Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  Head still throbbing, I walked cautiously toward the stairs, where Roark was giving me a funny look. My mask beeped, numbers floating in front of my nose. Fifty minutes of safe haven from the radiation left.

  Glancing at the wolves’ bodies, I wondered how they survived without masks. Maybe it was something in the water.

  As for us, we’d have to beat it back to the safe confines of Roark’s cruiser when our masks stopped working. Not a problem; the house wasn’t large. But his expression of immense skepticism didn’t suggest that we were heading inside.

  I nodded toward the broken door frame. “Are we going—”

  Roark’s hand snapped against my elbow, causing the shotgun to slip from my fingers. With a swift kick, he sent the weapon flying into what passed for grass next to the house. A moment later, I found myself on my ass, wondering how the hell I’d gotten there.

  “How’d that bastard find her?” The abyss of his pistol loomed where the mask’s countdown had floated seconds before.

  “I don’t know!”

  “But you knew something was inside.” His eyes narrowed, gun steady.

  “I warned you!”

  “Two feet from the fucking door,” Roark said.

  “If you know so much about Realmfarers, then you should understand we can sense things.” I glared at him indignantly. “But not for goddamn miles.”

  The pistol didn’t move. “Are you working for the necromancer?”

  Admittedly, it all looked suspicious. I was the only one who knew we were going to Alice Conway’s. We show up, there’s a welcoming party. Convincing him that I didn’t know a damn thing about the Fallout Zone, or where she lived, was going to be tough with all the growling in the background.

  “You came looking for me, remember?”

  “I heard you asked.” The pistol came closer to my head. “One good reason, Ruby.”

  I wanted to come up with something snappy, but my throat was suddenly very dry. Roark thought I’d somehow led the necromancer’s minions to us. But I hadn’t. And even though I kind of knew that dying would just reboot the cycle, it didn’t feel that way. What if the loop stopped?

  I sure as hell didn’t want to return to the Weald of Centurions. Not that I could, anyway. That realm had collapsed entirely. I gritted my teeth, thinking about what that collapse had cost me. Where would they send me when I died for real? Most creatures just drifted into blackness, not even getting the dubious afterlife offered in the Underworld. After all the trouble I’d caused above ground, my fate would probably be nothing but darkness.

  I gave a sad cough, looking for sympathy. But Roark was having none of it.

  “Three.”

  “I swear I don’t know how he found us.” The growls inside had morphed into muted, curious chatter—like when a dog witnesses something confusing. This certainly qualified. One second we’re charging in, guns blazing. Next thing, the big bad FBI agent is ready to paint the sidewalk with his partner’s brains.

  “Bullshit. Two.”

  I racked my brain for anything usable. “I’m telling you the truth, Roark.”

  “You haven’t really told me anything.” The gun came closer. “One.”

  The pinch. I had felt something like that in my wrist, just before the necromancer had stabbed me in the heart. What had that silver-haired psycho said?

  I will be watching you both. Do not disappoint me.

  Practically screaming, I said, “He’s fucking tracking us.”

  I jabbed at my wrist like a crazy person. Roark’s expression didn’t change. I wondered if this was the kind of countdown where he said zero, just to give me an extra opportunity to come clean.

  “I thought this was a time loop.”

  “Give me your knife,” I said.

  Roark didn’t seem eager to do that, and the gun didn’t move.

  “For fuck’s sake, back up if you need to, just give me the knife.” I tapped the inset of my wrist again. “They’re gonna kill us both if you keep standing there with your hand on your dick.”

  Roark took a step back and reached along his hip. A shimmering blade emerged, buzzing with blue energy.

  “Fancy.” It clattered to the ground, and I jumped on it like a dog after scraps. An electrified hum ran around the point. A small dial at the hilt allowed me to turn that feature off, so I didn’t taser myself.

  The blue glow died.

  Roark glanced toward the broken window, where my wolf had charged through. Without taking his gaze off me, he fired two shots into the woodwork. A pained groan answered, followed by plenty of thrashing and crashing.

  No other enterprising wolves tried to do surveillance after that.

  Lucky me. I got the full benefit of Special Agent Colton Roark’s attention. Not that I agreed with the receptionist at the camp, but all sorts of nice girls would’ve killed for that. But I wasn’t nice, and they’d probably think a lot different if his pistol was in their face. His eyes burned with a frightening intensity, focused on my actions.

  The tip of the knife hovered over my skin. My pounding head was trying to work ahead to what games I could pull, the stories I could tell on the next round when this didn’t pan out. So that he didn’t leave me behind.

  So that Roark trusted me.

  “I’ll do it.” It wasn’t a threat. More an offer of kindness.

  “I got this.”

  With a deep breath, I plunged the blade into my skin. The point tore through the flesh like a surgeon’s scalpel. I pushed deeper, pain roaring through my nerve endings.

  How much further?

  I needn’t have worried.

  Another quarter inch, and I felt a metallic clink.

  Barely believing it myself, I dug my fingers into the small wound and grasped at the foreign object.

  And, in the dim light of the wasteland, I pulled out a tracking chip.

  But as the wisps hovered around it, telling tales that I couldn’t quite determine, I realized it represented a far bigger problem. Dread surged through me as I wiped off my bloody fingers.

  Because anyone capable of tracking us through a time loop was far more powerful I could imagine.

  12

  The house rattled with activity, and I realized the scent of my blood—sweet, exotic and delicious—had sent the remaining wolves into a frenzy. They were desperately trying to resist their baser instincts, but that was a fool’s errand.

  They might as well have willed themselves to stop breathing.

  “Now or never,” I said, holding the glinting chip and knife up toward Roark.

  He wasn’t an idiot. Which was refreshing. Smoothly, he grabbed the knife. He nodded at the shotgun, and then sprinted toward the car, trying to put distance between himself and the house. It would’ve looked like cowardice, had he not been such a dead-eye shot.

  That, and cross angles would allow us to get more coverage on the entrance.

  I slipped the chip into my pocket and stumbled toward the shotgun, knees scraping against the rough concrete. Reaching the lifeline, I saw the first wolf burst outside, but not through the door, or any of the windows. Instead, he charged right through the thin, damaged wall—appearing in a cloud of plaster dust in the grass beside me.

  I pressed the trigger, heard an ominous click, cursed myself for only loading one shell as a test, and then dug into my pockets for the rest.

  The wolf, hair standing on end, loped forward, looking like Scarface with all the white powder clinging to his fur. His claws slashed at my leg, closing the gap before I could get the shell inside. The round clattered away from the chamber into the short grass as I thrashed and landed a kick in the beast’s muzzle.

  A wolf bite was not on today’s agenda. Had happened once before. Never again.

  A gunshot rang out, and the werewolf dropped into a heap, dust billowing up from his body. But the reprieve was short-lived. I managed to load the shotgun with a few shells, only to find a werewolf leaping through the air, bursting from the attic like a suicide ju
mper.

  I raised the shotgun skyward, closed my eyes, and I pulled the trigger. Entrails rained down as the weighty beast landed only inches away. Heat radiated off its fur, rage and bloodlust still simmering even in death.

  Pushing myself up, I heard the pistol bark twice. My gaze swung across the sidewalk, toward three wolves closing in on the car like a pincer. One of them was the alpha, bigger and brawnier than the rest. Another pistol shot blasted a mangy gray wolf’s heart into mulch before I heard that awful sound again.

  Click.

  But not from my gun.

  I pumped the shotgun and fired from the hip, blowing one of the wolves’ legs clean off. He careened off the car, slamming against the passenger door with a sturdy thud.

  But it was the sound on the driver’s side that made my blood curdle.

  A pained roar, more wild and angry than any wolf’s.

  I rushed toward the car, shotgun ready to fire.

  I needn’t have come prepared.

  The alpha wolf lay on the uneven asphalt, a glowing blue blade sticking from its neck. It shuddered and groaned, vocal cords obliterated by the peerless knife. Beside him, Roark lay down, blue eyes staring at the hazy sky.

  I sprinted over, tumbling to his side. A slight turn of the neck, the eyes focusing on me, told me he was alive.

  But the blood flowing from the bite at the base of his throat told me that he wouldn’t be for long.

  Voice rough from the wound, he said, “Don’t look so upset.” He shuddered, trying to breathe. “It’ll all repeat, over and over.”

  “So now you believe me.”

  “You’re…convincing.”

  He blinked slowly. I envied his stoicism in death. Once upon a time, I’d been known for my calm and cool. But everything I’d ever done had been out of a will to survive. No better than a gutter rat, if you stripped away the legends and justifications.

  It was strange, seeing my own truth reflected back to me in his eyes.

  “There’s gotta be a pen, an—I don’t know, fuck, something in the trunk.” I made a motion to get up.

  His hand brushed mine, and he said, “No time. Just listen.”

  “I can fix this.”

  “My brother…” Roark’s body convulsed, his head banging against the ground. His skin seemed to get paler. “He died.”

  “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

  A faint smile traced his lips. “You’re not listening.”

  “You’re not dying.” When I blinked, the others flashed through my mind. Pearl. The bullet entering her mussed black hair, coming out the other end, barely any blood at all. Galleron. I could only imagine that, not even being in the Weald to see that daystrider slitting his throat.

  After an eternity, Roark said, “He was one of the first in supernatural ops.” Long, rattling breath. The light dimmed slightly in his luminescent blue eyes. “One of the best.”

  “What happened?” I could see the weight lifting from his shoulders, even as he struggled to breathe.

  “Standard mission. Cleanup, no containment. Feral vamps ruining a farmer’s land. Fall, before harvest time.” He laughed, lips creasing in pain. Dark blood oozed from the bite. “When people still lived outside the cities.”

  Maybe the supernatural wasn’t losing as badly as I thought.

  “But when they got there, it was a false alarm.”

  “Trap?”

  “The vamps were dead. Rotting. But their bodies were warm, like they’d been—”

  “The necromancer.”

  “He killed them all. Entire unit.” Roark’s weak fingers reached for his pocket. I slid my fingers inside and put the photo in his hand. “And then…”

  His breath grew almost silent. My heart beat, worrying that I would lose the thread of the story.

  But then he said, “I got this in the mail a week later with the knife. Sam carried it on every mission. Said the picture was his good…good…”

  “Good luck charm.” I took the photograph and flipped to the yellowing back. There was a brief message, written in perfect cursive.

  I’ll be watching you, Colton. Don’t disappoint me.

  I glanced down, seeing Roark’s eyes were shut. “Roark?”

  “Still here.” He smiled, like it was all a cosmic joke. “I signed up that day. Same day. Recruiter was…pissed because I came after hours and woke him up.”

  The origin of Lightning Blade.

  The smile stayed, and he didn’t say anything for a long time. His body was still enough that I thought he’d died. Lost in an unpleasant memory he couldn’t shake—living it over and over.

  “It’s been a long six years,” Roark said, his eyes suddenly bursting open. I understood.

  Today wasn’t the only time loop.

  “We’ll figure it out.” That was hard to believe, with the blood and ethereal smog drifting through the street like a plague. This was not a place where hope survived.

  Roark didn’t answer.

  I shook his arm and he said, “Tell me something about you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re the only one who knows me.” His breath was faint, and with a little effort, he said, “Come on.”

  “Do I?”

  His eyes flashed open, the only response he could now offer. What could I possibly tell him that he didn’t know?

  That was worth telling?

  I said, “I wasn’t always like this.”

  Colton Roark mouthed the words I know, no longer able to speak.

  Then his body went slack, and he died in the middle of the radioactive wasteland.

  13

  I thought fast, pushing down the unpleasant feeling in my throat.

  Don’t call it a lump. I carry a gun.

  At least when I’m not in jail.

  Rooting around in my pocket, I finally found the necromancer’s transceiver. It glinted with a hidden menace, darkness swirling around the circuit board. Someone had paid more than money to create an object that could survive a time loop’s reset.

  Instead of crushing the chip, I tucked it back inside the small gash in my wrist. The instant I shut this off, the necromancer would know that I’d become aware of the loop. Until then, he’d leave me alone and tend to his other plans.

  That might not be true. I shuddered, remembering why he’d set the trap for Roark: entertainment. But I had to believe that he had motives beyond creating his own sadistic, never-ending kill day.

  I looked down at Roark’s still body, suddenly feeling bad for ribbing him about the shirt. Pale and frozen in death, he seemed like a little kid, endlessly chasing after his brother’s ghost. Only to die twenty-four times in the process. It was a small mercy he couldn’t remember.

  My heart skipped a beat, feeling the phantom thrust of the necromancer’s curved blade. I grabbed Roark’s phone, the see-through digital display indicating that it was 3:26 AM. Fumbling with the breather, I managed to activate the countdown timer.

  Thirty-three minutes. I didn’t know what kind of eyes the necromancer had on this place, but I also didn’t want to leave. Alice Conway, whoever she was, must’ve piqued the silver-haired creep’s interest somehow.

  And I needed to know why.

  No use putting a good day to waste twiddling my thumbs. As far as I knew, it could be my last one alive.

  I took Roark’s belongings—phone, money, pistol, knife—and made my way up the creaky steps. Avoiding the slick, dark blood, I peered inside. A thin whining drifted through the ruined door frame.

  Checking the shotgun to make sure it was loaded, I listened for a moment. No movement, as far as I could tell. I stepped inside, walking slowly through the derelict house. The vinyl flooring was peeling at the corners, the rest of it stained deep yellow. Neon graffiti that glowed in the dark greeted me as I swung toward the first bedroom.

  A man sat panting in the middle of the floor, back hunched over. He snarled as I walked inside, the sound mostly human. His torso was peppered with wooden splint
ers. Diamond flakes ran along a deep gunshot graze.

  The wound healed slowly due to the silver, but it shouldn’t have been enough to incapacitate him. I looked down, finding a bloody patch on his thigh.

  Hell of a shot from Roark, not even being able to see the bastard.

  “You work for the necromancer?” I asked, scanning the room for other enemies. It looked like a teenager’s bedroom—band posters, a thin computer monitor in the corner flashing with numbers and research. Dirty clothes on the floor.

  “I’m not talkin’ to you, bitch.”

  I racked the slide, the sound cutting through the lonely night. He shivered, spine tensing.

  “Let’s try this again.”

  “Man, he just gives us some coordinates and a little cash. Tells us to fuck shit up.” His head whipped up, too quick to be human. “And we’re happy to oblige.”

  I pulled the trigger, blowing his head clean off. “I bet.”

  Stepping over the mess to reach the other side of the room, I found a blood pool coming from beneath the lopsided bed. Dropping to one knee, I saw a ghostly set of vacant eyes peering back at me.

  Roark’s phone chimed and I about shit my pants.

  “Alice Conway. Nineteen years old. Half-vampire. Booked by Special Agent Colton Roark for hacking and unauthorized access of government files. Currently a confidential informant.”

  “Not confidential enough,” I said, pulling the thin glass out to glance at the profile. Definitely the same girl, although she looked a lot better alive than dead. Wolves wouldn’t be mistaken for elegant killers.

  “Access restricted. Unidentified user voiceprint detected.”

  I pressed a thin button at the device’s edge, and the light flickered out. Should’ve kept my mouth shut. In any event, without knowing what trail to follow—or what Alice might have been researching about time loops—all of Roark’s files were completely useless.

  I rose from the floor and headed to the computer and its glowing numbers. A hacking algorithm was paused, interrupted by the werewolves’ attack. The blood droplets dripping from the thin display told that part of the story.