumped against wood, then rug, then wood again. He stopped in front of the wall and, with an animalistic growl, punched a hole in the plaster.

  He’d done that before, the day he’d broken up with me. His emotions had been too strong to contain.

  “We can’t lose another guy, Ali. We just can’t.”

  I’d had the same thought, but in reality we’d deal with whatever we had to deal with. That was life.

  “There’s a good chance we’ll see them again,” I said, hoping to console him...and myself. “They’re Witnesses now, just like Emma.” Dead, but not gone.

  He punched another hole in the wall, standing in the dust of the aftermath, panting.

  “Cole,” I said gently. “C’mere.”

  He stalked to the bed, plopped beside me. He was like the lion with the thorn in its paw, and I had to proceed carefully.

  Bleak violet eyes lifted as he said, “Remind me that I’m alive.”

  Without hesitation, I climbed onto his lap, braced my knees at his sides and pressed my lips against his. “You’re here. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

  He opened his mouth to let me in, and our tongues thrust together. It wasn’t an easy kiss. Or a gentle one. But then, comfort didn’t have to come that way. This wasn’t even a slow build to something more. It was hard, and it was harsh. It was a conflagration.

  He clung to me as if I was a lifeline.

  Actually, no. That wasn’t true. We clung to each other, reveling in the moment, the sensations...the pleasure. Losing sight of the world and its pain.

  He twisted, taking me with him, and pushed me against the mattress; his muscled weight pinned me down, but he didn’t give me another kiss. He lifted his head. His panting grew worse, his nostrils flaring with every deep inhalation. A thin sheen of sweat covered his brow. Tension branched from his eyes.

  “Ali. I have a present for you.”

  I wanted to cry out in denial—I knew he wasn’t talking about the present I really wanted. Him. I knew how his mind worked. He’d stopped the make-out session before it could reach a point of no return and had no intention of starting up again. But I didn’t cry out. This wasn’t about me, but us.

  “Show me,” I managed to say.

  He leaned forward, slid his hands under the pillows and brushed against me. Wicked sensation sent me into a tailspin.

  Maybe I’d cry out after all.

  He straightened with a snap. Our gazes locked.

  I remained silent. Good Ali. But I did lick my lips in wicked invitation. Bad. Bad!

  He watched, tensing, and leaned down—only to straighten with a snap again. A growl rose from his chest. “You are too much of a temptation.”

  Clearly, I wasn’t enough of one. Whine, pout.

  “These are for you.” He spit the words like weapons. Which was kind of funny, considering the fact that he was actually holding weapons. In each of his hands was a small ax. The dark metal gleamed in the light, and I could see words etched into the bellies.

  I sat up, taking the weapons to study them more intently.

  One read There Is No Place Darkness Can Hide When Light Shines.

  Okay. That was seriously beautiful.

  The other read Cole Belongs to Ali, Now and Always.

  And that, well, was seriously beyond beautiful.

  “Oh, Cole.” I met his now-unsure gaze, and my heart absolutely melted.

  “I had them made for you. They arrived a week ago, and I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give them to you.”

  “But...how...? Your house.”

  “They were in the backpack.”

  The million-pound backpack he’d refused to leave behind. Tears beaded in my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I whispered and clutched the weapons to my chest before setting them aside. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight.

  The hug led to another kiss—yes!—and I suspected the kiss would have led to something more if a knock hadn’t sounded at my door. He wouldn’t have been able to resist, not again...surely.

  “Meeting. Ankh’s office. Five minutes,” Frosty called.

  Sighing, Cole clasped my hands and helped me up. “It’s probably for the best.”

  “Not my best,” I grumbled.

  He gave me a small smile.

  As we trudged to the door, my cell phone beeped, signaling a text had just come in. I checked while I walked.

  Nana: I’m safe.

  Thank God!

  Me: I’m sorry 4 what I did 2 U, but I’m happy UR safe. I luv U.

  Nana: You are forgiven. I would have done the same thing to you—drugged you and sent you away—but you beat me to it. Kick some zombie butt, dear. For sheezie.

  I laughed. Nana and her “hip teen-speak” always brightened my day.

  Another text arrived on the heels of that one. By the way, I noticed your new tattoos. They are lovely. But I thought you were going to wait until I could go with you?

  Uh-oh.

  Sorry. My bad. An opportunity arose & I took it.

  As distracted as I was, I almost collided with a wall.

  Another A+ for me.

  Cole grabbed my shoulders and steered m
e in the right direction.

  “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” His phone beeped. He checked the screen, brightened, then scowled. “My dad says he and your grandmother are safe. He also says he’s going to run down some contacts he has and see if they know anything about Anima’s future plans, and that I’m to remember that just because he isn’t around doesn’t mean I can ride the carnal carousel with my girlfriend.”

  I gasped. “He did not say that.”

  Cole showed me the text.

  My cheeks heated.

  We strode into Mr. Ankh’s office, where everyone else was already situated. Mr. Ankh gave a speech about eating properly and resting. We needed to stay strong. Then, he said, we’d put a strategy together in the morning. He talked about making time for our home-studies program and always turning in our schoolwork. This war didn’t mean our responsibilities ended.

  Cole explained what Jaclyn had witnessed, leaving out the part about a fourth victim. I knew why. Distraction was the number one cause of death among slayers. Well, that and zombie toxin, Anima plots and not asking for help when it was needed. But that was beside the point.

  After a little debate, we decided—in the nicest way possible—screw Mr. Ankh’s wait-for-tomorrow plan. We’d raid the warehouse now. Time wasn’t our friend, and it just might be Justin’s...or Collins’s...worst enemy.

  Cole, Frosty, Bronx, Veronica and I loaded up with weapons. I packed my new, awesome axes! Ready, eager, we settled in Mr. Ankh’s SUV. (The one we’d stolen...I mean, valeted...had already been wiped and moved.)

  As Frosty gunned the engine, Jaclyn came rushing out of the house.

  I sighed.

  “I’m coming,” she said, claiming the only available seat in back, glaring at me, all try to stop me.

  Why do I bother?

  Great. Now I sounded like Mr. Ankh.

  Kat, Reeve and Juliana watched us speed from the driveway, each radiating a different emotion. Kat: concern. Reeve: determination. Juliana, a slayer-in-training: anger.

  They were staying behind to help Mr. Ankh with Mackenzie and Gavin. At least, that was the story they’d been fed. Only Juliana had complained.

  “I can help. I’m ready!” she’d shouted.

  But how could she be ready when I was pretty sure we weren’t?

  * * *

  Frosty parked in an abandoned alley several blocks from our target destination. We stepped into the daylight, barely noticing the cold air blustering around us. We looked like six normal teenagers, easily overlooked and forgotten. Hoods hid our identities, and jackets covered our weapons.

  “We’re splitting up and hitting the warehouse from three sides,” Cole said, taking charge. That’s what he did best. “Stay in pairs. Jaclyn and Bronx, you take the north. Frosty and Veronica, you take south. Ali and I will take the west.”

  Everyone nodded and branched off.

  Cole and I rounded the alleyway corner, entering the flow of pedestrian traffic. He twined his fingers with mine and kept a laid-back pace to avoid unwanted notice. The warehouse was in the middle of industrial workplaces, clothing shops, restaurants and apartments. Some of the buildings were old and crumbling, and some were brand-new, the chrome sparkling in the sunlight.

  Why would Anima have a warehouse in such a public place?

  What would happen when we got inside it?

  Best-case scenario: revenge.

  Worst: we’d lose more slayers.

  Not on my watch. “I’m bringing my A game tonight,” I announced. I thought about the “gift” the woman had given me. What was it? Something...nothing? Right now, I could use any possible advantage.

  “You aren’t the only one.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I smiled. “The thought of Anima’s destruction is my new happy place.”

  “Not my bed? I’ve been usurped?”

  Was that a pout I heard in his voice? “You aren’t interested in going all the way. So yes, you’ve been usurped.”

  “Ali Bell.” His free hand fluttered over his heart. “Are you pressuring me to have sex with you?”

  “Yes!”

  He tsked. “And here I thought you were having fun with me anyway. I guess we’ll have to practice more often.”

  Oh, sweet glory. He better not be kidding! I was about to reply—was “we will start tonight” too demanding?—when he swung me to the side and pinned me to the side of a building.

  Suddenly tense, I whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “I see the warehouse, and I need a moment to study it without letting anyone know that’s what I’m doing.” He leaned down and nuzzled my cheek, the angle of his head allowing his gaze to focus on the warehouse.

  The tension left me...and with its absence, I couldn’t stop my riotous reaction to the boy in front of me. I began to tingle, burn. Ignore! Focus!

  “I don’t see any cameras,” he said, “or any shadows over the windows to indicate movement inside.” He paused. How could he act so calm? “There’s a For Lease sign in the window.”

  “Maybe they used the building for the attacks, but it’s not really theirs?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He straightened, drawing me to the west side of the building.

  We came to a garage door secured by a big metal lock. A careful study proved no one on the street was looking our way. I dug through the purse draped over my torso, grabbing a small bolt cutter to snap the lock in two. The metal fell, clanking on the dirty concrete.

  “Nice,” Cole said.

  “B and E is just one of my many new skills. Thank Frosty.”

  I exchanged the cutter for the axes and nodded to let Cole know I was ready. He gripped his minicrossbow in one hand and lifted the door with the other; cogs rolled and squeaked, announcing our presence. My heart pounded against my ribs in a fast, unsteady rhythm. But as light from the outside spilled into the building, illuminating a small, dusty entryway, no one demanded to know what we were doing. There was only an eerie, terrible silence.

  I stepped deeper inside, the smell of old pennies making me cringe.

  Blood.

  “There’s no one here.” Cole reached out and flipped a switch on the wall. Light flooded the entire building, highlighting...nothing. There was no equipment. No car. No people. No...anything. Not even blood. The only thing out of place was the thick pile of sand on the floor.

  It was disappointing. And creepy.

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  Frosty dropped in from a window, a dagger in hand, and Veronica came in behind him, clutching two short swords. Bronx and Jaclyn bolted through the front door. He had a police baton, and she had a SIG Sauer.

  “No,” Jaclyn said, violently shaking her head. She spun, taking everything in. “This isn’t right. They couldn’t have cleared out so quickly. There were cars and shelves and boxes.”

  “Maybe you misremembered the address,” Frosty suggested.

  “No!” She stomped her foot, and the floor made a strange clank. “No.”

  “You were out of it,” Veronica reminded her. “Maybe—”

  “No, I—”

  “Be quiet,” I demanded, marching forward. I stopped in front of Jaclyn and gently pushed her out of the way. Once, twice, I stomped my foot and heard the same clank, clank. Even felt a slight vibration.

  It was a hatch. Had to be.

  I dropped to my knees, frantically brushing the sand from the ground, searching for a handle.

  “What’cha doing?” Frosty asked, crouching beside me—to watch.

  “Cole,” I said. A little help, please.

  “Uh, I happen to know you’re not doing him,” Frosty replied.

  Cole settled beside me and dusted wide
sweeps with the long length of his arms. “Go wider.”

  I did. The others joined me. More and more sand flung out of the way...and then I saw it. A small, finger-sized hole. A mix of excitement, dread and hope filled me.

  Everyone gathered around.

  “Reason fifteen. Intrepid,” Cole said, and I grinned at him. “Open it and step back.”

  Five different weapons were suddenly trained on me. Well, trained on the door. I just happened to be in the line of fire.

  What were we going to find? For the second time this week, I felt like Alice in Wonderland, about to fall down a pit, a new adventure forced upon me. I gulped. My hand shook as I hooked a finger in the hole and tried to lift. Nearly pulled a muscle, but the door remained firmly in place.

  “Slide it,” Bronx suggested, his tone strained, as if he was fighting a laugh.

  I glared at him. Then I pushed, and sure enough, the lid slid out of the way. I performed a backward somersault, but nothing jumped out and tried to snag me.

  “I see stairs,” Bronx said.

  The scent of old pennies grew stronger. A lot stronger. And I heard several distinct sounds. The rattle of chains. The shuffle of feet. Moans of unending hunger.

  I shared a wide-eyed look with Cole. Zombies.

  He raised the crossbow, the faint scent of string wax blending with the rising stink of rot. Taking the lead, he eased down the stairs. I claimed the spot behind him, the others staying close to me. Small lamps hung from the wall, but they were few and far between; they weren’t very bright anyway, so our path never had anything more than a dim illumination.

  Then Cole stopped abruptly. Tension radiated from him.

  I peered around his shoulder and found—

  Collins.

  I cut off a sorrowful cry. No one needed to hear me lose control. Collins had always kept his hair shaved, and I could see a large gash on his crown. His back was propped against the wall, his eyes open but blank. Blood streaked his face and chest—a chest that wasn’t rising, wasn’t falling; it was still, so very still. Bones stuck out in his arms and legs, and I wondered if he’d been tossed down the hull alive and suffering, abandoned and forgotten.

  I couldn’t stop my next cry in time.