Prophet? She hadn’t heard that before. Beth wondered if she’d ventured too far off the map. Could she be dealing with some kind of cult? Is that what happened with Zoë? Did she get mixed up with that somehow? Had she been kidnapped? “Yes. The prophet,” she said. “Are you a disciple of his?”
“Me? Noooo.” He waved her off. “That’s just what he calls himself. Nobody ’round here takes it serious. I just don’t want to deal with no cops.”
Beth gritted her teeth. “I’m not a cop, okay? If was a cop, I would have to tell you that.”
He scratched his neck. “That’s true. I heard that once.”
“I just want to ask the prophet a few questions. Do you know where he is?”
The man folded himself into a stance that broadcast the message loud and clear: We protect our own. “He ain’t here. Just get yourself home, will ya? Ain’t safe for a lady at night.”
“I get it,” Beth said, understanding all too well. “Sorry for your trouble.”
“No trouble.” His eyes swept the ground between them. “Hey, you got any change? Pennies? Anything?”
“Sure.” Beth reached into her pocket, tugged out a folded ten-dollar bill, and pressed it into his waiting palm. “Thanks for your help. Stay warm.” She turned and headed for the street.
“Wait,” the man called back to her, his eyes wide at the bill. “He’s over there.” He hooked a thumb at a stone fortification spar jutting into the straits. “He likes to look at the harbor,” the man added just before he disappeared into the fog.
Beth mounted the flagstone steps. On the plateau stood the man she had been looking for. Even with his back to her, she was certain it was him. He leaned against an iron rail, staring out at the water, just as she’d been told he would be.
“What do you want?” the man asked without turning around.
Beth padded over quietly and took the place against the rail next to him. She pulled a pint bottle wrapped in a brown paper sleeve from her coat pocket. Hoping it was his brand, or that he wasn’t picky, she set it within easy reach.
The man eyed the bottle suspiciously. “I said, what you want?”
“I want to know why you’re spray-painting those messages.”
The man grabbed the bottle, twisted off the plastic cap, and took a deep draught. “It’s a warning.”
“A warning? A warning of what?”
“Can’t you read?” Another swig. “The Night Angel.”
“The Night Angel?”
“Yep. Question answered.” He quickly pocketed the bottle and began ambling off. “Thanks for the hooch, lady.”
“Wait!”
“Ain’t waiting on you,” he called over his shoulder as he began to dissolve into the moonlit mist. “Go to the diner you want to get waited on. Find you a waiter.”
Beth rushed to catch up. Together they went deeper into the shadows of Fort Red Rock. “But—”
“But nothing!” He whipped around so fast that they almost collided. “You come down here. Down to the fort, talking about the Night Angel. Bad mojo. You hear me?”
“I hear you. My friend, she’s missing.” Beth yanked a flier from her pocket and thrust it out it to him. “You took one of these down. You kept it. I saw you do it.”
“Maybe I did.” He plucked the flier from her hand, holding it almost tenderly as he looked at it. “What’s that to you?”
“I just want to know if you know anything.”
“I know this.” His voice was flat and funereal. “If the Night Angel came for your friend, she’s not missing. She’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
His shoulders went slack. He tugged out the bottle and took a slug. “You don’t want to know,” he answered, wiping his lips before taking another swig.
“Where is this Night Angel? What is it?”
He quickly looked to either side before drawing closer. “The Night Angel comes for you . . . you’ll wish you’d listened when you had the chance. You hear me? She’ll mesmerize you. Make you see what you want to see.”
“But aren’t you the one warning everyone? Isn’t that why you’ve been spray-painting it all over town?”
“Yes. I am. And I’m warning you to stay away. You understand me?” He stood firm. “It is not a prophet’s place to fight demons,” he said, his voice pulpit-worthy. “A prophet is to keep faith. To speak truth. And to anoint the deliverer. To herald the One Chosen. And you ain’t the One. So leave me alone.”
“Please. You have to tell me what you know.”
“I ain’t got to tell you shit,” he spat. “I already told the One, and he ain’t listened. Why should I tell you?”
“Because . . .” Panic gripped Beth as she peered behind her. The street had vanished in the fog, even the street lamps swallowed by the haze. “Because I have to find her. Tell me about the Night Angel. Please.”
He shook his head. “I got to spell it out for you?” He pitched his voice low, almost to a whisper. “We’re talking about vampires.”
“Vampires?”
“Shhhh!” He clutched her by the thick lapels of her pea coat. “You want her to hear? You want her to come get you?”
Beth felt a hand wrap tightly around her upper arm. It was followed by a voice close in her ear. “Who come get who?”
Sixteen
The man towered over Beth. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, nothing but muscle and sinew, with long, wiry hair to match the wiry look in his eye. He wore a dirty blaze-orange knit cap pulled low, a soiled basketball tank over a threadbare waffle shirt, and baggy jeans that hung four inches farther down than they were designed to. The word thug would not have been pushing it.
“What that you got there, Gil?” His long arm shot out to snatch the bottle.
“You give that back, Tek.” Gil scrambled for it. Tek held him off easily with one massive hand. “That was a gift.”
“Gift?” Tek mocked. “From who, old man? This sweet thing?” His gaze sluiced over Beth like sewer water. “Now, like I said, who come get who?”
“You know who, Tek,” Gil said. “The Night Angel.”
“Pssssshhh.” Tek waved him off as he flicked the bottle cap to the ground with his thumb. “Don’t tell me you still talkin’ that Night Angel smack.”
“Don’t you mock. Don’t you dare.”
“You ain’t nothing but a drunk old fool.” Tek pushed him away roughly. “I ain’t scared of no Night Angel.”
“Yeah? Don’t see you going near the caves.” Gil thrust an accusing finger into Tek’s chest. “Don’t see you sleeping out at night.”
Tek slapped Gil’s hand away, then took a swig from the bottle. “Don’t you worry about where I’m gonna be sleepin’.” His lecherous glare returned to Beth. “This sweet thing the only angel I see tonight.”
Beth took a tentative step back, hoping it was far enough to be out of Tek’s long reach. Dressing down punk kids near the Strip was one thing; trying to fend off this project pitbull on his own turf would be something else entirely. Beth might know how to throw a punch, but this man would clearly know how to take one. She took another step farther back.
Tek countered, drawing close, too close, the skunky stench of malt liquor and cheap pot thick on him. “Yeah, Angel . . .” He shoved the booze toward her. “We havin’ a party.”
“Think I’ll pass.” Beth didn’t have to look behind her to know just how deep she’d gone into Fort Red Rock or how far away stood the empty street where no one would hear her cries of help, or rape, or free ice cream. She bolted, gravel spitting from beneath her boots.
Tek had her wrist before she’d made it a yard. His grip was so tight she felt the bones squeeze together, the pain so sharp it made her legs buckle. “Don’t think you heard me right, Angel.” Tek whipped her close. He dropped the bottle and wrapped both arms around her
, thumbs hooked into her waistband. “We having us a party.”
Beth stomped the rubber toe of his high-top sneaker and managed to wriggle free. At least for now. She looked for a way to get past Tek, but he countered every step she took.
“Ooooh.” Tek chuckled. “You a fighter. I like it when they fight.”
Gil stepped up, fists balled at his sides. “Let her go, Tek.”
Tek answered the old man with a sweeping roundhouse that sent him sprawling on the dusty ground. “Mind your business. And let me mind mine.”
Beth frantically looked around for something she could defend herself with—a chunk of asphalt, a splintered board, a length of wire even. Nothing. But damn if she was just going to take it. Damn if she wasn’t going to go out fighting. If this piece of shit wanted her so badly, he could rape her corpse. “Look. Tek, right?” She thrust a hand into her pocket and gripped her key ring. “I’m sure we can talk this out.”
“Talk?” he mocked. “Bitch, gonna be hard for you to talk when I knock out yo’ teeth, you don’t get back over here.”
Beth curled her hand into a fist, making sure the tips of the keys poked through her fingers like claws. Without warning, she struck, aiming for the eyes.
Her forearm sang with pain as she hit nothing but Tek’s waiting block. The keys slipped from her deadened hand. “What you gonna do with those?” He kicked her keys away, cackling. “Drive me away? Now, get that sweet ass over here, Angel.” Beth felt Tek’s heavy hand clap on her shoulder. Then move to grope in her pea coat as the other worked to undo his belt buckle. “Come on, Angel. Don’t make this tougher on you than it has to be.”
She kicked. She clawed. She flailed. She screamed. None of it did a bit of good. Tek had her tight. She spotted Gil struggling to rise. Tek let loose a kick that hit him square in the ribs. He went down with a shuddering wheeze that made Beth wonder if he’d ever get back up. Beth felt Tek’s rank breath hot on her neck as he ripped open the top button of her jeans and started tugging them down. He clamped the back of her head and bent her double. She heard the rasp of a zipper as he undid his fly. She bit the inside of her cheek and tasted blood.
“Ahhh!” Tek screamed. “Muthafucker!”
Beth tumbled to the ground. She scrambled back to see Tek clutching the side of his face. Blood wept from his temple, gleaming in the moonlight. At his foot wobbled a broken chunk of brick, one ragged corner stained red.
“What the fuck?” Tek howled into the mist. “Who the fuck threw that?” He pulled his hand from his head and woozed a bit at the sight of his palm, slick with blood. “Show yourself, muthafucker!”
Beth swept up her keys. She went to Gil, helping the man to his feet. He leaned on her warily. “Are you all right?”
“Should be asking you that.” He struggled to stand on his own. “I’ve been dealt worse.”
“I said show yourself!” roared Tek.
A shadow emerged from the fog. Beth saw little of him at first, just a tall shade, until he entered the light. He wore a security-guard uniform, APEX stitched on both sleeves and above the bill of his hat. Every muscle in the man’s taut frame looked primed for action. He had a steely mien about him that made all of Tek’s ghetto bravado seem as steady as a reed in a hurricane.
“You some kind of cop?” Tek demanded as the man drew close. “Nah. Just some bullshit rent-a-cop. Whatcha doing down in the Docklands?”
“I’m keeping you safe,” the man answered, his voice as flat and firm as bedrock.
“Keeping me safe?” Tek snorted. “You best be worried ’bout your own ass. Don’t think you know who you messin’ with . . .” He flicked a glance to the name stitched on the man’s breast pocket. “Jack.” Tek stuck his pinkie and forefinger into the corners of his mouth and let loose a shrill whistle that pierced the soul of the night. Almost instantly, three more roughnecks emerged from the shadows. Each one was as gangster as Tek or worse. Two brandished knives, the third a length of motorcycle chain. “We got a problem now, rent-a-cop?”
Beth turned to Gil. “We should get out of here,” she whispered.
“Shhh. It’s the One. I knew he’d come. I knew he’d protect us.”
More of his prophet talk. Beth couldn’t see how this lone guard could protect himself against that fearsome foursome, let alone protect them. If she tried to make a break for it now, while Tek and his crew faced off with this stranger, maybe she could make it to the street. She’d have cell reception there. She could dial 911 and get the cops to show up before someone got killed. But between her and the street stood Tek and the rest of his gang.
She took off in a wide arc, trying to stay out of reach. But once again, she was caught. Tek wrenched her to his side. “Nah, Angel. Party ain’t canceled. Now the rest of my boys showed up, you gonna be the party favor.” He hoisted her up so hard she felt her shoulder come loose from the socket. “Gonna be the best night of your life. And the last, bitch.”
“Release the woman,” the guard said, his voice carefully modulated. “And you will sustain minimal damage.”
“That’s some funny shit, Jack,” said Tek. Gruff murmurs of agreement bubbled from the others as they began to circle around, ready to strike when given the command. “You dead meat, muthafucker!” Tek thumped his chest. “Bring it!”
“You were warned.” Jack’s tone betrayed not an inch of either empathy or fear. He slipped a spring baton from his belt. With a flick of the wrist, it telescoped to its full length. He rapped it against his palm and made the softest of clicking sounds between his teeth. He locked eyes with Beth and said, “When the time comes, run. Do not look back. Do not come back.”
“Bitch ain’t going nowhere.”
Jack clicked the air again, and from deep in the mist, Beth spotted a shape growing steadily larger, just about to break from the fog.
It was a dog. Teeth bared, it leaped straight for Tek. His grip on her arm was broken as the dog took him down. Both went rolling. Beth ran, the mingled sounds of growls, screams, and howls fusing in her head. She pushed herself hard, shoving aside thoughts of vampires, rapists, prophets—everything except making her next step faster than the last one.
Her lungs screamed as if they were stitched shut and shrinking. Her heart hammered, and her teeth rang with pain. A haze formed in her vision, melding with the gloom. Was she safe now? Could she slow down? Panic knocked at the back of her mind. She couldn’t take it for one more second. She flicked a glance back. She’d made it to the park. It was empty. She was free. She breathed a sigh of relief.
And ran headlong into something. Something six feet tall and made of flesh, which wrapped itself around her tightly.
Seventeen
Beth shoved at what held her, trying to break free of the constriction.
“Beth! Beth, calm down!”
She knew that voice. She went slack, and so did the arms holding her. She stumbled back half a step to see Ryan standing there like he’d just walked from the judge’s chambers. “What the fuck?” She slammed him hard in the chest with the heels of both palms.
Ryan massaged the point of impact as he gathered himself. “Nice to see you, too.”
“What the fuck, Ryan?” she all but screamed at him. “You scared me half to death.”
“I scared you? What the hell are you doing down here?”
“I told you what I was doing here.” Beth’s voice was firmer than it had any right to be considering what she’d just gone through.
“You told me you were hanging fliers, not wandering around in the middle of the night in a goddamn Docklands needle park.”
Beth felt the chill air biting her skin, as the fear and adrenaline leaked out through her boot soles. She looked behind her, scanning for any sign of Tek or his pals. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Ryan gritted his teeth and clicked his key fob. The lights of his BMW chirped from half a block a
way. Beth got in and slammed the door shut. Ryan flopped down in the leather driver’s bucket. His face and voice were filled to the brim with indignation. “Aren’t you going to thank me, at least?”
“Thank you for what?”
“You know . . . save it.” He slammed on the accelerator, leaving two wide stripes of rubber behind them. “I’m not in the mood for your tougher-than-thou crap.”
“Not now, Ryan.” Beth rubbed her throbbing temples. “I’m thinking.”
“Thinking.” The sarcasm was as thick as the night’s fog.
Beth tried to push from her mind nagging thoughts about how she could very well be dead right now. Dead or worse. She wondered if Tek and his crew could have been the ones responsible for what happened to Zoë. No. The old man, Gil, would have told her as much. Even a punch to the face and a kick to the ribs didn’t stop that one from calling it like he saw it, and the way he saw it was . . . Night Angels—vampires.
It was beyond crazy. She tried to imagine some moldering Székely count and his legions of sparkly Hot Topic-clad minions feasting on the citizens of New Harbor. Flat-out insane. But something had the old man scared, had all of New Harbor’s homeless scared enough to hole up in an abandoned fort.
“You could have at least told me you were coming down here,” Ryan said, sulking like a petulant teen. “You could have mentioned that.”
The words hit Beth like a line drive. “That’s right. I didn’t tell you I was coming down here.” Ryan offered no response. He didn’t even take his eyes off the road. “Ryan?” she asked, her eyes boring a hole into his profile. “How did you know where I was?”
Ryan clutched the wheel. He cleared his throat, his oh-so-superior tone softening. “Is that really important?”
“Yes.” Beth had seen this look on him before. He’d gone into litigation mode. “Ryan, answer the question.”
He drummed his fingers on the wheel, letting the silence hang over them like a guillotine blade. “I followed the GPS on your cell.”
Beth had used the Web browser on her phone to get directions a few times but never realized the built-in GPS could be used to track her every move. “Don’t I have to authorize something like that?”
As the Worm Turns Page 7
