Knowing he was speaking for both of them, Cole said, “There’s really not a lot else for us to do.”
“Sure there is,” Tristan said. “You could keep chopping Half Breeds into pulp like the Army. You could follow the Nymar’s lead and sit in buildings purchased at a significant discount from frightened owners who are only thinking of surviving for one more day or are too enraptured to refuse the pittance they were given. You could even draw yourselves into a heavily armed cult with strongholds in three different cities like your fellow Skinners.”
“You mean the Vigilant?”
Tristan nodded.
Paige kept her voice level and quiet, so as not to further upset the guard, when she asked, “The Vigilant have strongholds in more than one city?”
“Yes,” Tristan replied, looking as if she was fully aware of the bomb she was dropping. “Three. At least, those are the ones I know about. The Vigilant have been trying to capture my sisters much like Jonah Lancroft did. As far as I can tell, it’s for the same reason. They want use of our temples as well as a fresh supply of Memory Water.”
Suddenly, Cole’s head snapped up and he drew in a quick breath.
“I’m sorry, Cole,” Tristan said. “But Memory Water won’t help rid you of the tendrils inside of you. Otherwise I would have offered you some when I helped get that spore out of you.”
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “It kept Jonah Lancroft alive for a couple hundred years, but it won’t help me? Why?” He’d already bared himself, he thought, so the least he could get was an answer to his question.
“Lancroft was a monster,” Tristan said. “Do you even know what’s involved in making Memory Water?”
“No, but it can’t be too bad or you’d never make it at all. Right?”
“We can collect it,” Tristan said. “I won’t get into the particulars, but it’s a process that has become a sacred ritual among my sisterhood. To speed up the ritual involves torturing my kind and wringing the very essence of our soul from the fabric of our bodies. If Memory Water could help you, I would have gladly given you what little I can spare. It restores the physical body to a point in the past when it was more vital. Youth can be granted. Mortal lives, as you already know, can be extended for centuries.” Focusing on Cole, she added, “You may think of it as bringing your body to its default setting.”
There was something undeniably sweet about hearing Tristan put things into geek terms for him.
“But,” she continued, “it only affects you, and that thing inside you isn’t actually a part of you. Memory Water could revitalize your body to a point before that spore was injected, but that doesn’t mean the tendrils would be erased. You’d be revitalized and the tendrils would remain, just like clothes or jewelry or any other foreign thing attached or wrapped around you.”
“Couldn’t we give it a shot?” Paige asked.
“If we had any Memory Water on hand, perhaps,” Tristan replied. “But most of our reserves were plundered by Jonah Lancroft, and the rest have been stolen from us by his followers.”
Cole sat bolt upright. “The Vigilant have attacked you?”
“Not me, personally, and I haven’t heard of any of my sisters that were taken. Lancroft must have passed on the location of our hidden stores, because those were looted within months after the Nymar rose to—” She blinked and looked around at the two Skinners. “Well . . . you know what happened.”
“No need to worry about manners,” Paige said. “A little salt in that wound really doesn’t matter anymore. As far as Cole goes, do you think there might be anything at all the Memory Water could do for him if you could make some changes?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a formula we can tweak. It is what it is. My sisters and I have been hunted by Nymar since they decided to dwell within human bodies. Obviously, we don’t have much cause to find ways to help ease their pain. Not that we wouldn’t if there was a way, but . . .”
“But you’d be dead the moment you got close enough to try,” Cole said. “I get it.”
“We could help your arm, though,” Tristan said to Paige. “Why didn’t you drink the Memory Water I gave you when you were hunting Lancroft before?”
“I needed it for other things,” Paige told her. “Besides, Skinners need to learn from their mistakes, and there’s not a lot to learn by just erasing them and starting clean.” Looking to Cole, she added, “We can deal with our wounds. Just because we’re hurt doesn’t mean we’re . . .” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “ . . . broken. Can Memory Water cure a Half Breed?”
Tristan’s expression clouded over, leaving no doubt in Cole’s mind that she’d witnessed a Breaking firsthand when she said, “No. Something about that change is deeper than anything I’ve ever seen. A human is no longer human after they become a Half Breed, and drinking the Water only brings them back to the earliest point in their life as a Half Breed. The only thing worse than seeing them broken once is watching a human live through it a second time. I will never subject another living thing to that kind of torture.”
“What about a Full Blood?” Cole asked. “They can go back and forth. Randolph and Liam talk as if they’ve been around forever and were never anything but Full Bloods.”
“Right,” Paige said. “Which means bringing them back to square one won’t make a lot of difference.”
Cole shrugged. “Could it bring them back to how they were before the Breaking Moon?”
For the first time since the conversation began, Tristan didn’t hold herself as if every part of her ached. There was a glimmer in her eyes again. Though it wasn’t quite the same as the nights when she’d been twirling on stage, that it was there at all brightened the atmosphere in the room. “I . . . don’t know. We’ve never had a reason to try anything like that.”
“The Full Bloods aren’t after you, are they?” Paige asked.
“Not as such, but they don’t hold us in high regard. Things were just never the same between our kind after I sent the Full Blood elder Gorren from a forest in Romania to our temple in Antarctica.” Seeing the expression on the Skinners’ faces, she waved it off and said, “Long story. If you want to try Memory Water on a Full Blood, you’ll have to capture one yourselves.”
“That may not be as tough as you think,” Cole said. “But what if there was a way to get that stuff to all of them at once?”
“You mean through the Torva’ox?” Tristan asked.
“Could Chuna help us with that?”
“I don’t know that either. These aren’t exactly the sort of things anyone has ever considered doing before.”
“But can they be done?” Cole asked as he scooted to the edge of his seat so he could use his hands while speaking. “We’ve got a Jekhibar, which can hold the Torva’ox. From what Taylor said back in Louisville, this Chuna guy or woman or whatever can help us do even more with it. What was she talking about?”
“Everything within the earth passes through Chuna,” Tristan said.
Paige winced. “That sounds kind of gross.”
“Chuna is a Mist Born,” she continued. “Their existence is real, but most of them don’t choose to interact with other beings. Some say they are the only true sentient forces of nature.” Since Cole looked like he was ready to start jumping in anticipation, she held him back with a single outstretched hand. “That doesn’t mean Chuna is the answer. The Amriany are thought to have more knowledge of Chuna, just like your Dr. Lancroft had knowledge of Kawosa. According to legend, the Torva’ox flows from Chuna’s veins. Like all legends, this may be exaggerated. But every legend connects Chuna to the Torva’ox. If any of the Mist Born would know about that power, be able to manipulate it or anything else along those lines, it is Chuna.”
“So,” Cole sighed, “we just need to find him . . . or her.”
“Finding Chuna may be next to impossible,” Tristan told him. “And you cannot just speak to a Mist Born. They are powerful creatures, dangerous beyond your comprehension. I believe they grew tired of dealing
with humans simply because your minds were too flimsy to bear the weight of the meeting.”
“I met Clint Eastwood once at a press event back when I was with Digital Dreamers,” Cole said fondly. “It was kind of like that.”
Knowing when it was better to just ignore him, Paige said, “We’re meeting up with some Amriany friends of ours. They’ve worked with the Jekhibar and they’re on good terms with the rest of their clan, so we’ll see what they can tell us about Chuna. In the meantime, though, the Full Bloods are able to turn humans into Half Breeds with nothing more than a howl at some special frequency or . . . I don’t even know how they’re doing it.”
“They are reaching through the Torva’ox,” Tristan said. “Although humans only draw a small bit of that life force, it’s enough of a connection for the Full Bloods to reach through and break them.”
“This wasn’t the first Breaking Moon to rise,” Cole said. “Why didn’t this all happen before?”
“Because the Full Bloods didn’t have the help of a Mist Born. Kawosa created the first Half Breeds and now he strives to perfect the recipe. Perhaps it’s his way of making sure he has more soldiers on the field than anyone else. Heaven help us all if one of the Full Bloods is truly able to steer the wretches.”
“Memory Water is the only thing I know of that has a chance of taking that power away from the Full Bloods,” Paige said. “Maybe then Kawosa will be willing to go back to the way things were.”
“Or he could just back off and watch the fighting,” Cole said. “He seems to enjoy dealing with humans and shapeshifters, so at least we can take our chances with him. Either way, it’s dealing with one threat instead of . . . however many Full Bloods there are.”
Tristan sighed. “Even one Mist Born may be more than enough to make these days even darker, but at least it’s a course of action with some promise. Since you’re talking about a plan that requires Memory Water, I’ll be busy enough just collecting more than what it would take to fill a thimble. When I have more than that, I’ll let you know.”
“All right, then,” Paige said. “What about getting us to Hungary? Think you’ve got enough juice stored up in this place to pull that off?”
Tristan nodded and struggled to get off the couch. She seemed frailer than ever as she motioned toward the guards. “If you intend on manipulating the Torva’ox as well as tracking down a Mist Born, then I don’t doubt your intentions are still good.”
“About what happened to you,” Cole said, “all I can say is, I’m sorry. That seems so useless, but it’s all I’ve got.”
The Dryad touched his cheek and smiled. “It’s more than enough. I just needed to make sure you mean to take aggressive action to put an end to this madness instead of doing anything that might contribute to it.”
Paige smirked and helped the Dryad to her feet. “Aggressive action is what we’re all about. Any chance we can get something to eat before we leave?”
“I’ll make the arrangements,” Tristan said. “It may take some time to make contact with the other temple, so why don’t you all get some sleep in one of our executive suites?” She whispered a few short sentences to the guard. By the time she was through, the big, armed man looked more like a guide and less like an executioner. “You can walk through there to an elevator that will take you to the next floor.”
“Next floor?” Cole marveled. “Just how tall is this purple A-frame anyway?”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Tristan said in a voice that sounded every bit as tired as she looked, “there are many preparations to make.” The Dryad walked back to the door that opened into the main room. Along the way, she straightened up and pulled her shoulders back to give her more of a regal posture. That simple transition made her look like a goddess. The gray pallor was still in her skin, and there was a definite lack of energy in her stride, but it didn’t take away from the reaction she got when reintroducing herself to the room full of overeager mortals waving money at the rest of the nymphs.
“She’s still got it,” Cole said as he moved close to the door that was held open, so he could watch Tristan’s exit. Then, when Waggoner was escorted to the same spot, the trio of Skinners entered a room that was a smaller version of the VIP lounge, complete with a small wet bar in one corner, a pair of love seats upholstered in luxurious velvet, and a single pole extending from the ceiling like a perfectly symmetrical stalactite.
“What’s the plan?” Waggoner asked.
“She’s gonna help us,” Paige replied, “but it’s going to take some time to arrange for transport.”
“All the way to Hungary?”
“Yep.”
A soft ding drifted through the room, and part of a glyph-encrusted wall slid aside to reveal what looked to be a dimly illuminated space just a bit smaller than a car used to carry freight to the upper floors of a warehouse. “Step into the elevator,” one of the guards said. “It’ll take you to a private suite.”
One of the guards had already reached inside to push a button that was camouflaged by the swirling designs on the elevator walls. The glyphs were everywhere. Cole saw symbols flashing with subdued light that could easily be mistaken as a reflection off shiny paint, but he knew better. Every temple was made to harness and focus the energies drawn from human emotion, and the glyphs were the arteries that carried the flow to wherever it needed to go. He could feel the power thrumming beneath his feet and pressing against him like a ghostly dancer grinding against his body.
Waggoner and Paige were closest, so they were the first to pile in. Almost immediately they stopped, their backs blocking the door. Paige was a few steps ahead of him, but Cole was already close enough to see the cool glow coming from the interior of the elevator. Lights flashed and some blinked in quick succession as if to mesmerize the passengers within the elevator.
“Move it,” Cole grunted. “I’m hungry.”
The instant he stepped inside the elevator, his breath was dragged from his lungs.
The car was made of thick glass, inlaid with Dryad markings trapped between transparent layers like ripples frozen into ice. Beyond the glass, a magnificently discombobulated city lay sprawled beneath and around them. The Statue of Liberty and Eiffel Tower lay nestled between massive glittering buildings, mammoth fountains, and spotlights that exploded from a street bustling with cars and people. When Cole looked down, he saw the side of the building to which the elevator was attached. It was shimmering purple Plexiglas that sloped to a pinnacle several stories over his head.
“Been a while since I been to Vegas,” Waggoner said. “Never fails to impress.”
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Paige told him. “We won’t be staying long.”
“Aw come on,” Cole gasped. “This looks like the closest thing to business as usual that we’ve seen in months. There’s actually more than three people on that street!”
Waggoner laughed and shifted his weight. “It’d take a lot more than the werewolf apocalypse to shut Vegas down. Gotta love it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Chicago, Illinois
Rush Street used to be the place for discerning customers to go for their more exotic thrills. There were other Blood Parlors in the city, but the place Steph ran atop a standard sports bar was at the center of them all. At least, it had been before getting torched by the Skinners on their way out of town. As a way to show that nothing as simple as a fire could put her out of business, Steph not only reopened her Blood Parlor in the same location but spent a small fortune in repairs to make sure it looked exactly as it had before Cole, Paige, and Rico got their hands on it.
After a push to squeeze everyone on her regular client list for funds using everything from promises for freebies from her best girls to threatening rich men’s families, Steph had opened her Parlor and remodeled the bar beneath it. Instead of catering to the few Cubs and Bears fans who’d decided to buy their beer at a place situated beneath a gothic second floor bristling with candl
es and statuary, she reinforced every wall and door, packing the bar with employees armed with large caliber pistols and shotguns who were posted at the entrances. Anyone else seen sitting at the bar or around any of the tables were waiting for their turn to go upstairs and be fed upon by scantily clad parasites with smooth skin, overly friendly smiles, and unending appetites. Fortunately for anyone involved in the Nymar skin trade, nobody thought twice anymore when someone left their home and didn’t return.
It wasn’t much past ten o’clock, but the sky had the thick, inky texture of the witching hour. A sleek two-door Mazda pulled to a stop at the curb on Superior Street and let two passengers out to make the short walk to the parlor’s front door. Steph watched their progress on monitors that received a constant live stream from cameras set in windows of every adjacent building. As she marched toward the parlor, Tara looked as if she not only knew she was being watched but that she knew who was watching.
“Shit,” Steph grunted as she stood up and grabbed a short coat that looked as if it had been made from a mix of wool and puppet skin. “What the hell does she want?”
“What does who want?”
The question had been asked in a cultured English accent by a tall Nymar with smooth dark skin and black hair pulled back into a short tail. Astin had begun his service as a bouncer for the Blood Parlor, worked his way up to own the bar beneath the vampire brothel and now filled the space vacated by the Nymar who’d formerly run Chicago at Steph’s side. Astin might have had a refined wardrobe and spoke as if he’d gotten his bouncer credentials at Oxford, but he had a long way to go before gaining the respect Steph had occasionally given her late partner, Ace.
“Shut up and clear out the bar,” she snapped.
As reflected by the unwavering expression on Astin’s face, he was used to being treated that way by her. “Even the customers?”
“Are they regulars?”
“Yes.”
“High end?”
After a moment’s contemplation, he replied, “Not really.”
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