“I will not go back to that darkness. Sim would not want me to. I will not let him down.” The fierceness in his tone gave Sylvanis chills. No matter what he said, he was on a precipice. One more loss and she believed he would break. She would have to make sure that loss would never come.
They stared into each other’s eyes for a long time, before he turned from her.
“I just need some time to grieve. I know we need to decide what we will be do next. I understand it’s importance. I just . . . can’t. Not yet.” He looked back to her, his eyes, rimmed with tears, implored her for patience. “I just need time.”
She offered him a small smile of empathy. She reached out and took ahold of his hand dwarfing hers and gave it a soft squeeze. “Of course, Hank. Take all the time you need.”
Releasing his hand, she stood, and walked to the door, turning as she reached it. What she saw there was not the broken man she had expected to find when she entered this room, but a man who had put all the pieces back already, except one. And with the help of the son he had lost, he would fit the last piece in.
And while he still seemed fragile now, she knew once that final piece fell into place, he would be stronger for it. Stronger and then the anger would come, and God help the one responsible for killing Simon.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hector had left Chicago gladly. Had left shortly after the events in the streets that night. The night he had first drawn that horrible knife he had received word from one of his law enforcement contacts.
One of the many things which had been in his grandfather’s notes were names and contacts of people throughout law enforcement and government, both in Mexico and the United States. There was even some contact information from Canada and European countries.
The breadth of secrecy regarding his grandfather still surprised Hector. He had yet to unravel the mystery of whom his grandfather had been. That he had been a man of wealth and influence was obvious. How he had managed to keep it from everyone in his family, and the why, was still something Hector couldn’t figure out.
One of the first things he had done was contact a man his grandfather had listed among his most trusted informants within the United States government. Paul Betaan was the Associate Deputy Director of the FBI. When Hector had mentioned his grandfather, Paul had immediately offered him any assistance he required.
“Your grandfather was a good man; I was sorry to hear about his death. You have my condolences,” Paul had told him over the phone. “Your grandfather told me a long time ago that if you ever contacted me, I should treat you like I treated him. So, whatever it is that you need . . .?”
Anger unexpectedly gripped Hector. His grandfather, it seemed, had planned so much of his life. Planned it and told him nothing about it. What other wheels had he set in motion for Hector?
He closed his eyes and calmed himself. No. His grandfather hadn’t planned his life. Only prepared him. There was no way for his grandfather to realize that during his lifetime the Weres would return. The only thing he could do was make sure Hector was ready and to give him all the tools he needed to succeed.
“Hector?”
Hector opened his eyes. He needed information if he was to find those other Weres and to do what he needed to do. To try and fix what he had done, he would need to find those Weres who attacked the police and all those innocent people. Those were the ones he needed to hunt.
“I need to know what the government is planning to do about those monsters from Chicago. I need to know what you know and when you know it. I especially need to know where they are.”
Silence answered him on the line, and it stretched for what seemed like minutes. Hector waited.
“Umm. Hector. There are very few people who even know what you are talking about. It is classified and we are doing our best to keep a lid on it for as long as possible. How is it that you even know about this?”
Hector thought about telling him he had been there. He had witnessed everything but decided it might get him entangled in what the government was doing about this and it was an entanglement Hector wanted no part of.
“It isn’t important how I know. Only that I do. Will you get me that information?”
Paul didn’t immediately answer him, which let Hector appreciate how important this information was and how important his grandfather had been. This man had not immediately refused to give Hector classified information. Information, if given, might well see the Associate Deputy Director fired, or worse, arrested.
“What you are asking?”
“Is in the best interest of the government and the people of the United States, I assure you,” Hector informed him.
“I don’t see how that is possible.”
“I wish I could explain, Paul. But I can’t. But rest assured, no one will know you gave me this information. None of this will come back on you. Unless, someday, you might want to take credit for it.”
Another long pause.
“Very well. I will get you the information. I will let you know if we receive any news about where they are and what, if anything, we are planning to do with that information.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
“I am doing this because your grandfather was a friend, and I owed him.”
“I understand.” Though Hector wasn’t sure he truly did. There was obviously some history between the two men, but Hector had no idea what.
“I will contact you the moment I hear anything.”
“Again, thank you.” Hector ended the call.
It was a waiting game now.
He left Chicago and flew to New York City. Not for any particular reason other than he knew, when the time came, he might need to fly anywhere in the country and his best chance at getting a quick flight somewhere was in New York. Days had passed, and he had heard nothing. There had been no news about what had happened in Chicago. The government was indeed keeping a lid on things, it seemed. He knew, though, it was only a matter of time before this all came out.
He had been going through a series of silat moves, a Malayic knife fighting style when Paul called.
“We have located a group of them.”
“Which group?”
He could hear Paul click his tongue in frustration. “You know way too much about this, Hector. I think you need to come in.”
“Which. Group?”
Silence.
“The ones that attacked the police that night. Not the ones that were helping.”
“Where?”
“If I tell you this, Hector, you have to give me something back.”
Hector didn’t immediately respond. He ran through options about what he could give Paul which might appease his curiosity, but also, not tell him anything important.
“Are you planning a raid?”
Paul didn’t answer him, which was about all the confirmation Hector needed. “Well, don’t. They will kill you all.”
“That. That is what you are giving me?”
“Yes. Advice you should do well to heed.”
Paul sighed. “Very well. They are in Texas. Houston to be precise. Some of them attacked several oil refineries on the way down. Injured hundreds of workers and killed all the executives. Or I should say, slaughtered all of the executives.”
“Injured? Did you say there were injured?”
“Yes. Hundreds.” He must have sensed the worry in Hector’s voice. “Why?”
Hector wanted desperately to tell him they would be looking at hundreds more Weres if those people were allowed to live, but what could he say? Kill all the survivors? How could he even suggest it?
“Just surprised they left anyone alive.”
Paul didn’t respond. Hector wondered if he could hear the lie in Hector’s voice.
“Where in Houston?”
“They have covertly occupied a small hospital in Stafford, a suburb. We have instructed local law enforcement to avoid the hospital and are making sure anyone who needs care is re-routed to a nearby hospi
tal.”
Hector nodded. They were decent ideas. They needed to keep people away, and since they knew how effortlessly this group had torn through regular law enforcement, they wouldn’t want to send in the regulars. It would be time for more elites.
“When is the raid?”
“Hector. I can’t tell you.”
“Fine. Can you at least tell me if it will be within the next three days?”
Silence. Then, “Yes.”
“Today?”
Paul sighed again. “No.”
Well, that didn’t leave many options. It would happen tomorrow or the next day. Plenty of time for him to get down there and ready himself. A raid would be the perfect opportunity for him to attempt a kill. The confusion would give him ample opportunity to position himself and choose his target.
“Thanks again, Paul.”
“At some point, Hector, you will need to explain how you know so much about this.”
“Goodbye, Paul.” Hector ended the call.
He wasted no time. Grabbing his suitcase, he quickly packed and left in a matter of minutes. He caught a flight to Houston and was there long before sunrise the following day.
He would need careful planning and to be ready. Arriving at a hotel a short distance from the hospital, he promptly fell asleep. He had time, but not much. He couldn’t be sure as to when they might raid the place, but he guessed it would not be midday. They would strike either early morning, or at dusk.
They almost certainly wouldn’t attack at night. Hector couldn’t be sure if the government would be aware of the Were’s abilities, but he didn’t think they would risk attacking monsters at night. They weren’t stupid.
Hector slept only a few hours and as the sun made a blood-red line across the horizon announcing dawn, he was up. He had come prepared for this fight. He put on a vest of body armor. It wouldn’t protect him from a killing blow from one of those things, but it would protect him from a swipe attack. Plus, there would be law enforcement with guns, so it would also protect him from friendly fire.
He opened his suitcase and removed the wooden box holding the knife and removed it. The dark translucent green blade seemed to suck in the light around it. He could feel the glyphs etched into the hilt against his palm. A lost story trying desperately to tell him through tactile touch.
He had held this blade every night since the first — memorizing its shape and feel. Familiarizing himself with it as one would do with a lover’s body. He hated this blade, and yet, he craved it as well. He wished to be free of it, but it pulled at him, unable to let go. He needed the blade, and the blade needed him.
He hated it, though. With this blade he had ended a life. A good life, as far as he could determine. He killed a boy, well, not a boy, but not yet a man. A boy who had a father, whose anguished cry had chased Hector down that alleyway that night. The cry haunted him still.
He couldn’t take back what he had done. All he could do was try and make it right by ending the lives of those Weres who were evil. The ones who weren’t trying to help people. That is what he could do.
He had made a mistake. He had killed out of ignorance. He had heard what his grandfather had told him and assumed it was everything he needed to know. He had been wrong.
These were not the Weres his ancestors had fought. These were . . . something different. The knife still worked on them, though. Whatever magic gave the blade its power didn’t recognize the difference between these Weres and the ones from his people’s past.
Cautiously, he ran his finger down the length of the blade, keeping to the side of the edge. The blade was jagged, cut from jade. Even keeping his finger away from the edge, there were still barbs that could cut.
Sliding the blade back into its sheath, he attached it to a harness he had made for the knife which strapped across it his chest, leaving the knife’s handle jutting out right below his armpit. He put on a hoodie and checked to make sure the knife wasn’t visible. Content it wasn’t, he left the hotel.
The day was warm already and Hector felt conscientious about wearing a jacket, but he saw no other option. Most people wore t-shirts or light blouses. Most were wearing shorts. He wore jeans.
It took him several minutes to cross over to the hospital. The hospital was small compared to most. These days, most hospitals were sprawling complexes taking up entire city blocks. From the look of it, this hospital predated the current norm.
What had undoubtedly been a local hospital, to serve a smaller area, had never been shut down or repurposed. Instead, they had kept it open and made it into a cardiac specialty hospital.
It was a short, two story affair, with windows at what seemed like every ten foot interval. The parking lot held few cars and while he watched from a corner of a nearby building, he noticed not a single car passed by in front of the building.
Shit! It was going down this morning. He needed to get inside the hospital. But it had to be under surveillance. Now that he knew what was going to happen, he began to investigate the area.
Down several side streets he saw parked black vans with tinted windows, unoccupied as far as anyone could tell from looking at them. Hector knew better. There were almost certainly dozens of agents piled into the back of each of them.
Hector scanned the rooftops. It didn’t take him long to spot two snipers — one on his side of the street and another on top of a building facing the left side of the hospital. He couldn’t see them, but Hector didn’t doubt two more could be found on the far side of the hospital and the right side.
He wondered what they were waiting for. He didn’t have to wait long. A lone car came down the road and pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Given the fact the police were rerouting any civilians away from this block, Hector had to assume this was an unfriendly.
Hector recognized the man who got out of the vehicle. He had been there that night. He was the one who had turned into a Werecrocodile, a fearsome beast who had given the Weretiger a good fight. She was a tough opponent.
He returned his attention to the man getting out of the car. He held a drink holder in one hand with four cups of coffee. The other hand had reached into his pocket and withdrawn a pair of sunglasses which he fitted onto his face.
Suddenly, it looked like some giant had flicked the side of the man’s head with one large finger, and as it jolted sideways, the man was thrown from his feet; coffee cups flew into the air. That was when Hector heard the report from the fired sniper rifle. Simultaneously, engines were started all around him and those black vans closed in on the hospital from all directions. The raid was on.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had taken almost a week before Zach had rounded up many of his followers. They had rented out an indoor stadium for the rally. It had been necessary given what they were about to reveal to those who came.
Shae was still felt wary of Zach, but it had been hard given his obvious charm. She had decided the main reason she didn’t like him was because he took Kestrel’s time. Time she could be spending with Shae. Knowing it was a symptom of being selfish didn’t ease Shae’s mind.
During the days leading up to the rally, Shae and Kestrel had spent a great deal of time together. It had been surprisingly fun, which was something Shae had not known she would feel ever again after the night George had raped her.
In many ways, Kestrel was like a teenager herself. She had not experienced many of the things Shae hadn’t experienced. Or at least, her experiences were completely different. But the excitement of firsts they got to share together had bonded them in a rather special way.
Kestrel’s knowledge of makeup had been using pigments from crushed stones and kohl. Shae had little familiarity of cosmetics as well. Anne would occasionally ‘doll’ her up with them for fun, but Shae hadn’t learned anything. So, together they would practice on each other—applying makeup and complimenting each other on how they looked.
Kestrel seemed to have a knack for how to properly accentuate her beauty. As if sh
e needed any more. She helped Shae use foundation to cover up her freckles and blush to add color to her cheeks.
Now that her hair had grown back some, they had been using some nutrients to brighten up the red in it and to make it fuller and less stringy.
For what seemed to be the first time in her life, she felt healthy. It was true since the first time she had changed, she had been stronger and had felt more alive, but she had been kept in captivity for so long. Abused and treated like a lab rat. They had fed her, but the portions she had received were small and bland.
Since she had fled with Kestrel, however, she had been eating properly — full meals, morning, noon and night. She had gained weight, not only muscle mass like she had gained after her first shift, but healthy weight. She no longer felt like skin and bones.
All of this, she owed to Kestrel. Her generosity with Shae had warmed Shae’s heart. For a long time after what happened between Anne, George and her, and perhaps further back, to when her actual mom deserted her, she felt she couldn’t trust someone.
She had been sitting in one of those private VIP booths stadiums had, looking out over the preparations being made for tonight’s rally, lost in thought. Hundreds of chairs had been unfolded and lined up in front of the stage. Along with the seating in the stands, there would be several thousands of people in the stadium tonight when Zach and Kestrel would make their play to fill the ranks of Weres.
Shae had already told Kestrel she didn’t feel comfortable making anyone a Were. Shae hadn’t wanted to say this to Kestrel, hadn’t wanted to make the woman angry. She didn’t want to lose her like she had lost everyone else. Kestrel had dismissed her worry with a wave of the hand.
“That part is not for you, Shae. As I have said, I have something special I will need from you and when the time comes, I know you won’t let me down,” Kestrel had told her.
Shae couldn’t help but wonder what role Kestrel had for her. She would not let Kestrel down. She wouldn’t. It was the least she could do. Kestrel had assured her she wouldn’t have to fight in the war, and she wouldn’t have to make any Weres for the war. Those were the only things Shae felt she couldn’t be a part of, so whatever else Kestrel wanted from her, she felt she could help.
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