Hunters (Out of the Box Book 15)

by Robert J. Crane

  Couldn’t go left, couldn’t go right, and he was about to fire another round up the center. The red walls that rose out of the blasts as they ran across the ground were just starting to fade—back by him, not next to me, like a tinting of crimson on the world.

  That presented an interesting tactical possibility.

  “Hang on,” I said to Rose, and she squeezed me tighter around the shoulders.

  I put my head down and launched right up the middle at Frankie.

  He saw me coming and his eyes widened. He was charging up a blast that was going to come straight for us, designed to hit me and probably turn me into several bite-sized pieces of Sienna rather than the inimitable whole. Having seen what those attacks did to concrete and drywall, I didn’t have any desire to watch one work on the human body. I figured it’d be a lot like dropping into a giant blender, and yuuuuck.

  I shot at Frankie, raising my speed to the point where Rose barely had time to squawk out an “Eeeeep!” before I was coming at him at warp freaking speed.

  He dodged to the side at the last minute, apparently deciding saving his own ass was smarter than trying to deliver that blast he’d been charging. It went sideways, wrecking a building to the side, but I shot past him and didn’t stop. He’d damned near trapped me just now and as exciting as it would be to attack his ass with Rose on my back, she was like a literal millstone around my neck at the moment, and that was not a disadvantage I could carry into battle with a threat as dire as Frankie and expect to walk out the other side.

  We passed Frankie wide, and were heading for the buildings that lined the end of the T intersection ahead. I looked right for just a blink and saw something funny—that same guy in the European biker jacket that I’d seen outside the Asda yesterday when Frankie and I had clashed out in Dunfermline. He was staring at me openmouthed as I pulled up, avoiding collision with the building in front of me.

  I zoomed into the air and over the skyline of Edinburgh. I didn’t want to stick around in case Frankie was going to come after me, but I mentally filed away the biker guy to try and figure out what was going on with him later. Serial killers and incubi (but I repeat myself) were notorious loners. Was he carting this guy around with him?

  And if so…why?

  38.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Rose asked, yelling into my ear over the wind.

  I stayed silent a little longer than I probably needed to. “Well,” I said, “probably not get that breakfast unless you want to fly to Glasgow or something to get it, because—I mean, damn, Frankie was on us within minutes of walking out the front door. And it felt like the whole street was watching us.” That was an eerie feeling, and one that I wanted to avoid in the future by getting another wig, post-haste. I’d left my bag behind on a rooftop yesterday, and I thought I remembered it being somewhat close to the police station. There was another wig in there, a redhead one, which would obviously make Rose and me look somewhat silly walking side by side, but what were you gonna do?

  “I’m finding myself curiously not so hungry at the moment,” she said, though her stomach rumbled again.

  “Hrm,” I said, seriously debating the idea of flying somewhere else in Scotland or even down to England. What was the likelihood that Frankie had a network outside Edinburgh? Because based on what I’d seen on that street, he had one in place here. Another curious thing for an incubus. Something was rotten up in this place.

  “‘Hrm’ what?” Rose asked. She had an edge of worry in her voice, the kind that was perfectly understandable after watching your heroine and girl crush (clearly) get pummeled all around your hometown for a couple days. Her dreams were turning to ash before her eyes, and my goddess feet were turning to clay.

  “There’s a lot of things happening here,” I said. “This isn’t just a serial killer mystery anymore. Frankie’s got a headquarters, he’s got people working for him; I think he’s even got a network, like a real, legit network of spies that just ratted us out to him. He’s carrying some dude with him that wears a leather motorcycle jacket and looks like he just dropped out of a Fast and Furious movie—”

  “That guy from Asda!” Rose said, getting it. “He does look a little like a skinny Vin Diesel, dressed like that.”

  “So, anyway, there’s something else going on here,” I said. “Much as Frankie’s trying to kill me—and by extension you, sorry—there’s something deeper at play here. He’s got way too many powers to have just coincidentally accumulated them over the course of a few years if he’s a new meta.” I bit my lower lip. “On the other hand, if he was a five-star badass waiting in the wings these last few…why choose to debut now? He could have made a real splash anytime after Sovereign left the playing field.” I chewed that over for a minute. “Unless…he was around during the Sovereign fight, and decided…no, learned about how to unleash his incubus powers after that…yikes.” I took a hard breath.

  “What…what are you talking about?” Rose asked. “Did I miss something?”

  “Just me running in logical circles,” I said. “Basically, I’m thinking—see, succubi and incubi are the outcasts of the meta world. In traditional terms. Metas used to live in cloisters, like a village where they’d all group together for the sake of convenience, safety, heritage—”

  “How delightfully provincial,” Rose deadpanned. “Sounds a little like home.”

  “—but incubi and succubi were outcasts from these ‘polite’ societies,” I went on, hoping that in telling her this, I’d be able to find the connection sitting in plain sight. “I never knew why until I discovered that I could use the powers of the metas I absorbed. Because if you think about it, that kind of power in the hands of a guy like Frankie? Total incentive to go and eat as many metas as you can—”

  “And we’re back to cannibalism,” Rose said.

  “—and who wants to make nice with someone who’s eyeing you like a filet?” I took another deep breath. “The secret of what incubi and succubi could do with the powers of others—it became a carefully guarded secret over time. Elders didn’t pass it along. My mom had no clue, even though her mother was a full-blood succubus who had to have known, since she was a daughter of Hades.” I steered us in a lower orbit over Edinburgh while I thought, trying to untie this mental knot. “So Frankie…maybe he figured out by watching me and Sovereign what was possible for him.” I took one more sharp breath. “Which means…he’s been building his power this whole time, probably, in order to get this many meta souls under his belt.”

  Something about that didn’t sound right, though. Rose must have noticed it. “Ye’re making a face. Why are ye making a face?”

  “There aren’t that many metas left in the world,” I said, chewing my lip, ignoring the sensation of it drying out because of all the cool wind blowing into my mouth while it was flapping. “To end up with this many powers…” I got a cold feeling inside as another idea presented itself. “Right. Well. We’ve got to go back to Police Scotland.” I banked us around and started heading for the point in the distance that was the station house I’d already visited.

  Rose let out a small yelp. “But why?”

  I turned up the speed and darted low, hoping to get us there unseen. I crested the rooftops and flew low over them, prompting Rose to let out another cry of worry. She clamped on tight, and I steered us carefully. “Because I need a question answered, and I don’t think I can find it anywhere but there.”

  39.

  Being a redhead didn’t feel particularly different than being a blond, or my usual shade of darker brown. I was usually vengeful, so it didn’t feel like a huge transition for me to have my flame-red tress wig on as I walked into the Edinburgh PD and saw that Maiden Aunt was, once again, behind the front desk.

  She caught sight of me immediately, and her mouth came slightly agape as she probably caught the change immediately. I mean, it’s not every day you see someone completely change hair shades overnight, and I could see the questions forming in her mind, which w
as…worrying, given the current climate of everyone hating Sienna Nealon around here. And everywhere.

  “Weren’t you a—” Maiden Aunt started to say, but her face changed in a second, from absolute curiosity to something more like numb contentment, and she burbled out, pleasantly enough, “Why was it you’re here then, dear?”

  I glanced at Rose, who was staring intently at Maiden Aunt. She flashed me a smile and I knew that she’d changed the woman’s emotionally state radically, from deep curiosity to…I dunno, afterglow, maybe. She seemed happy.

  “Need to see DI…Whatshisname,” I finished rather lamely. What the hell was his name?

  “You mean Detective Inspector Clements,” she said, correcting me with a leisurely sort of enjoyment and a song in her heart. Not snotty, just nice.

  “Yeah, that guy,” I said. “Mr. It’s-Not-On-My-Desk.”

  She started to reach for the phone and then said, instead, like she’d just had the most magnificent idea, “You can just go on back, dear. You’ve been here before.”

  I gave Rose the sidelong and she flashed me a thumbs-up. “Sounds good,” I said. And it did sound good, especially after dealing with nothing but jerks and people who wanted to kill me over the last day or so. “You really are the bright spot in all this, Rose,” I said to her as we headed off down that hallway to the right once Maiden Aunt had buzzed us in.

  “How’s that?”

  “I mean this last couple days has been hell,” I said as we walked side by side, “and—” I cut myself off, thinking maybe I should just shut it, because let’s face it. People who hang around in my close proximity have a target painted on them, as had been proven over and over again. Zack, my first love. Breandan, the Irishman with a heart of gold. Hell, even my mom had been killed because she was standing too close to me when bad guys came a-calling.

  There were others too, whose names I remembered but that I didn’t want to think about too often. Rose must have sensed my emotional state by the look on my face, because she took my thanks in stride. “Well, you know, I’m just doing what I can. Wish I could be of more help.”

  “There is one thing you can do for me,” I said as we turned the corner into the bullpen.

  “Name it and it’ll be done.” She looked serious as hell, like she would have bowed and offered me the hilt of her sword if she had one.

  “When the time comes that I tell you to run, you bail the hell out, head for the hills, and hide like your life depends upon it,” I said. “Because I don’t want you around for the final fight with Frankie. It’s going to be brutal, and he’ll use any card he can play against me, including holding you hostage, and I don’t want to give him that leverage. Okay?”

  She sucked in a hard breath as we moved through the bustle of the bullpen. “Why do I feel like I’m saying goodbye to the great champion before she heads off into her final battle?”

  “I don’t know,” I said ruefully, “because I don’t intend for this to be my final battle.” Of course, most people didn’t intend for their last battle to be their last—it ended up being so because they got outmatched.

  And I was so, so outmatched.

  We walked up to the desk of DI Clements and he looked up at us in surprise, and especially at my hair. “We’re playing twins today,” I said, nodding at Rose and cutting him off before he could even say it. He relaxed a titch, like I’d stolen his thunder along with his question. “Do you keep a file of all mysterious deaths? Unexplained? The ones the coroners can’t quite pin to any specific cause of death?”

  He blinked at me. “It’s a database, I suppose.”

  “And missing persons?”

  “Similarly in a database.”

  “Great,” I said, “I need that info.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue, but suddenly found himself looking so much more compliant. “You know, I could do you a favor, I suppose,” he said, his practiced reluctance to do a damned thing melting away as I caught a wink from Rose. “How far back do you want to go?”

  “Summer of 2014,” I said, running through it in my brain.

  “Four years?” he asked in mild surprise. “All right.” He bent over the keyboard, pulling a hunt and peck that made me want to shove him out of the way and do it myself. If I’d known what I was doing.

  Rose watched with similar disbelief. “It’d be quicker for a turtle to cross Edinburgh,” she said. “In winter. While they’re hibernating or whatever it is they do to survive the cold.”

  “Oh, ha ha,” Clements said, taking it all very jovially. “You guys are so funny.” He sounded like he meant it sincerely. “Here you go, I’ve got the figures.” He squinted at them. “Huh,” he said, blissful, “that seems kinda high.”

  I bent over his shoulder and looked, and…uhmm…yeah, it seemed high. “How the hell did—what the—you’re losing five thousand people a year in Edinburgh to unclassifiable death and you didn’t even notice?”

  “Well, in fairness, in 2013 it was…” He squinted at the screen again. “Five hundred. Huh. Yeah, okay, five thousand is high. But you’re not even counting the missing persons data, which is…hummm…twelve thousand?”

  I didn’t even know how to respond to that. “How in the f—what the hell—how does no one in London know that this is a problem—”

  “Well that’s easy enough to answer,” came a voice from across the room, and I turned, rising in time to see a familiar bald head bobbing over the bullpen walls. Frankie strutted his way through the aisles and police officers moved out of his way, nodding and speaking quietly in acknowledgment of him as he came, like he was some sort of duke or lord. “It’s because London hasn’t gotten accurate figures from us in years.” He smiled. “Why, they didn’t even know we had a problem worthy of solving until I left them a trail of breadcrumbs…for you.”

  “Shit shit shit,” I said under my breath and started to grab Rose, but she was already grabbed by someone else. Eyes wide, Detective Inspector Clements had an arm around her neck, clutching her tight like a hostage situation was unfolding before my eyes. He even had a gun to her head.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Edinburgh police department,” Frankie announced, “you have the dangerous fugitive Sienna Nealon in your midst.” He turned dead serious, teeth clenching, amusement and loathing all mixing together. “Would ye kindly…show her how we deal with murderers in Scotland?”

  40.

  Wolfe

  Greece

  31 B.C.

  The news that had come north had been dire, and Lethe’s reaction even more so. Never a joyful soul outside of battle to start with, her anger had been swift and fierce and loud, the denunciations ringing from her lips all the more scorching and strenuous for the fact that they flowed all through their journey across the short sea through the land of the Danes and down the bulk of Europa to Greece.

  Wolfe stayed silent as he could by her side, seldom sleeping at night. The news had caught him unawares, and was blurred, the last words of a messenger slave who had nearly rode himself and his horse to death to reach them, carrying the words of Raymond, the son of Wolfe’s master, telling them to harken back for war, that Hades had gone mad on the march in fury over the death of his grandchild.

  “I firmly believe this was one of Acheron’s children,” Lethe seethed as they crossed the sunny plain, the Aegean Sea to their left, cliff faces giving them an excellent view of what lay before them. The cavernous realm of Hades was minutes away, and they had yet to meet so much as a single guardian. “Surely she has led my father into this calamity.” She spoke in the language of the Nords, as she did always now.

  Wolfe guided her back into their original tongue. “What does it matter, if the fires of war are now lit? We will carry the torch forward, bring claw and blood to the friends of Olympus in this land as we did for the Nords.”

  Lethe’s eyes flashed. “You know I have long resisted Odin’s calls to expand their frontier, to increase their borders. Conquest invites forceful response from the t
hreatened, and our kind—metahumans—exist in every land from here to the sea in the east. You know this, having fought more than our share on that journey.”

  “And we beat any that opposed us,” Wolfe answered her. “You should have let your Nord friends come. Odin wished to.”

  “Odin wanted to bring his grand design for a union from sea to sea to my father’s lands,” Lethe said in silence, focused on the ragged path that led along the sloping cliffside. It meandered toward the sea as the land lost its rocky rise ahead. “And my father would likely answer him eagerly. I saw no cause to bring their ambitions closer than strictly necessary.”

  “Because you fear the world they would make,” Wolfe said.

  “Because I fear the world they would leave,” Lethe said in quiet. “How long have we walked and ridden across these lands, Wolfe? How many times have we seen tribe and man fight back against those who would seek to cow them? We have watched wars over matters trivial and serious, petty insults and grievous wrongs. We have perpetrated many, because we could.”

  Wolfe stayed quiet for a moment. “You have taken more than your share of the conquest sacrifices.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I have. I like the feel of a man as he burns upon my flesh. Aye, and women, too. I sacrifice them for pleasure, but in numbers small. This thing that Odin would bring? The numbers of sacrifice would be too great and shocking for even the two of us to imagine. It would be nothing less than a scourging of the world, the death of all in the path of his ambition.”

  “And why shy away from that?” Wolfe asked, voice a hiss. “It is your destiny, the destiny of your house to bring death to the world, to show them the truth they deny all their lives to the end. You should be the dark fury that lingers over them all their days, reminding them of their fleeting mortality, making their lives all the sweeter by virtue of reminder that they have so few and that they can be nulled at any time. You should be the one who rises above these lands, doling out your whims. Not Odin. Not Zeus. Not Hades…you.”