Chest of Bone (The Afterworld Chronicles Book 1)

by Vicki Stiefel

  At nine sharp, a hush fell over the crowd of about thirty souls. Lights dimmed, and with the ring of a sweet chime, a man walked from the far alcove to stand between the two. I had to turn my chair a bit, so I could see him clearly. Ah.

  Roberto. Mr. Portly, dolled up in a fresh tux, greeted the crowd. Interesting new job.

  Blondie, Roberto, lots of vibe. Oh yeah, something foul lived here.

  Roberto greeted us effusively. He jabbered on, and I listened, but it was hard work, given the level of bullshit and gush. I rested my chin on my hand, fighting tendrils of boredom. Get on with it, dammit.

  Continuing, Roberto again assumed the mantle of the Man in Charge. Except he was merely a mouthpiece. Blondie, on the other hand, was the real deal. I found him standing guard by the entrance to this second dining salon, loose limbed, casual, but filled with import. Those in the outer first room were apparently persona non grata in here. Interesting.

  I allowed my mind to open, and tasted harsh tendrils of greed and need, waves of insecurity and pulses of ego. I closed my mind fast.

  Portly droned on, something about tonight’s menu, and—praise heaven—a cadre of waiters finally streamed through the room, placing discreet sheets of vellum—our menus—onto the porcelain plates.

  I was starved. Thank the stars we were about to eat.

  “Ta da!” said Roberto.

  Everyone looked down at their menu. So did I. And stifled my gasp.

  —Tonight, at The Adept’s Den—

  Appetizer:

  Fine strips of Coleocephalocereus purpureus, an endangered cactus from Brazil. Served en croute.

  Salad: Spring Greens, Quinoa, Sunflower Seeds and Pecorino

  Soup: From the tender meat of the severely endangered Hawksbill Turtle.

  I took a breath, then another, trying to even my pulse. I toughed it out and smiled, shaping my face into a haughty, yet eager look.

  The Entree: Mountain Gorilla, Critically Endangered, from Bwindi Impenetrable National Park Uganda, with Bacon from the Critically Endangered Visayan Warty Pig, Potatoes and Caramelized Onions

  OR

  Indochinese Tiger, ours from Myanmar, with Israeli Couscous, Smoked Tomatoes & Guajillo Chili Sauce

  Dessert: Adept’s Den Chocolate Cake

  Peaches in Absinthe

  Alice B. Toklas Brownies

  I was supposed to eat a gorilla or a tiger? Holy moly shit, with a serving of screw me.

  My pulse wasn’t slowing, and I told myself, mantraed the words breathe, breathe. It wasn’t working, and I crushed the drape of the tablecloth beneath my hands. What was this insanity? Dizzy, I lifted my purse from the table, hands shaking, put it in my lap. I opened it as if searching for something, head throbbing, and when I reached into the purse, I swear-to-gods I saw those stupid fireflies seeping from my palm, the scent of citrus and the spiral, glowing outside the glove.

  I shattered back to reality. Fireflies gone, spiral fading. Goddammit, get it together. I had to suck it up or soup it up, depending on how I looked at it. This mission was no different from any other.

  I might be a vegetarian in real life, but tonight I was a sick-fuck predator who ate endangered species for the fun of it.

  Something concrete at last—The Adept’s Den—this horror—was offering illegal and endangered species as food to the privileged. A prestige dining experience. Talk about messed up.

  Hurrah for Larrimer. We’d found the endgame for his trafficked endangered species.

  New goal—to get out of the damned place without hurling all over the tablecloth.

  I snapped my purse shut and lay it back on the table. I smiled at the couple across from me, who smiled back as if they had hemorrhoids.

  Time for a little journey. Off I went to the ladies’ room, hoping to troll for juicy conversation and interesting vibes. I gleaned several things. First, the diners were pretty much self-important assholes, with too much money and too little sense. I also learned that just about everybody, but especially the men, would kill to get invited into that third room. Apparently that was the ultimate. In what? Not gonna go there, not when I had to focus my will on getting through the meal.

  he night would end, I kept telling myself, as I slid yet another chunk of tiger meat between my lips and chewed. My eyes burned, and I stuffed the revulsion down deep, knowing that if I gave myself away, I was dead.

  I made it through the evening, which I counted as much a victory as the shootout at the Feed and Seed. As I exited and retrieved my phone and wrap, Blondie bid me goodnight and again kissed the tips of my fingers.

  “Enchante,” he said.

  I nodded, haughty as hell, which was all I could do without barfing in his face.

  I compelled myself to walk, when I itched to sprint up the incline to where the stream of cars idled. I desperately looked for Fern, remembered the BMW, and saw its halogen lights swing my way.

  Larrimer stopped the car, and I clamped my jaw while he walked around and opened my door. We pulled away and followed the line of cars headed toward home.

  “Well?” he finally said once we’d made it through the gates, that one word crisp with anger.

  “Find a deserted side road. Fast!” I slapped my hand across my mouth, and counted one-potatohead, two-potatohead in a raging battle to hold off my stomach until we were out of sight of the club and any cars whatsoever.

  He drove like a banshee, never questioning me, and suddenly swerved to the left, crossed the road, flew down a steep dirt track that stopped by a burbling stream.

  I leapt out of the car, fell to my knees, and puked, shaking, sweating, hair cascading around me, more vomiting, and then a warm hand pressed against my forehead, while his other held my hair. When I’d finally emptied every last drop of vileness in my stomach, I gulped several deep breaths and staggered to my feet.

  He offered me a water and a pristine white handkerchief. Skin clammy with aftershocks, I swigged and spit, wiped my mouth, and blew my nose.

  I knew what a horror I must look like, what I must smell like.

  Earning dozens of good-guy points, Larrimer folded me into his arms and held me, silent, minus a barrage of questions he must be dying to ask, until I stopped shaking.

  I was finally able to say, “Thank you, partner.”

  “You’re welcome, partner.”

  Back in the car, I gave him every gruesome detail.

  “My gut says to wait, but do you think it’s time to call in your people?”

  His lips twitched. “I like your gut. Let’s talk it through first.”

  “My gut concurs. We’ll talk it through.”

  The following day, I still hadn’t eaten a thing, although I’d barfed two more times, the second only producing dry heaves.

  I was slow to action, but Larrimer had been busy on the phone, and I heard words like zoonosis and parasitic worms and trafficking, none of which thrilled me.

  We finally convened in the living room around one.

  “Have you told anyone?”

  He frowned as he scanned a web page. “Not the specifics. Not yet.”

  I released a breath. “Good. Talk about sick bastards.”

  Unable to get comfortable, I finally picked up my knitting, and the sticks flew in my hands as I knit, knit, knit my fur babies’ spun cashmere.

  Larrimer cultivated the art of patience. I was glad.

  “I’ve heard of stuff like this before,” I finally said. “But mostly served in exotic locales, in Africa and Asia.”

  He grunted as he tapped the keys of his laptop. “That’s a cliché.”

  I shot him a dirty look.

  “Not what I mean. Places in the states do it, too, mostly exotics, not so much the endangered animals. Too big a risk.”

  My stomach tangoed. “It was one of the most horrible experiences I’ve ever had. How could a human being eat a gorilla, which, I might add, I didn’t.”

  “This from a woman who’s pried open the minds of rapists, torturers, and serial
killers.”

  “What’s that got to do with it? I love opening up the bad guys. Animals, they’re not like that. They deserve our protection.”

  “I agree.”

  I put down my knitting and leaned forward. “We should move slowly on this—”

  “Lulu,” he said.

  “Yes. There’s more. About last night, I mean. I heard whispers, hints.” I pulled the legal pad closer and began to sketch The Adept’s Den.

  “Here.” I swiped a line across the rectangle and detailed two rooms. “This is where most of the club’s patrons dine. I’m guessing it’s high-end, but legal food.”

  “And here.” I swiped another line across the rectangle. “This is where I dined. Maybe twenty-five, thirty people. The diners were there for prestige, to make themselves important. That they’d eaten the forbidden, the illegal, the illicit. That they were special, entitled.”

  He nodded and laced his fingers together. “And…?”

  “Here.” I stabbed the pencil so hard, it pierced the center of the third portion of the rectangle. “Here’s where the elite dine.” I looked at him. “I heard whispers of how some patrons longed to get admittance into that most exclusive room and what they’d do to get the invitation. I read them, James.”

  I relived last night’s desperation, the lust, the evil. My mind howled.

  Warmth spread through my arm, pet my neck, skimmed my throat. Soothing. Gentling. Comforting.

  I ran my hand over the back of his. He stilled and moved away, his face betraying nothing. I wondered if he knew how much he gave.

  I put moxie in my voice. “Thanks. The night was horrible, and it wasn’t just the food. Those people: anger, avarice, craving. I could taste it. Which brings me to the elephant in the room.”

  His curled his lip. “Human flesh.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That man, George, in the refrigeration room. I’m guessing he was on the menu. The question isn’t what, but how and why does The Adept’s Den connect with Dave, The Master, and Lulu?” And the chest.

  He crossed his arms. “Cochran was involved.”

  “And his investigation into the animal trafficking brought him to the attention of The Master.”

  “All right, let’s say that’s truth.”

  “Then doesn’t it make sense to wait before you bring in the troops? That would give us a chance to go back and get Lulu.”

  “What if they kill her in the meantime?”

  For long moments, I thought about that. Hard. She was a pawn in this. I suspected they were bent on kidnapping, not killing her in the bus crash. That the bullet that creased her head was a stray. She knew stuff, info they wanted. She was her father’s daughter, and he’d trained her, maybe differently than me, but she’d resist. Lulu would also know that once she gave them the information, she’d most likely die. I raked my fingers through my long hair. I could picture it—a bunch of FBI and Fish and Wildlife enforcers descending on the Adept’s Den. Her kidnappers would end Lulu in a minute. “We have to wait.”

  “I can’t, not for long. My people need to know. You going to inform your boss?”

  “No,” I said. “But you could. After all, you’re the one who’s been working with him.”

  He barked a laugh. “I told the bastard to tell you.”

  “His mistake.” Bob’s duplicity ripped at me, but I was getting used to that feeling.

  Larrimer leaned forward, as if he were about to say something, then stood abruptly.

  So much between us now, layers upon layers. What wasn’t he saying? What truths was he refusing to share? What truths was I?

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  He waved a hand as he climbed the stairs. “To take a bath.”

  “Really,” I deadpanned.

  “Helps me think.”

  A mystery, wrapped in an enigma. Around James Larrimer, I was never bored.

  Sounds of the bath running came from upstairs, so I ended up calling Bob. Instead of his normal anger when I’d been in danger, I got sympathy. Oodles of it. I almost asked about my enforced leave, but something was going on here, something that was all twisted up in this FUBAR.

  Signing off a call with Bob had never been easier. My bets were on Larrimer not telling him that I knew they were working together.

  I rummaged cabinets for some crackers, my inner Bernadette chiding me to eat. I hoped for a call that said she was back to herself. She was a pain in the ass, but she was my pain in the ass.

  I missed her madly.

  “Ha!” I’d found her secret stash of Oreos. As I reached for them, an oily evil brushed my senses. The kitchen door blew open and a muscled arm clamped around my neck.

  “Got her!”

  I knew that voice.

  I curled my legs to my abdomen, pulled my boot knife, and stabbed the bastard in the arm. A shout of pain. Free, I crashed to the floor and rolled to a stand.

  I faced two men, one of whom was Blondie, the other, Mr. UPS. “Todd?”

  A nasty grin. “A guy’s gotta make a living.”

  “You prick.” I held my knife in a loose, comfortable grip. So, why they were here? Had Blondie sussed me out last night?

  Blondie’s gaze lit on my breasts. “Come, and we won’t hurt you.”

  “Seems to me the only one hurt’s going to be you.” I lifted my chin toward Todd. “He’s already bleeding like a stuck alligator.”

  If I threw the knife, I’d lose my weapon and the guy left standing would massacre me. If they moved in close, I could take them, maybe. But Blondie was holding back Todd, who obviously wanted to gut me.

  “Our Master wishes to speak with you,” Blondie said.

  A spurt of relief. No, not about last night. “Why?”

  He shook his head. I was so tempted. I’d meet The Master. “Tell him to get in line.”

  Spittle flew from Todd’s mouth. “Once we fuckin’ get you, we’re gonna blow the pretty boy’s brains out, and the damned dogs, too. I’m sick of those fucking dogs.” He raised his gun.

  I threw my knife. It sliced through Todd’s carotid like butter. Blood spurted, but I didn’t wait for Blondie’s response. I rounded the corner, and zoomed out the mudroom door, the air parting behind me with the zing of Blondie’s shots.

  I guessed meeting The Master was no longer the plan. I dashed across the driveway toward Fern, my back itching from exposure. Any minute I expected the bite of a bullet. I’d replaced my backup Glock and knife in the glove compartment, and aimed to get them before Blondie got me.

  Instead of chasing me, Blondie ran into the barn.

  Shit. I retrieved my gun and another knife and headed after him. This was so messed up.

  My back to the barn, I slid to my right, braced myself, and leapt over the fence into the first pasture. Keeping low, I crept toward one of the stall doors.

  I realized what Blondie intended, and panic threatened to blind me.

  “I’ve got Nott here,” Blondie shouted. “That’s what the brass plate says. I’m holding her.”

  I opened my mouth to answer. Slammed it shut.

  A horrible squeal of pain, and then, “She’s gone. Dead. I’ll slit each animal’s throat the same way unless you lose your weapons and come with me.”

  Time slowed. Decision made. They say fear is good. It felt like shit.

  I lay on my belly, slithered my way through manure-dotted snow, inching forward.

  A squeal of pain. “I’m gonna snuff the second one. Delling, right?”

  I was one stall away. The pasture door stood open. Fool, telling me which goat he had. I pictured his exact location.

  “I’m about to cut her throat. She’ll live if you come out.”

  I gathered my legs beneath me and leapt. I focused my mind, imagined exactly where the bastard was, and squeezed the trigger over and over and over. He flew backwards, a bloom of blood spreading across his shoulder.

  I landed on my feet, and his gun stared back at me, barrel to my heart.

 
My breath stuttered. Was this it? The moment faced by every human? Talk, babble, stall, say some…

  A blast from the barn door. Blondie’s gun flew from his mangled hand. Larrimer.

  I managed to move forward, Glock aimed at Blondie’s head, Larrimer paralleling me.

  Damaged arm tight around Delling’s neck, Blondie held his knife to her throat. She struggled, and he strained to hold her.

  “Let her go,” I said to Blondie. “It’s over.”

  He gave Larrimer a flat look. “You. You understand.”

  “Where is Lulu?” I asked, using my skills, managing my voice. “Who’s The Master?”

  Blondie smirked, and his knife flashed lightning fast. He slit his own throat, severing both carotid arteries.

  Blood sprayed as we raced to him, and I slapped my palms to his neck, tried to stem the flow.

  “It won’t help, Clea,” Larrimer said.

  Blondie’s malicious glare dissolved. He was gone.

  I released him, and his body flopped on its side.

  Larrimer looked at Nott—dead, empty—then back at me. “I’m sorry.”

  I peered up at him, in jeans, but bare chested, barefooted. My lips wobbled. “No more afternoon baths.”

  Back in the house, I washed my hands, but stayed in my gross clothes, covered in dung and blood, to take care of Nott.

  Mr. UPS was the first person I’d ever killed. I should be feeling… Pity? Guilt? Regret? No. I’d save those emotions for those deserving of them. Or, at least, I would try my best to.

  I stepped over Todd’s body on the way back outside. “Dickbrain.”

  The sun was dazzling, the sky impossibly blue and clear, one of those spectacular winter days.

  It was hard to remember that beauty and goodness existed.

  On the way back to the barn, I stopped short. Larrimer had dressed and was piling wood out in the first pasture. Building what? I shook my head. Delling needed me.

  Two stalls over, I found her munching some hay beside Thor and Sif. He’d moved her so she wouldn’t be alone. I smiled, just a little.

  I ducked through the stall, patting the goats as I passed, and walked across the pasture to Larrimer. Sirens blared in the distance. We’d informed the state and municipal cops, along with Bob, and any minute they’d be swarming the property.