by Liana Brooks
An old man bent and broken by the indelicacies of age should embrace death. It was a release of pain, a final farewell to every sorrow. But maybe that was only a young person’s point of view. Perhaps, after a few more decades, life would become such a terrible addiction that she too would view death with fear.
If she died today her mother’s fury would bring her back to life long enough for a harangue that never ended.
Two more flights of stairs and Delilah found herself looking at a row of basic conference rooms with windows in the doors and a few computers—old boxy machines that were new when her parents married, but computers nonetheless. At the very end of the corridor was a different door, white with the black number nine hanging in the center, like one would find hanging on the front of house in any urbanized area. Like Atlanta, to pick a not-so-totally-random example.
Delilah quirked her lips in a smile, tugged her black leather gloves on, and opened the door.
She waited for a minute, watching the interior gloom to see if anything moved. No sirens screamed. No lights flashed a warning. Everything was deadly quiet.
Stepping inside as she closed the door behind her, she flicked on her flashlight. The carpet continued here and pictures hung on the wall, none of them spectacular. Hunting prints for the most part. Cheap posters of green tractors, bird hunters, and deer standing under autumn leaves, all in expensive frames. Dusty bookcases with leather-bound books, covers dusty and cracking from age, lined the wall.
A deer head hung on one wall next to an overstuffed red chair. In another corner she saw a stuffed grizzly bear. Kalydon liked trophies, but she suspected those were from his younger days. The rooms flowed together to another set of stairs, another lock she snapped open, and another set of lavishly appointed rooms in the same dark red plush and velvet.
There was an air of opulence here, but not of cultivated taste. It was as if Kalydon had seen a picture of a wealthy home and bought everything out of a catalog. Or maybe she was biased because red velvet was so very 1970-something.
It was an interior apartment with no obvious windows, but even in bright sunshine this room would be gloomy. The furniture was all heavy wood stained black. The fabric on the rugs, bed, and the curtains framing a black-and-white image of the New York skyline pre-9/11 were all deep red, almost crimson. Bookcases covered a wall in here too, but a cursory glance told her these weren’t normal books. These were in shades of sand and earth, mixed with an eclectic choice of statuary. The bust of a woman carved out of a black stone with a gold skull erupting from her face was the focal point.
Delilah leaned forward and sniffed at the books. Without a lab it was impossible to tell, but they looked suspiciously like examples she’d seen of autoanthropodermic bibliopegy from the seventeenth century: books bound in human skin. The grotesque practice had fallen out of favor fairly quickly, but these didn’t appear to be all that ancient.
Shivers of apprehension crawled up her back like an icy spider walking on her spine.
There was another door, this one with a combination lock, and for most lock picks it would have presented an interesting diversion for several hours. Delilah opened it with a glance and stepped into the room she’d been dreading, but knew all along she would find. It was no bigger than a jail cell on death row, ten feet by ten feet perhaps. There was one chair, a match to the one downstairs, a fake fireplace that was turned off, and a rug of pale leather. Bare skin... Human, unless she missed her guess completely, although the hair and fingers rather gave it away.
Revulsion and bile filled her mouth. She wondered which of the faces on the wall once belonged to the rug. She recognized several of them. The Wooden Wonder and Mayor Arámbula were on one wall with clippings from the newspaper taped next to their pictures. On another wall she saw street photos, men and women Kalydon had stalked perhaps… But no. Up at the top was a row of smiling faces.
The Hunt.
The Golden Hunt of Atlanta was pictured with their victims tallied below them like some sick scavenger hunt. She pulled out her micro-camera and started snapping pictures. As she zoomed in on a familiar face, something else tore her attention downward.
Travys’s mother. Thinner than when she’d left New York. Haggard. But unmistakably Travys’s mother, walking through the Peachtree Plaza in Atlanta. Up above was the late mayor’s toady, Chasten Huntley. Even his name fit.
She took a few more pictures and then stepped out, fusing the door shut behind her by unlocking all the molecules and letting them melt together. Kalydon didn’t seem like the sort of man who understood subtle gestures. That was fine. What she had in mind was about as subtle as a jackhammer.
There was only one last place she wanted to search: Kalydon’s bedroom. People of his ilk kept what they loved close. The kill room was a toy room, really. Some people had places to watch TV, and sociopaths kept rooms full of tokens stolen off their victims. It probably balanced out in the scheme of things. But Kalydon had been raised in the Deep South and in deep poverty, which meant money in the mattress and a gun safe in the bedroom.
After several false starts she found the bedroom. It wasn’t hard to see how deep Kalydon’s roots were. Under the expensive coverlet was a set of plaid flannel sheets. It seemed like a waste. All that wealth and ambition wrapped up in the brains of a chicken. She pulled a hunting print to the side and glared at the gun safe. It swung open, revealing an array of guns that would keep a small dictatorship in power for at least a year, and a row of test tubes with a glowing blue liquid. Bingo.
Delilah scooped the test tubes up, wrapped them in a pillowcase stripped from the bed, and put them in her bag. Now, how to let Kalydon know what she wanted? Maybe something written in red...
Chapter Seventeen
Noah,
You better get your butt back safe and sound or you will never hear the end of it. If you make my baby sister cry I will move Heaven, Earth, and Hell to make sure you pay. There is nowhere on this planet or in near orbit that you can hide from me. And you know you can’t fight me because your mother will ground you if you hit a girl. She won’t care how old you are. So keep that in mind. Merry Christmas.
Come home safe,
Delilah
A surly Ivan waited for her in the depths of Chicago’s tunnels. “About bloody time you got back. I thought you were gone for good.”
“I ran out of lipstick and had to go buy more.”
His face contorted into a horrified grimace. “What would happen to me if you died?”
“You’d be motivated to unlock my phone,” Delilah said as she squatted beside him. “Figure out the code yet?”
“Hmph.” He rolled his eyes and held the muddy phone out. “It’s not a phone, is it?”
“It’s a phone, but it’s my phone, which is why it’s customized.”
“Voids the warranty if you do that,” Ivan muttered.
She scraped the mud aside so he could see the insignia. “This look like a brand you know? I doubt it.”
“You make your own phones? Don’t you have any life at all?”
“I don’t make my phones. I own stock in a small company that makes custom phones for wealthy professionals.”
Another eye roll.
“How are you feeling?”
“Both legs broken, maybe a rib. You going to drag me out of here or call the police to come pick me up?” He was the very picture of stoic despair, the beaten villain brought low.
Delilah smirked, an expression he doubtless didn’t see in the darkness. “That all depends.” She pulled one of the vials out of her bag. “Do you know what this is?”
“The Mégisti formula, Greek for great or something like that.” Ivan shrugged. “My boss wants it. Seller had it. But the deal went south.” He paused and frowned. “How’d you get it?”
“I took it out of the wall safe.”
“Out of...” Ivan spluttered in frustration. “Do you know what I’ve done to get my hands on that in the past two weeks? I’ve tied myself in kno
ts! Begged. Bribed. Threatened. Cut throats.” He switched to Russian for a good long tirade. “Bloody, woman! How’d you get the safe combination? Tell me!”
Delilah raised an eyebrow. “Combination? Why would I do that when the doors all unlocked for me?”
Even in the darkness she could see him flushing red with rage.
She held the formula out. “What happens if you ingest this?”
“According to the seller?”
She nodded.
“It’s a magic potion that heals you, gives you super strength, superhuman speed, flight. There was something about distilling proteins from blood of freaks and finding the right balance of whatever. I don’t know.” Ivan shrugged. “Sounds like a lot of nonsense to me.”
“Did Kalydon try to use this on you?”
Ivan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Is that the seller’s name? I didn’t know.” But now he did and there was more than a hint of retribution in his tone. “He didn’t offer it to me. He wanted blood.”
“And not as in revenge?”
“Nah, two of his thugs grabbed me as soon as my boss dropped me off. Popped a needle into my vein like I’m some damn junkie.” His shoulders hunched over at the memory. “But something went wrong. I wasn’t right.” He shook his head.
Delilah shook the vial. “Drink up.”
Ivan scowled at her.
“It might heal you. It might kill you. But I’m leaving now, and this is your one chance to get out of here.”
“What? You’re leaving me? I thought we were friends! We had this whole villainous rapport with each other. Witty banter was exchanged.”
She laughed. “You really are delusional. Drink up. If you survive, you can rescue yourself.”
“And if I don’t?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure someone will find you. Eventually.”
***
“Rescue me!” Travys shouted as soon as Delilah entered the room. “You have to get me out of here. There’s nothing on TV but shows about house hunting and bread baking.”
Delilah’s four-inch heels clicked on the hospital room linoleum. “Those are useful life skills.”
“I’m going to die of boredom. Also, I’m going to die if I miss my finals and can’t play basketball because my grades are too low.”
“You’ll also die if the Golden Hunt of Atlanta finds you,” Delilah said. “Which is why you’re leaving the city.”
Travys’s jaw dropped.
“Your doctor is signing the release forms as we speak, and your luggage is packed.”
“You can’t do that to me!”
She lifted her chin with a small smile. “You’ll find there’s very little in life that I can’t do.”
“Delilah, you can’t,” Travys said. “I’m so close to finding my mom. I know the answer’s here. That guy knows.”
“Yes. And now the police know.” She let that sink in. “It’s over. All that’s left is the wrap up.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If it’s over, why do I need to go anywhere? I’m safe.”
“This isn’t a police show on the television. Sometimes wrap-up takes more than five minutes. People run. People fight. You have already been injured and I won’t let that happen a second time.”
He slammed his head back into the pillows, making the hospital bed quake. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
He stared at the wall. “Why don’t I feel anything?”
Delilah sat on the edge of his bed. “You’ve suspected this for a long time. Maybe you’ve already done your grieving. Or maybe it will come later. Or maybe you never will. Sometimes, when we can’t handle an emotion, it’s like a phantom limb. You feel the pain and it never goes away.”
“I knew she was dead last year.” He turned away to look out the window. “The guy who did it?”
“Dead.”
“Good.” Travys nodded and turned back to her. “So which relative are you foisting me off on? My aunt? My cousins? Maybe Chris is out of jail and we could have some dick-son bonding time over the holidays.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to California to stay with Angela, Ty, and Aaron.”
Travys gave her some serious side eye. “For real?”
Angela, as always, had perfect timing. She walked in, wearing flip-flops totally unsuitable for the snowstorm outside. “Hey! How’s my favorite student!”
Travys chuckled weakly. “Hi, Miss Smith. I’m good. I’m doing real well on my math...” He turned as pale as a boy with ancestors from Zambia could get. “Son of... My math final is tomorrow! Miss Smith, ya gotta let me stay! My final is tomorrow!”
Angela smiled and smoothed his hair back. “Handled. I went and talked to the dean about everything today, then spoke with your teachers. They’re going to let me proctor the test at home. You can take it as soon as we get to the house if you want.”
Travys grimaced. “That’s going to be what, three in the morning? No offense, Miss Smith, but I’m not ready for a test after a plane ride.”
Delilah covered a smirk with her hand as Angela stared at Travys in utter confusion. “Arktos doesn’t need a plane,” she said softly. “But I do need to get going. It’s after eight and I’ve had a long day.”
Tyler Running-Fox, once the most eligible bachelor in America and still considered by most to be the handsomest man in the world, stepped into the room with a bevy of nurses floating in his wake.
“Oh, joy, you brought gawkers.” Delilah frowned at him.
Ty shrugged. “I had to show them my ID to get in. What did you want me to do?”
“Lie,” Delilah said. “Remind me to make you a fake ID sometime. How do you feel about the name Carlos Manoso?”
“Leave my favorite books out of this,” Ty said, pointing a warning finger at her. “I am man enough to admit I like funny books.”
Angela and Delilah shared an exasperated sister look. No one else could possibly understand the pain of their mother’s obsession with a clumsy bounty hunter from New Jersey who churned through cars faster than Daddy did through first-generation minions. Some people went door-to-door selling religion; Mom was a zealot bent on sharing the wonders of nineties romance novels cum noir detective tales.
“I hold you fully responsible,” Angela said. “If you hadn’t left them alone while I was getting changed to go out for dinner, Mom never would have handed him the book.”
Ty leaned over and kissed Angela’s forehead. “It’s just a book. Let’s get the kiddo out of here. We still have a party to go grocery shopping for.”
“Party?” Travys perked up. “I like parties!”
“Aaron’s having an end-of-semester bash with some of his school friends,” Angela said with a slinky cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. Oh, yeah, Delilah’s big sis knew the way to make men do what she wanted. “Ever heard of DJ South?”
“The singer?” Travys’s voice hit a high note in excitement.
“That’s her. She lives next door, so Aaron invited her to drop by for the pool party tomorrow. She’s already confirmed she’ll be there.”
Travys held out his arm with the blood pressure monitor. “I’m ready to go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alan,
The Hunt has captured Travys again. I don’t know how they got him out of the hospital, but they did. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.
Love,
Delilah
Delilah pulled her Kevlar under-armor on and strapped a knife to her leg. It was on the small side, but it was all for show anyway.
“I don’t like this,” Freddie muttered.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said as she pulled her black dress on. She turned in front of the mirror, watching to see how the skirt fell. Perfect.
Freddie handed her a red wool coat with silk lining. “You should have asked for backup, not sent the one ally you have on a wild goose chase.”
“And how would Alan help, exactly? He can’t do anything to hurt the Golden Hunt. H
e can’t risk exposing who he really is. It would be political suicide at best. Telling him Travys was kidnapped again keeps him safe.” Worse, the Hunt was waiting for the Spirit of Chicago. In her gut she knew they were hunting him. But he was hers now, and they could have him when they pried him from her cold, dead hands. Sending him on a wild goose chase to the south of town had been the best she could do, but it should keep him safe long enough for her to deal with the mess.
“Why aren’t we calling the police and getting a SWAT team in there?” Freddie asked.
“One, because at least one of Kalydon’s minions has taken the Mégisti formula and has super speed, so any normal human would be killed, and two, because they hurt Travys. He’s one of the family, and people who hurt the family don’t walk away from me.”
Freddie snorted.
“I watched Ivan after he took a drink,” Delilah continued. “Two broken legs working in minutes, and he moved faster than any human could. Even Mom doesn’t fly that fast. The only way I can take the Hunt down is if I get them to sit still, and you get more flies with honey than vinegar. Kalydon fancies himself a made man, attractive and wonderful. He wants me now.”
“Because you vandalized his apartment.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “It was a note written on his mirror.”
“And who is to watch to see that no one else interferes with this take down?” Freddie asked. “The Russians haven’t abandoned their course. The Company might still be in town.”
“I’m counting on it.” The Company had hurt her family too, but that was the beauty of her plan. If everything went according to her script, she’d be able to pay The Company back tenfold. “Let’s go.”
The drive over was silent. Freddie kept giving her hurt looks in the mirror.
“Go home,” Delilah ordered as she stepped out of the cab. “I’ll be back within seventy-two hours.”
“And if you aren’t?” the minion demanded.
“Then, and only then, may you call in the cavalry.” She slammed the door shut. Anticipation warmed her like nothing else could. Too long the Golden Hunt had prowled her city, hunted her people, hurt the ones she loved. And now it was time for a reckoning.
