Unless he couldn’t shoot me.
“Wait.” His gun cocked.
“What is it?”
“Won’t the Rift turn on me if you leave?” Murphy sounded suspicious.
“You’re paranoid,” I said. “There’s a grace period.”
True.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, that’s nothing new.” I edged away from him, still gripping the door handle. Then, in a smooth motion, I slipped through the open crack into the Fae Plains. I released the door, rolling away from the Realm Rift.
“Hey! Goddamnit!” Murphy fired, but the wards rebuffed the shots. The door almost slammed shut, but Murphy caught it before it closed completely. I was already running down the flat mountain, chasing after Harcourt while trying to get the pistol out of my waistband.
Even in his tattered suit, the Fae moved quickly, his earlier wounds seemingly forgotten with the chance of escape on the table. He darted over the uneven terrain, chewing up yards like a mountain goat bounding away from danger. By the time I managed to draw the pistol, he already had a hundred yards on me.
A shot exploded at the rocks near my feet, causing me to spin around. Murphy was halfway out the Realm Rift’s wooden door, looking pissed in the gray sunlight.
“You lied to me,” he said. “And now, you’re—”
His eyes bulged when he saw my pistol. I fired two quick shots, hitting him square in the head. Guess Pearl’s training had paid off.
With a glance back at Harcourt, I fired a bullet at the fleeing Fae. But he was already down the mountain’s slope, heading for the distant hills. I watched him turn and wave, then disappear into the gray landscape.
I wanted to go after him. Needed to see the life go out of his eyes. Galleron’s prophetic words, uttered all those years ago in the Weald, whispered in my ear.
You’re a hunter, Rebecca Callaway.
A killer.
But Kennett was about to die in that elevator. If I hunted Harcourt down, that meant a good man would walk off this mortal coil.
I didn’t like that trade.
Hurrying back to the entrance to the Realm Rift, I checked Murphy’s suit jacket, finding two spare magazines. Then I sprinted through the Realm Rift in record time. Bursting up the ladder to the vault, I briefly wondered whether a stealthy approach would be wiser than the tack I was about to take.
I crashed through the wooden door, flinging it open with gusto. Murphy’s lead guy still stood guard over the ladder. I shot him before he could even register what was going on. I pushed out of the hole, unloading rounds into the steel casino vault. Some hit flesh with dull thuds, other clanged and sparked off the metal.
By the end, the six guys were dead, and everything was quiet, save for the ringing in my ears.
Adrenaline overrode my fatigue and the deep bruises crisscrossing my chest as I reached the elevator. Kennett was bone white and still as a log. His suit was soaked through with blood. But his pulse was weakly steady. I jammed the button for the elevator, then returned to check his wounds.
Two shots in the thigh. I ripped off my shirt and tied it around his leg to staunch the blood flow.
His eyes fluttered open from the pain and said, “Oh, that was a good dream.”
“In your dream, can you walk?”
“Depends on where it ends.” His lean jaw was set in a pained smile.
“We’ll cross that bridge when it comes,” I said, helping him to his feet. I basically had to carry three-quarters of his weight, but that was better than all of it. We staggered off the elevator and up the stairs, taking them slow. A little Hansel and Gretel trail of blood drops marked where we’d entered.
The Golden Tiger remained abandoned when we managed to climb out of its concrete heart.
“Hell of a day, Ruby,” Kennett said, his voice soft, head resting against my shoulder.
“That’s one way to describe it.”
“You’re more impressive than they say.”
“Than who says?” I asked.
“…everyone.”
I would’ve asked for clarification, but the weight digging into my shoulder told me he’d already fallen asleep.
25
I gave the apothecary a wad of bills and closed the door to the motel room. Wincing as I looked at the deep bruises—two above my heart, where the vest had stopped the slugs, and a nice sash running from my hip to shoulder from the seatbelt—I heard a stirring within the room.
“That’s a good color on you,” Kennett said, his voice unsteady. “But any color’s a good one on you.”
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, not bothering to cover my bare chest. I touched one of the bruises and sucked my breath in through my teeth.
“I could do without it,” I said, finally glancing away. The motel room was nothing to write home about: two double beds with frayed, faded floral print comforters, brown carpeting at least fifteen years out of date, and a television with bent rabbit ears.
At least it was clean, and the cops weren’t after us. Yeah, they were looking for the masked perpetrators who had helped a murder suspect escape custody. That one stung. Harcourt waving in the hills of the Fae Plains, off to cause more chaos.
But, in the real world, sometimes things were messy. The bad guys didn’t always get punished. Sometimes they only got their noses broken.
At least I’d plugged Murphy between the eyes.
“You’re wondering if you can trust me,” Kennett said.
“I didn’t let you die, did I?” But the words sounded hollow even to me. So I just came out with the question. “Why were you ever in the Fae Plains?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have nowhere to be,” I said, sitting down on the opposite bed.
He gave me a funny look at my disregard for modesty, then shrugged and sat up. A little color had returned to his wan cheeks, which I took as a good sign. Unless I didn’t like what he had to say next. Then his health could quickly take a turn for the worse.
“I’m not a Fae.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” I said. “Good talk.”
Kennett gave me an unamused frown. “But I used to work for the Fae Prince.”
“And he didn’t like the job you did?”
“My job was to catch people who posed threats to his crown. Someone who can read minds is useful for things like that.”
“So how’d you fuck up?”
“Harcourt came along. I thought he was safe, so I allowed him into the court. Turns out, he jammed a pen knife right in the Prince’s neck.” Kennett shrugged, which produced a big grimace. “But he survived. Afterward…”
“You got the same punishment as the guy who tried to kill the Prince.”
“The Fae don’t believe in capital punishment.”
“How progressive,” I said. “So you’re telling me that—”
“If—when—they catch him again, they’ll probably throw him in a dungeon. But they won’t kill him. In fact, if word gets out that the Prince held a grudge, tried to execute Harcourt, there could be a real problem.”
I managed to suppress a groan—but it took significant effort. If I’d been hoping fate, or the universe, or whatever, would be giving me an assist on this one, I was sorely mistaken. On the one hand, at least I’d managed to extradite Harcourt back to the people who should’ve dealt with him properly in the first place.
On the other hand, they wouldn’t deal with him properly this time around, either. At least Fae only lived to about fifty. But Harcourt couldn’t have been older than twenty—a real precocious little troublemaker—which meant three more decades of anarchy, at least, before he kicked the bucket.
“How’d you get caught up with Murphy and Benedict?” I asked. “Was it after you were banished to Earth?”
Kennett nodded. “One thing leads to another, you know.”
“I don’t know, no.”
“Word gets out. You slip up a few times, know things you shouldn’t. T
hen the right guy comes, offering a little help on one of your cases, and you think, yeah, I’ll do it. Pretty soon you owe him a favor, and you’re wrapped around his finger.”
“So you’re a dirty cop.”
“Wasn’t like that,” Kennett said, rubbing the stubble on his lean jaw. “Sometimes you turn down the wrong alley trying to do the right thing.”
I leaned against the bedpost and reflected on how one that could happen. Had I turned down a wrong alley somewhere in my own life? Had I done that by choosing to save Kennett instead of pursuing Harcourt across the gray Fae Plains?
“I’m thankful for that, you know,” Kennett said, agreeing with my thoughts. I glared at him and he turned red. “Sorry. It’s difficult not to listen.”
“That’s what someone who gets caught at a peephole says.”
“It’s not like that.”
I got up. “I’m taking a shower. Your ass had better be gone when I’m done.”
Kennett nodded without protest, although he looked hurt.
A little harsh, sure. He hadn’t done anything wrong or failed any worse than me. I’d never been one for partners, though. And something about seeing him there in the bed reminded me that, even if Harcourt hadn’t won, he hadn’t lost, either.
No mark had ever gotten away. Not one.
And that failure left a foul taste in my mouth.
I took my shower, letting the hot water stream over me. One last thing bothered me: why would Harcourt want to return to the Fae Plains so badly? Was it because Earth had proven too boring for his chaotic tendencies? It was hard to imagine him having some sort of master plan that necessitated a trip home. He rolled where the tide took him.
I pressed against my chest too hard and yelped, the bruise reminding me of the day’s toll. Dust and soot from the tunnels streamed over my bare skin, muddying the water at my feet.
I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, still not finding any answers. When I exited, I took the rough, threadbare towel and ran it over my body, listening for signs of Kennett. I heard none on the other side of the thin door.
Slipping out, I found the room empty. But my heart leapt at the sight on the bed.
My shotgun. Still intact, glowing slightly from the mid-afternoon light creeping through the tattered curtains.
A three-sentence note, written on a page torn out of the phone book, read: I’m all out of favors with the Mayor now. But I figured it was worth it since you saved my ass. P.S. Harcourt wanted to go back to see his dying mother.
I wondered, for a moment, how he knew.
“Telepaths,” I said, with a small smirk. Who knew, somewhere beneath that psychopathic veneer, that Harcourt had a soul? Not quite how I’d have gone about it. A simple retainer for my services would have sufficed.
But that wouldn’t have moved the needle on the barometer of chaos.
I ran my fingers over the shotgun, feeling the familiar inscription on the stock.
Sometimes the light had shadows.
But it was better than all the other Realms.
Grimacing from the effort, suddenly aware that every step brought on a new ache and pain, I dialed Pearl’s cell phone number. She let it ring until it was about to go to voicemail.
“Well, certainly not your best work, Ruby.”
“Best I could do, given the variables.”
“This is going to hurt business,” Pearl said.
“I could use the time off, anyway,” I said, my ribs protesting as I took a deep breath.
“I didn’t spend all that time training you to relax on a beach somewhere.”
“Goddamnit, Pearl,” I said, voice straining and raspy, “get the fucking car here. Now.”
After a pause, Pearl said, “That’s what I like to hear.”
“Me pissed off?”
“That you’re still fighting. Even when the world takes a shit on your front lawn.”
I set the receiver down and waited. Ten minutes later, I heard two honks in the parking lot.
Taking one last glance at the motel room, I slung the shotgun over my shoulder.
Then I left, on to visit the next slice of chaos in an uncertain world.
Epilogue
Hair gel clung to Waylon’s pale forehead, frozen in place. His teeth chattered as he strained weakly against his bonds.
“Where’s Harcourt?” I asked, tapping the shotgun against my palm.
“I’m just the gatekeeper, baby,” he said, the shattered sunglasses hanging off his nose. It’d taken a couple weeks, but I’d tracked him down in a Los Angeles dive bar. Paid a hooker to get him real drunk, then hit him with liquid nitrogen in the back alley.
Turns out, a Shade can be made solid through freezing. All it took to find out was a little research.
The hazy light of the storage locker flickered overhead. Condensation dripped from his shoes. Fear reigned in his eyes, replacing the invulnerable cockiness he’d broadcast in Le Petit Bleu. Death had that effect on people, though.
“That’s a real shame,” I said.
“He’s not coming back, baby. Not unless they toss him out again.”
“I’ll be ready when they do,” I said.
“You could go find him.”
“That shithole can keep him.” I circled around the half-frozen Shade like an apex predator. He shivered. I ransacked his pockets, finding a bunch of gold coins and a money order made out to cash. The signature read Harcourt Leblanc. “Kindred spirit my ass.”
“Kindred spirits in business, baby.”
“He just bought and sold you,” I said, waving the paper in Waylon’s face. It had a big number printed on it. “You got played.”
“Everything would’ve been fine until you showed up.”
“That woman was outta your league, Waylon. You should’ve known she was a pro.”
“You bitch, I’ll—”
I racked the shotgun and fired, turning him into bloody shards of ice. Pieces of Waylon crunched beneath my ankle boots as I headed toward the door.
The coins rattled in my pocket, and a thought dawned on me.
Not quite catching Harcourt, but it was about all the closure I was going to get.
“You are a dumb girl sometimes, Ruby,” Pearl said, glaring at me from the passenger seat. She ran her hand through her tousled black hair and swore beneath her breath. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
I ran my thumb through the stack of cash, counting it again. A hundred grand—the amount from Waylon’s money order. That would’ve about covered what Abe Murphy had owed me. But I had different plans.
“Just get ready to burn outta here if anyone recognizes me,” I said.
“Two centuries in the shadows, Ruby, and you’re going to risk it for—”
I shut the door and put on the ballcap, tucking my ponytailed hair through the back. The tourist novelty glasses completed the picture. Striding through the doors—which hadn’t been repaired so much as bolted back together with glue and plastic shards—I scanned the Golden Tiger’s floor.
The customer service desk. I made a beeline past the craps tables, keeping my head low.
As I approached the window, the raspy-voiced woman said, “Can I help you?”
I put the stack of crisp bills on the counter. The woman barely raised an eyebrow. “I have a favor to ask.”
“I can give you whatever kind of chips you want. Hundreds, fifties, tens—”
“No, I’m delivering this for someone.”
The woman stopped looking at her long nails and focused on me. “What?”
“This is for Ravinsky. The security guard.”
“The fat guy?”
“Yeah, him,” I said with a small smile. “Tell him to buy his kid a bike. And pay off the mortgage.”
I turned to walk away. She said, “Who the hell are you?”
“An old friend, I guess.” I paused and reached into my jeans. The gold coins were burning a hole in my pocket. I faced the window and held up the gold. “If you
call him right now, these are yours.”
Didn’t have to ask her twice. The lady reached for the loudspeaker, and said, “Ravinsky, you’re wanted at the customer service desk.”
I started to walk away.
“Hey, aren’t you gonna wait around for the guy?”
But I was already hurrying past the craps tables, headed toward the door. Always ready for the next contract, the next mission.
Ready to maintain supernatural order in a world that lived on the edge of chaos.
THE END
End Notes
Either you made it to the end, or you’re skipping ahead. In any event, since I have your attention, here are a few brief notes…
If you enjoyed this collection, please leave a review at your bookseller of choice. Reviews from readers like you help spread the word about the books.
If you want the latest news on my upcoming novels, and an exclusive novella, sign up for my free author newsletter at dnerikson.com/storm.
And if you want more Kalos and Argos, check out the Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy, which is set in the same world. Ruby makes an appearance, too. Get the complete trilogy at dnerikson.com/demon.
That’s all. Thanks for reading! - D.N.
The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy: An Excerpt
Want more Kalos and Argos?
Want to find out what Kalos was like as a half-demon?
Then be sure to check out The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy!
The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy takes place 20 years before The Ruby Callaway Trilogy, in the same world. Ruby makes an appearance, as do other characters from her world.
Buy the complete trilogy at dnerikson.com/demon.
Or, keep reading for an excerpt from the first novel, Demon Rogue.
1
Demon Rogue: An Excerpt
“Excuse me,” a meek feminine voice called from across the parking lot, “do you know where I can find, you know…?”
Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection Page 81
