Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  A wintery gust blew through a crack in the cellar door, bringing the scent of burning, magical fire along with it.

  “You have three more limbs, last I counted.”

  The wolf coughed and said, “The money is a…smokescreen.” He smiled, fangs glimmering in the dim torchlight at his cleverness.

  “Tell me something I didn’t know.”

  “Where could I begin?”

  Unamused, I relieved him of his other foot in a burst of sizzling blue. I winced at the ensuing racket, mildly regretting the aggression. Not because of guilt, but because my ears rang.

  Finally, unprovoked and panting hard, he said, “Robert…the boss…he just wants the fucking photograph back! The one they took…”

  His voice devolved into a burble of imperceptible moans.

  The file. As I suspected, it was the real reason the FBI wolfpack was parked outside the door. The money had been a red herring.

  Leveling the gun at the wolf’s head, I said, “It all ends if you tell me what’s in the file.”

  “Robert…transforming. The vampire forced us into business with him.”

  “Blackmail.”

  “It doesn’t work for long,” the agent said, struggling to lean against the bars. “Because you don’t ever mess with the government and get away with it.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said with a small smirk.

  Then I pulled the trigger, turning the agent’s head into ash.

  9

  One interrogation had concluded, but another was about to begin.

  That was, if I could find Maximo. Son of a bitch had played coy about the file. Wasted precious time because he didn’t want to swallow his titan pride and hand over the money with it. Which would’ve been fine, really, had my wagon not been hitched to his suicide jet.

  Winding my way through the gleaming stills, I saw no sign of my “partner.” Whether he was hiding or attending to other business was a matter of debate. The simpleton had proven himself more clever than I’d first thought. Always a tactical error to underestimate your opponent—or makeshift allies.

  Following a sweep of the large first floor area without discovering a trace of my purported partner, I returned to the row of windows. Evelyn peeked out of the last one, staring at the collection of black sedans.

  I knelt next to her, one knee on the hand-cut wooden floorboards. She shivered from the cool night air snaking its way through the warded, barred windows.

  “Hoping he’ll come and save you?” I asked.

  The young woman gave me a bitter look. “You can’t put the fire out, can you?”

  “Daddy wants to burn this place down to save his career.” I tapped the shotgun against the windowsill. “You ever see him…lose control?”

  “He’s a wolf.” Evelyn bit one of her nails. “They all have a bit of a temper.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “We’re not like you, Ruby.”

  “No one’s like me,” I said.

  “You’re lucky.”

  “Now that’s one I haven’t heard before,” I said with a joyless smile. I stopped tapping the shotgun and looked into her eyes. Wolves always had issues with control. Even the civilized ones. It wasn’t just at full moon, either. Genetic luck of the draw, really, whether one could hold it together consistently enough to pass as human.

  That dictated which ones saw adulthood and which ones mysteriously disappeared. Either taken care of by the locals, or by an entity like the Crimson Conclave. The supernatural powers that were had little interest in being exposed to mortal eyes.

  I’d heard stories of the Spanish Inquisition and Salem. Mortals tended to get a little hysterical.

  Avoiding such situations sometimes required a burlap bag, heavy rocks and a freezing river.

  Evelyn ran a dirty hand through her matted hair. “Daddy usually hid it well. But sometimes, the shifts would come on, the moon would call and…”

  “And he’d be at risk of exposure.”

  “No one ever caught him.”

  “Ballsy, becoming Regional Director.”

  “What’s that they say about ambition, Ruby?”

  “One misstep away from stupidity.” I rose, glancing out the window. No sign of the FBI wolfpack, but I sensed their presence. They had the wherewithal to keep out of sight from me and my gun, though. “All right, fuck this.”

  Evelyn cocked her head, registering the change in tone. “Ruby?”

  Ah, to be young and thrown into the fire. This time a little too literal for my taste, but it brought back semi-fond memories. Tonight’s festivities would involve wolf hunting.

  Hopefully, unlike my initial experience, Evelyn’s wouldn’t end with her bleeding out.

  “You’re scaring me, Ruby,” Evelyn said, desperate for a response.

  “It’s time to pay a visit to the titan’s office,” I said looking out into the moon-bathed Kentucky hills. “And find ourselves a bargaining chip.”

  10

  I crept up the solid oak stairs, but stealth wasn’t necessary. Each step had been carved from a single log, which meant they didn’t move or creak. The second floor was nothing more than an office area, perhaps twenty feet square, and a wide landing. A darkened window overlooked the stills.

  Reaching the top, I loaded a shell into the gun. I couldn’t hear Max, but it stood to reason this was where he’d gone. It wasn’t like he could go outside.

  A muted howl snaked up from the cellar. The fire must have reached the live ingredient stores. That didn’t give me much time to strike a deal with Robert. If all he wanted was a stupid picture, he could have it.

  Hell, he could have the cash, too. Even if that had been just a ruse, it could be enough to buy safe passage. Throw his daughter into the deal, and Ruby Callaway would live to hunt another day.

  Maximo—well, he could piss off. Blackmail the Feds, partner with assholes like Shiv, and you deserved the inevitable fate that came knocking.

  I slipped past a crate at the top of the landing. Shiv’s “missing” wolfblood clear. The wisps trailed away from the office door to swarm the wooden box.

  “What is it?” Evelyn’s voice was a hissy whisper that sounded like an announcement bell.

  I held a finger to my lips, turning with a glare. No sound came from the darkened office, which was odd. Maximo couldn’t breathe without shaking the nearby surroundings, far as I could tell.

  But if he wasn’t inside, then where had he gone?

  The screams from below intensified, foreshadowing the fate that awaited us all if I continued ruminating.

  “Check the office door,” I said.

  “Why me?”

  “Because I’m the one with the gun, which means I make the rules.”

  Evelyn tossed her disheveled hair in that way only a spoiled child could, and marched toward the office. I stayed on the wide landing, trying to read the multi-colored wisps fluttering near the crate. But this situation was one where the future was uncertain, destiny knowing no more than your average human.

  While that meant my Realmfaring powers were relatively useless, it also gave me a glimmer of hope. Our demise was not assured. Although, realist that I was, it seemed more likely that the method was simply unassured.

  We could be burned alive.

  Crushed by falling timbers.

  Torn apart by wolves.

  Cut down in a hail of rifle fire.

  I told my overactive imagination to be quiet and slipped the lid off the wooden crate. I would’ve been concerned about the heavy creak of the wood, but Evelyn’s sharp, girlish scream provided all the cover I needed.

  Hell, I didn’t even need to turn around.

  Because now I knew what Maximo was up to. He’d gone rogue and formed his own plan.

  The crate was full. Except for two indentations in the matted straw where Mason jars were conspicuously missing. One had been thieved by the motel manager.

  And the other had been drank by our resident half-titan.
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br />   Turning around, finger already on the trigger, I didn’t stand a chance.

  11

  Eyes the color of molten iron stared out from the darkness.

  If nothing else, Evelyn had a keen survival instinct. She dove out of the way, leaving me to battle a creature capable of uprooting trees with his bare hands.

  And that was before the performance enhancers.

  Maximo hurled the empty jar of clear at my head. I ducked, the wall shaking from the impact. There would be no reprieve, however, as he was on me before I could aim. Adjusting my body at the last minute, the brunt of his muscular seven-foot form glanced off my shoulder.

  It still felt like colliding head-on with a boulder.

  I pirouetted off the wall, narrowly missing the open crate of wolfblood clear as I slammed to the ground. The shotgun skittered out of my grasp on the dim landing.

  “We don’t have time for this…shit,” I said, gritting out the final word as I tried to catch my breath. But I might as well have tried to bargain with a Bengal tiger. Maximo’s eyes were possessed by the clear, whatever minimal thoughts he usually possessed overtaken by the drink’s intoxicating effects.

  A thick fist hooked toward my head. I shrunk my shoulders, dipping out of the way. The entire structure shook when his broad fist collided with the wall. Rolling away, I saw Maximo grunt as he withdrew his arm from the ruined wood. A frozen breeze swept through the hole.

  His hand was bloodied and studded in splinters that size of small knives. He just shook out his wrist, as if he’d scraped it on the ground.

  “Get in the office!”

  Evelyn scrambled behind me, eager to comply with my instructions. Maximo huffed and flexed, ready to end me. I looked for the shotgun, but my heart dropped when I spotted it behind his feet.

  That made for a whole lot of titan between me and permanent safety.

  Retreat being the better part of valor, I stumbled backward and raced toward the office. A drunken Maximo realized my plans to escape too late. His footsteps rocked the landing as I slammed the thick door shut and flung the deadbolt.

  The oak rattled as he pounded against the wall, grunting like a barbarian at the gates.

  Eyes adjusting to the dimness, I turned to find Evelyn hiding behind his desk.

  “You don’t have your gun, Ruby.”

  Still catching my breath, joints aching from the impromptu sparring, I just gave her a nonplussed not now look. Maximo’s office was sparse and unfurnished, other than the desk and a sturdy chair. A single electric lamp without a shade stood in the corner.

  I walked over and flicked a switch, bathing the plain interior in a sickly light. The bulb crackled, running hot. Just another fire hazard in a place chock full of them. Maybe it was a good thing the FBI was eager to wipe this place off the map.

  Even if it wasn’t for the right reasons.

  Maximo’s assault brought me back to the present as one of his arms smashed through a chunk of wall. Evelyn whined and scrambled away, even though fifteen feet already separated her and the arm.

  Blood trickled from the half-titan’s knuckles as he tore the limb back through the crevice.

  “Was there anything in the desk?”

  “I didn’t exactly go exploring, R-Ruby.”

  I vaulted over the desk’s smooth top. There were two drawers—flanking either side. There had to be a reason Max had tested his own brew. He didn’t strike me as an addict or the type of proprietor who got high on his own supply.

  But none of that helped me. A wolf’s bloodlust ran through his capable veins, and that was very bad for the two of us.

  I wrenched the first drawer out and tossed it by Evelyn. The heavy wood smacked against the floor with a thud, causing her to jump.

  She glared as I said, “Find something useful.”

  Another redecoration attempt by Max drove the point home, and she concentrated a hundred percent of her powers on the drawer’s contents. As for me, I did the same with the remaining one, emptying it on the empty desk.

  I found the picture of Robert immediately. Maximo wasn’t big on security. Guess when your arms were the size of a normal person’s head, a safe was a superfluous luxury. No one would be stupid enough to steal from someone like that.

  Maybe that was why the Regional Director was fighting him with fire, instead.

  The creature in the picture was pretty clearly the Director Robert Ford, given that his black suit and dress shirt hung in tatters around his furry body. That, and his sedan was pictured in the background, the license plate featured in sharp, black-and-white relief.

  As blackmail articles went, this was Grade A material. Well done, Shiv. The vampire had been responsible for this, after all—if the agent downstairs had told me the truth.

  Then again, dead men didn’t tend to tell lies.

  I slipped the photograph into the back of my pants and went to work on the rest of the stack. A ledger, displaying debits and credits. Any good criminal needed a solid accounting of their ill-gotten gains. A couple old newspapers, detailing Director Ford’s dizzying ascent through the FBI’s ranks.

  I checked the dates. Five years ago, then four. Then two. Superlatives jumped out from the newsprint, declaring him one of Hoover’s most trusted agents.

  “When did you move to Lexington?”

  “We moved all around,” Evelyn said, her voice carrying the distracted tone of someone deep in thought. “Never in one place for long.”

  “That’s the cost of Daddy being a rising star.”

  “I guess so.”

  At least I knew why Ford was so desperate for the photograph. Judging from all this, he had a hell of a lot to lose if the truth came out.

  I pushed the papers aside, getting to the final piece in the stack. This note was typewritten, its edges slightly curled. There was nothing remarkable about it at first glance, other than the FBI letterhead and the appearance of Shiv’s name in bold letters right in the center.

  “Shayne ‘Shiv’ Krusky’s employment is hereby renewed by the US Government under the terms of this Confidential Informant’s contract. Over the past five years, he has provided substantial evidence regarding the presence of previously unidentified and unseen forces. He is to continue furnishing details on the paranormal and other occurrences within the supernatural community to the experimental Lexington Supernatural Field Office, making detailed reports to newly appointed Regional Field Director Robert Ford. Understanding these creatures is a critical weapon in our fight against the Soviets and the scourge of communism. Proper understanding of their powers could win this coldest of wars—for either side.”

  The letter was signed by the big boss man Hoover himself. And when I licked my finger, the signature smudged.

  Figured that bastard would be interested. The FBI had its fingers in too many fucking pies and were beginning to suspiciously resemble the very gestapos and socialist regimes everyone in America feared. Why should the supernatural be exempt from their stifling oversight?

  But politics weren’t really my concern. I was a wanderer. Always had been. A Realmfarer’s nature. Worst came to worst, all those jokers who claimed they’d move to Canada? Yeah, I could do that.

  I looked up from the contract, watching Maximo withdraw his bloodied hand again. The hole was big enough for me to crawl through. Another couple blows, and it’d be half-titan sized. That would be good for neither me nor Evelyn.

  Still the bombshell in the contract stole most of my attention. There was an experimental FBI task force poking around the supernatural. And Robert Ford, ballsy, ambitious son of a bitch that he was, was heading it up—as a werewolf, no less.

  The threads were easy to follow from there. He’d caught a low-life vampire crook in Shiv. Then, using a combination of Shiv and his own tips, ol’ Robert had ridden that intel all the way up the alphabet boys’ government hierarchy.

  Shiv must’ve gotten sick of the low government pay, though, and Robert getting all the glory. So he’d snapped a photo
, found a willing partner in Maximo, and started up a distillery. With a guarantee that the local Feds and law wouldn’t start sniffing around, it was as easy as printing money.

  Of course, greed was a real son of a bitch. And Shiv had soon discovered that a profit-share was hardly satisfactory, especially when you kicked some back to the Feds you blackmailed.

  Enter me: get rid of the partner and double Shiv’s revenue in one fell swoop.

  Although he’d conveniently left out the pertinent details that would’ve made me tell him to go fuck himself.

  If I’d wanted a simple life, though, I’d have been an accountant. Not that I chose who I was.

  Very few of us do.

  “I got it!” Evelyn almost squealed in delight. She bounded up, holding a tattered piece of scrap paper. “It’s the recipe.”

  “Unless we’re going to start our own operation—”

  “Just look.” Evelyn jabbed her finger at the bottom. In that almost illegible hand, there was a word that started with a V. Reading my expression, Evelyn nodded. “Vamp’s blood.”

  The final piece clicked together: why a half-titan and a vamp would partner up in the first place.

  Shiv provided the vamp blood. Maximo caught the wolves.

  And together, they could make a product that didn’t just have a little extra kick.

  It was a whole new breed of clear entirely.

  I swiveled back toward the hole, which suddenly looked wide enough to drive a truck through.

  Maximo’s eyes flashed amber on the landing, floor quaking as he stalked forward.

  “Get the light,” I yelled.

  “What are you going to do?” Evelyn said.

  I smashed the drawer into splinters and picked up the largest one. “Stake the son of a bitch.”

  12

  If I thought the screams down in the cellar had been bad, the thunderous roar that emerged from Maximo’s chest dwarfed them all by an order of magnitude. The splintered wood dropped from my hand as I crumpled to my knees, head swimming.