“Then send us to wherever you sent him.”
The nymph shook her head. “I can’t. It takes energies that need to be replenished.”
“Replenish them!”
Tristan placed a hand upon Shae’s back and rubbed it soothingly. “It will take time. Go and rest. Come back tomorrow night and I can try to—”
“I don’t want to hear try,” Paige snapped. “Do what you’ve got to do and then—”
“Ease it back, Bloodhound,” Rico said warily. “None of us are about to step into some damn radioactive beads before I know what the hell they are. Are those people outside still gonna knock this wall down?”
Placing her eye to a spot on the wall, Kate shook her head and replied, “The ones in the hall are curled up and…puking. Gross.”
“Let’s see what can be done for these folks,” Rico continued. “You and Cole go rest up. I’ll stay here and have a chat with these fine ladies because I sure ain’t leaving before I know how that disappearing thing worked.”
Paige let out a sigh as the adrenaline slowed its pace through her veins and the battering she’d taken over the last few minutes had a chance to seep in. “How long is it going to take to charge your batteries?”
Tristan touched a symbol that caused the door to swing open much smoother than when she’d activated the devices to get in. “I’d say twenty-four hours. That is, if we still have a place to conduct our business.”
Cole stepped into the hall and found several people doubled over on the floor or leaning against a wall. Turning toward the bead room, he groaned. “Smells like a swamp exploded out here.”
The door at the other end of the hall was pulled open and Blake staggered out. “Cops are on their way. One of the first bunch to bolt outta here must’ve called them.”
Paige sighed. “You’d better call an ambulance too,” she said. “Now that Henry’s gone, most of these people should be all right, but we can’t just send them home.”
“You’ve seen this shit before?” the bouncer gasped.
“Yep. You don’t want to know about the details, and,” she stressed pointedly, “neither do the cops.”
“Hell no, I don’t wanna know the details,” Blake said. “What the hell do we do with all these people?”
“When the cops and ambulances get here, tell them the truth,” Cole said. “That they were infected with the Mud Flu. It’s not like you’ll be able to hide that part.”
Although none of the Skinners could translate Christov’s native language, the ferocity in his words made it clear he was ready to eat his own shotgun.
Chapter 20
Three days later
Immediately following their first encounter with the man calling himself Jonah Lancroft, the Skinners fully expected a veritable tsunami of excrement to hit St. Louis. The Mud Flu was already being called an epidemic by news sources that didn’t even know the full story, and the occasional dead Nymar showing up in national coverage looking like a pile of burnt calamari didn’t help matters. But the tsunami didn’t come.
Since Henry had already found Ned’s house, the Skinners all but abandoned it. Only Daniels and Ned remained, but they were either engrossed in research or accustomed to coming and going without drawing attention from the neighbors. The windows were all shut, which suited a Nymar and recluse just fine. Rico took it upon himself to act as Tristan’s shadow and personal guard, while Cole and Paige settled into a hotel in South County.
After a day and a half, the two of them drove back to the club in Sauget. Windows were boarded, the neon sign was dark, and the front door was nailed shut. Cole ran up to knock, but spared his knuckles when he read the note from the Health Department stapled to the newly placed two-by-fours.
Bunn’s Lounge was no more.
Since the markings at the base of the building had faded as if they’d never been there in the first place, Cole figured the room with the beaded curtain had been similarly wiped away. Before breaking the seal along with a ban from the Health Department, he called the man behind Bunn’s.
“What the hell happened?” he asked.
“They shut me down!” Christov roared through the cell phone. “When the ambulance came to cart those people away, they see the mud and smell the sickness and see it is that damn flu and they shut me down!”
“I didn’t see anything on the news about it yet,” Cole offered hopefully.
“That’s because there is still investigation,” Christov replied. The angrier he got, the thicker his accent became. “One of the ones that died was the one I…well…you know.”
“The one you shot?”
He was shushed so loudly that Cole thought static was pouring through a bad connection. When Christov spoke again, it was in a harsh whisper.
“Those sick people don’t remember how that man lost his leg,” Christov said. “The cops are blaming it on madness from that flu. They worry about more madness if people hear there was such a big outbreak, so they shut me down and threaten to prosecute me if I incite a panic. Oh dear Lord! I shouldn’t have said outbreak on the phone. I should hang up now.”
“Wait! What about that secret room? We need to use that place.”
“Oh, you need to use that place? I need a new place. All that’s left in Bunn’s is some broken furniture and lots of mud. You need anything else, talk to Tristan. She will know whatever you want. I give you the number where she is.” After rattling off the string of digits, he spat, “You call her. Don’t call me again.”
“Did the cops ask about us? Do they know everything that happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did they get to any of your security tapes?” Paige asked.
“Ah-ah,” Christov snapped. “There are no security tapes, understand? I am grateful for you saving my life, so I destroyed my whole office before any of those tapes are seen. After that, I cannot be bothered with you people any longer. I need to scrape together money to open a new club and times are—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cole sighed as he cut the connection. “Times are hard.”
Dialing the new phone number while heading back to the car, he waited through several rings before being connected to a machine. He stuffed the phone into his pocket and told Paige, “The place is called The Emerald. It’s not open for a few more hours.”
“But it’s after six.”
“Fine. You wanted to keep a low profile after that fight, but let’s forget that, drive down there and bust the door in. That shouldn’t draw any attention to us or the nymphs working to pose as employees.”
They took a drive down Lindbergh Boulevard, supposedly looking for stray Mongrels. Although they certainly watched the streets and waited for their scars to burn, Paige was too anxious to pay attention to anything. Cole knew there were plenty of things he could be doing on his laptop, many of which might go a long way to mend some bridges in Seattle, but he saw more use in staring out the Cav’s broken windows on the off chance that they actually found something. Not only did they come up empty, but St. Louis itself seemed tired and worn-out. Traffic moved as if the heat was melting tires to the pavement, and the wind seemed unable to blow without a Mongrel to stir it. Nightfall helped turn the oppressive heat down from a hot, wet slap of stagnant humidity against his face into a lukewarm slap.
“You hungry?” Paige asked.
“For all we know, Pestilence has infected everyone,” he pointed out. “Or, Henry can spread it just by projecting his thoughts or essence or whatever into anyone he chooses.”
“Yeah?”
“And the guy behind it is a Skinner who can not only order Henry around, but fight like nobody I’ve ever seen.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re thinking about food?”
“You know what’s better than a good meal that you eat when you’re really hungry?”
“What?” Cole sighed.
“A snack at the wrong time that has no redeemable qualities whatsoever.” When she caught him looking over
at her, Paige asked, “Who wants fried tacos stuffed with mystery meat?”
Half an hour later they were in their hotel room. A bag from Jack in the Box had been ripped open like a gutted deer and a dozen little grease-stained paper envelopes emblazoned with the word TACO lay scattered on the table. Paige sat in a chair with her feet propped upon the edge of the mattress, and Cole hunched over a pile of empty wrappers.
Without bothering to wipe the hot sauce from the corner of her mouth, she flipped open her cell phone and dialed a number. “Hey Rico. It’s me. How are the nymphs coming along?” Rolling her eyes at whatever lewd comment Rico gave her, she asked, “Will they be able to help us or not?”
As she listened to Rico’s report, Cole tore open another taco and went through a very strict ritual. The wrapper was spread open to form a plate. The fried shells were carefully pulled apart so as not to tear the whole thing in half. Then a hot sauce packet was ripped open at one corner and the bright red fluid was evenly distributed among the innards of the taco. The halves were closed and the good times commenced with a first bite at the lowermost corner. No matter what else was going on in the world, that simple process made everything seem okay.
“Forget about my arm,” Paige said. “Have you talked to Daniels?…Uh-huh. Really? What’s that mean?” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the last taco in the sack. When Cole tossed it to her, she tore open a hot sauce packet with her teeth, squirted some into the shell, and ate it straight out of the paper envelope.
“Barbarian,” Cole muttered.
“No, I didn’t seal the hotel room…Why not? Because that’s a bunch of superstitious bullshit, that’s why not. Paranormal is one thing. Supernatural is something too. Magic is bullshit…No, I don’t know how Lancroft teleported, but there’s gotta be an explanation. How long before Tristan is ready to go?…Tomorrow?” She sighed and flexed her right hand until her fingers were almost opening and closing at normal speed. “No. We’re way across town, so you work on that and I’ll check later…Okay. Yeah…Okay. ’Bye.” She snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the bed.
“What did he mean by sealing the room?” Cole asked.
“You remember all that writing on Ned’s walls?”
“Yeah.”
“There you go,” Paige grunted. “It’s the same language that was on the walls of Henry’s room back at the reformatory. Rico still believes all those charms and runes and whatever else can keep evil at bay.”
“Does it work?”
“It sure didn’t work when Henry and those Mud People found Ned’s house.”
“Sure,” Cole said, “but did any of them get inside?”
“No, because we kept them out the old-fashioned way.”
“No offense, Paige, but we tend to get attacked in a lot of hotel rooms. Me especially. If there’s a chance to cut down on that, I’m willing to draw some symbols on the walls.”
“It’s more than that,” she explained. “It’s a whole ritual involving paints, a new language, and precise patterns to focus some very unpredictable energies.”
“But it works?”
After mulling that over while licking some taco sauce from her fingers, she admitted, “Every now and then. Most of the people who attempt it anymore aren’t doing much more than writing ‘Keep out’ in seven languages on their windowsills. All that does is ruin the paint.”
“What did Rico say about your arm?”
“Never mind that. I just need to wrap it up and learn to fight better one-handed.”
“Great,” Cole said while getting to his feet and brushing the chunks of taco shell off the front of his shirt. “Let’s see what you’ve got for a new fighting style.”
“We don’t have time for that.”
“All we’ve been doing for the last few days is drive around. How much more time do you need?”
“I fought pretty well at that club,” she said. “If that’s not enough, then screw it.”
Recoiling as if he’d just been popped between the eyes, Cole asked, “What happened to the Paige Strobel that used to put me through my paces four times a day?” Getting nothing more from her than a shrug, he crossed his arms and said, “You want to be punished for screwing up? You got it. You’ve sentenced yourself to a whole lot of extra training to get back to where you were. Maybe you’ll never get all the way back. Maybe you’ll get to a whole other place.”
“Like you have any fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
Stepping close enough to grab the arm of her chair and turn it so she was facing him, Cole looked her in the eyes and snarled, “I had a job. A good job. A job I loved. Now it’s gone. I had a girlfriend. I had a great apartment. I had a goddamn monster-free life and it was fan-fucking-tastic! Well I don’t have any of that stuff anymore. Some of it’s changed, some is gone for good, and some is better than what I had before.”
“It’s not the same,” she said as she quietly looked away. “I’m not the same. The only reason I got out of that club alive is because I had backup. I’m lucky I can steer a car. What if the next mistake I make kills me? What if it kills you?”
Cole gently placed the edge of his hand beneath her chin and said, “Then don’t do that.”
“I don’t want to become like Ned.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not always that easy,” she said.
“True. But sometimes it is. You want something to happen? Make it happen. If you can’t do it right away, find a way. Even if it doesn’t happen, at least you didn’t just sit around whining about it.”
Paige reached up to place both hands on his face. “Pretty third-rate stuff as far as advice goes, but it’s nice to hear. Especially from you.” Then she pulled him down some more and kissed him on the lips. “Now that you mention it,” she said while pushing him back so she could get out of the chair, “there is something I’ve been meaning to make happen for a while now.”
Sliding one hand around Cole’s neck, she pressed against him and ran the tip of her tongue up along the base of his neck. He didn’t waste a second before wrapping his arms around Paige and lifting her off the ground. Their next kiss was deeper and much longer than the first. All of the aches, pains, and worries that had filled him a few moments ago were forgotten as he allowed himself to do something that he’d imagined more times than he could count. Paige’s body felt warmer than he’d anticipated and she hung on tighter than he could have hoped.
Dragging him down to the bed on top of her, she traced the lines of muscle on his shoulders and back that she’d help sculpt through the last several months of sparring. Cole placed one hand at the small of her back and moved the other up into her thick black hair. Paige arched her back, which prompted him to move his mouth down to taste the freckles spattered just above the curve of her breasts. When he tugged at her shirt, she squirmed out from under him and off the bed.
“What’s wrong?” Cole asked.
“This heat is making me sweaty,” she said while pulling her shirt up and over her head to toss it onto the floor. He’d seen her in a sports bra more than once, but this time his eyes burned trails across her skin.
Turning to face him, Paige unbuttoned her jeans and eased them over rounded hips. Her little black panties rolled down as the denim moved past them, but stopped just short of revealing the Promised Land. Smiling while reading everything going through his mind, she flipped her jeans away with one foot and peeled off her bra. As she began unbuckling his belt, Cole pulled his shirt off and tried to think if he was wearing any boxers that had a pattern or picture dopey enough to blow the mood. Paige bypassed that potential obstacle by pulling his jeans and boxers down at the same time. She then turned her back to him and asked, “Who gets the shower first? You or me?”
Cole kicked the jeans away as if they’d tried to bite his ankles and grabbed her by the hips. “If you think I’m letting you get away this time, you’ve got a whole other fight on the way.”
She placed her hands on his a
s they eased her panties all the way down. Taking another half step forward, Cole pressed against the curve of her back. He was already hard enough to cut glass, and Paige slowly wriggled against him to see if she could possibly break that record. Before too long she did.
Stepping into a tub that was just large enough to comfortably fit one and a half people, they got a shower going and spent a few minutes beneath a spray of cool water. She twisted the knob to the warmer side as Cole rubbed a little square of complimentary soap against Paige’s wet, naked body. When it was her turn, she rubbed the soap over his chest and across his shoulders. Paige rinsed off, handed the foaming bar back to him, and then turned to reach for a miniature plastic bottle of generic shampoo. “I know you’re an ass man,” she said, “but try to get the rest of me just as clean.”
“I can try,” he said as he started rubbing her hips. “But it might take a while.”
Now that the initial tension had passed, Cole put his hands on Paige’s shoulders and started to massage. She let her head roll forward while scrubbing the shampoo through her hair. After rinsing off, she placed her hands on either side of the showerhead and let the water flow down over her entire upper half. “That feels nice,” she said.
“No,” Cole replied as he pressed against the smooth curve of her backside and reached both hands around to cup her breasts. “That feels nice.”
Shifting her hips to coax a bit more from his erection, she said, “It most certainly does.”
Every inch of her was wet, soft, and warm. As his hands moved up and down her sides, Cole listened to Paige’s breaths mingle with the spatter of water against the tub and walls. When he hit a certain little spot near the upper portion of her inner thigh, she let out a giggle that echoed through the bathroom. Her hair hung in two thick sections divided unevenly between her shoulders to expose a soft, rounded divot that Cole had never seen before. As he placed his lips on that impossibly silky skin, he moved his hands to the warmer, even silkier region between her legs.
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