by Tricia Owens
Afraid of how much worse a ‘mean’ Calia could be, he gave her the short version. “She’s IMT. She’s smart. I don’t know—she’s sort of like you.”
“Excruciatingly talented? Devastatingly deadly? Ravishing? The ultimate alpha?”
He laughed, acting as though he found her ridiculous, as though he didn’t know that Calia was one hundred percent serious.
“She’s my alpha, at least,” he said lightly. “As for the rest, we’ll have to wait and see. Last night was her first shift.”
Calia’s smile shifted into a frown. She was shorter than him and a good fifty pounds lighter, but Elliott didn’t doubt that she could toss him over her shoulder if she wanted to, even while in a skirt and stilettos. The mini-skirt wasn’t hotel-issue, but Mr. Tower allowed her to wear it because of the metal-rich tattoos winding up both legs. She had a tendency to burn through pants, literally.
To his relief, she stopped staring at him to look into the cage he had been tending to. “What’s in there?”
“Squirrels,” he replied. He didn’t bother elaborating that they were flying squirrels. To her they would just be rodents.
She barked out a derisive-sounding laugh. “You play with squirrels. How sickeningly adorable.” Shaking her head, she turned to him again. “Elliott, sweetie, you know that my family is Uroskov, don’t you? Uroskovs are descended from werewolves. We can be vicious when someone, however adorable, attempts to feed us a line of bullshit.”
Though the sun shone brightly through the windowpanes, Elliott was abruptly chilled. “You’re not a werewolf.”
Mr. Tower had made it clear during Elliott’s job interview that the hotel would never add cohabitating non-humans—a.k.a. shifters—to the staff. Tower considered them to be problematic. That assurance had gone a long way toward convincing Elliott to accept the job. He never wanted to come in contact with another cohab again. “You’re not a werewolf and that’s a fact,” he stated, praying that it was true.
“Maybe not,” she allowed. “But I may have…tendencies.” She cracked her gum.
She intimidated him most days, but right now she began to annoy him. He had things to do and he was growing tired of everyone’s near obsessive interest in Arrow. Yes, okay, she was new, but the other employees should have known by now that he wouldn’t spread gossip about his own immediate supervisor. Especially not about Arrow. He liked her. Something about her made him feel safe and he hoped she would become his friend. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her he could use one.
“Word is, she’s one of Tower’s Specials,” Calia went on. Her amethyst eyes pierced him. They both knew what that meant, but she said it anyway. “That means she’s like us.”
Elliott thought of the note Arrow had asked him to read for her. Arrow was most definitely like them.
“You’re the lucky boy who’s in the know,” Calia purred.
“If you have a question, I think you should ask her directly, Calia. Unless—you’re not afraid of her, are you?”
He usually wasn’t very good at being snarky, but this time he was pleased to see that his taunt had worked. Calia puffed as much as she could, her violet eyes shiny with outrage.
“I’m afraid of nothing!” She snapped her fingers in front of his face.
Elliott cringed as a bolt of electricity struck the artificial turf six inches from his right foot. The smell of burnt plastic wafted through the air.
“Mr. Tower will charge you for that,” he warned nervously.
“Let him try,” she shot back. She raised her hand, fingers poised to snap again. “Have you ever tasted fried squirrel meat, Elliott?” As his eyes widened, she grinned. “Care to try it now? Bet it tastes like chicken.”
He could have begged—he nearly did. But a spark of anger burst to life inside him and though it was small, it was something. He yanked open the cage door and at the same time he whistled.
Three squirrels—Ebi, Imo, and Jia—leapt from their branch perches, sailing through the door. Ebi landed on Calia’s head, causing her to shriek. Jia landed on her shoulder and Imo clung to the front of her shirt.
“Get them off!” she screamed. She batted blindly at her head. “Get them off me!”
Elliott whistled again, a different tune, and the two squirrels that had landed on her body scrambled up to her head using her long braid as a rope. Calia didn’t appear to appreciate that much. Elliott couldn’t help grinning at her undignified screeching and flailing. The squirrels on her head rode it like a bucking bull.
“See, Calia? You shouldn’t threaten my—”
The words died in his throat when three bolts of white electricity materialized from the air to strike the squirrels. The precise hits would have been impressive if they weren’t so horrifying. Elliott cried out as his furry friends tumbled off Calia’s head to hit the ground. Seething, Calia kicked their blackened bodies across the turf.
“No,” he choked out.
“Don’t you ever try something like that again!” she hissed, backing Elliott up to the cage. She raised her hand beside his face, middle finger and thumb poised to snap. With her hair mussed from the squirrel attack she looked mad, but the keen intelligence and fury in her eyes told Elliott she was in control, which was worse. “I’ll hurt you,” she whispered. “I’ll enjoy hurting you, pretty boy. I don’t care about the Count. I’ll fry him, too.”
“He has nothing to do with this,” he protested, even though the vampire didn’t require anyone to stand up for him. The Count was a force to be reckoned with on his own.
“Then I’ll burn up your boss.” He was proud of himself for not flinching back as she leaned closer and hissed, “Tell me what her assignment is.”
When he hesitated, wanting to keep his promise to Arrow, Calia visibly increased the pressure on her fingertips. “You won’t be the first,” she warned him.
He understood completely. Calia was a proven killer.
“Tower wants her to hunt down and kill whoever’s been committing the murders around the city,” he said reluctantly. “The ones being blamed on a virus.”
Calia arched an eyebrow. “Has she made contact with him.”
He knew she wasn’t talking about the killer or Tower. “I don’t know. She’s only been here one night, Calia. What are the chances?”
Thankfully, she seemed to agree that it was unlikely.
“You’re cute, Elliott, so I’ll give you a warning to pass on to her: if she thinks she’s going to take my jobs she’s as good as dead. There can be only one top dog around here and it’s me. “
“Top werewolf, you mean,” he joked, and then cringed when her expression turned murderous.
“Don’t push me.” She backed away from him slowly. She took a look at his submissive posture and grinned. “If you play nice with me I’ll be nice. At the heart of me, Elliott, I just want to be loved.”
She laughed as she walked away from him. Elliott crossed his fingers that she would be eaten by a carnivorous plant.
Chapter 10
Wolfgang parked the RV behind a strip mall.
“They’ll find your fingerprints on the dart,” he mused as we sat there and listened to the engine tick, “but they already want you for murder so adding a second death won’t make much of a difference.”
“Great.”
“You’re an enemy of the state now, Arrow. You have to live and think like a soldier. The war which never ended has now recruited you.”
I didn’t appreciate the implication that my parents had died for nothing and my grandmother was destroyed for a war that continued in secret. I hated and resented the Drowning War the way few people could, but I’d at least taken some comfort in the fact that it was over. Now? I wanted to scream my frustration.
“I encountered that shadow creature a couple of days ago,” I told him as I stared out the front windshield at a Dumpster. Although I felt bruised inside and out, I didn’t let it show. “I think it killed the man I’ve been accused of murdering.”
I hadn’t tol
d Wolfgang how the shadow had tried to grab my mind. Part of it was because I was still shaken by the act. Talking about the invasion would feel like reliving it. Another part of me didn’t want to believe that it had happened. It would mean nothing at all had been achieved in the war. The demons hadn’t been defeated.
“That shadow manifestation came for a reason today.” Wolfgang’s round cheeks were flushed from his zeal. He was in his element and relishing it despite the danger. “It either followed us or it was hunting down Snelling.”
“It came in right when he was about to tell us what Bedelia’s ancestry was,” I agreed. “It wanted to shut him up, which means Bedelia’s family is a major clue, if not the reason for everything.”
Wolfgang thumbed his bottom lip. “Whatever that clue is, this shadow doesn’t want to be linked to it, which is why it’s using proxy killers.” He looked at me urgently. “You believe that, don’t you? That Snelling, the homeless guy, and the soccer mom were used as tools to kill the shadow’s enemies? I bet it was a possession. That’s why they don’t remember a thing. Their minds were taken over. That shadow was probably composed of thousands of spybugs controlled from afar that infiltrate their victim’s facial orifices and brainwash them or attack their central nervous system to seize—”
I held up my hand to stop him from going off the deep end. And because I had begun to tremble. “We’ll keep all of that in mind, but let’s focus right now on Bedelia’s family. Once we know what their ancestry is it may explain who wanted her dead and why. The rest should fall into place, then.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “You dig around on your end and I’ll do the same. I’ll find you if I learn something important.”
~~~~~
I ached to go to Dandelion and touch my grandmother’s hand and know that she was safe and still her. Maybe a part of me felt young, too, and in need of a grandmother’s comfort. But what if the shadow had followed me to Ozium and it had followed me to Snelling’s? It could follow me to Dandelion’s, too. If I wanted to visit my grandmother, I’d have to be excruciatingly careful.
Fortunately, it was mid-afternoon, so the sun was out in full force. As I rode my scooter, I made sure to ride in the center lanes when I could, keeping away from shadowy areas on the sidewalks beneath and beside buildings. I rode past Dandelion and then backtracked with the sun behind me so I could keep all the shadows in front of me and monitor them. I rode two loops in front of Dandelion in this manner until finally parking at the home. But even then, I waited, watching any nearby shadows obsessively for signs that they were more than they should be.
After twenty minutes, I felt confident that I hadn’t been followed.
Director Endicott didn’t know that I was coming so he wasn’t there to greet me as usual. That was fine. I simply needed to see my grandmother. When I was led to her room by the usual front receptionist, I kept track of how many people might have access to the room. The door was locked by a code, which was a good start. I needed to learn how many knew or could learn the number.
Inside, my grandmother was alert and watching television. When she gave a soft exclamation of delight upon seeing me, my knees nearly buckled with emotion.
“Grandma,” I murmured as I hurried over. I bent over and cupped her cheeks before kissing her gently on the forehead. “I’m so happy you’re awake.”
“I’m awake when I need to be, dear,” she said with a smile. After I’d pulled a chair next to her bed and sat, she captured my hand with her silky soft fingers. “I had a dream about you.”
“Oh, yeah? Was I receiving an award for being the IMT Specialist of the Year?”
She giggled softly. “You’ll receive that in due time, Arrow. I always knew you’d be the best at whatever you applied yourself to.”
“You’re obligated to say that because you’re my grandmother, but I won’t fight you on it. I know I’d lose.” I smiled as she giggled again. “Tell me about your dream. What was I doing in it? Something amazing, obviously, since this is me we’re talking about.”
Her blue eyes shone brightly as she told me. “You were standing on top of a building. The tallest building I’d ever seen. It reached so far into the sky that you could touch the clouds.”
“So far so good. I like skyscrapers.”
“You weren’t alone. You had friends with you. I’ve never seen them before, Arrow. You should have introduced me to them,” she admonished.
I nodded, acting suitably chastised. “I should have. It’s difficult getting everyone together.”
“They were all so funny,” she said with delight. “When the building began to topple over your friends all leapt like they could fly. But of course, none of them could. Not that well. They all fell into the ice and only you were safe, because you’d turned into an enormous black bird and flown away.”
“Grandma,” I murmured sadly. Her dream was in fact a muddled memory of the final battle of the war, when she and the other freedom fighters had fought the ice demons through downtown Victory City—then named Cathedral City—destroying nearly every building within ten miles. Some of the other fighters had perished that day. My grandmother had survived because one of the other fighters, a Master level Animalia Medium, had summoned the city’s pigeons to rescue her.
“Grandma,” I said carefully. She focused on me with childlike eagerness for what I had to say. “Do you remember what happened after the Closure Committee took you away?”
Her watery gaze remained questioning and curious. No hint of remembrance clouded their depths or sharpened her wrinkled features.
What I knew of the Closure Committee’s actions was filtered through other people: the historians who’d written government-approved text books, well-meaning friends, and people like Wolfgang. The latter had so far been the closest to supplying me with the truth, but did I believe that because I was angry and mistrustful or because his information, once the hyperbole and paranoia was dusted off, was legitimate?
All of those sources had provided a story that varied only a little: that once the demons were destroyed and Dr. Febrero had been defeated the Closure Committee had begun a systematic dismantling of everything associated with the war, from mechanisms to ideas to people.
“Grandma?” I prodded gently. “Do you remember what was said and done?”
“Of course, dear.” She squeezed my hand encouragingly. “I remember, though I shouldn’t. It’s better not to. Imitation isn’t flattery; it’s laziness. It’s not good to remember. If you remember, you try to mimic. It’s dangerous to copy someone else’s actions.”
I cringed at the sentiment which I’d been taught in school and seen pushed by the media. The lesson stated that innovation and originality were the true markers of success and anything created in homage to someone or influenced by past works was to be condemned. All of it, of course, had little to do with art and was entirely an effort to prevent someone from copycatting the crime that had led to the war.
“But if you forget, you won’t learn from your mistakes,” I said. “If you forget, you’ll do those bad things over and over again.”
“One madman came up with the idea. One madman will die with it.”
I shivered at the party line being spouted by my sweet, barely there grandmother.
“Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean we should erase everything that he did,” I said, though I wasn’t arguing with her so much as reminding myself of my beliefs. “And everything you and the other fighters sacrificed—and Mom and Dad, too—they need to be remembered and honored, not hidden away.”
“I’m not hidden, I’m here.” She seemed thrilled by this, looking around the room as though it were the Taj Mahal. “Such a nice place. So many friends who are kind to me.”
“I’m glad they’re kind. It’s the least they can do since you saved them all from Febrero.”
I hadn’t spoken his name in her presence in a couple of years. I hadn’t thought anything of it. But when she tensed, and the first hint of awareness sharpened her eyes, I rea
lized this meant something.
“Do you remember Dr. Febrero, Grandma? He was the scientist who betrayed us. He figured out how to melt the polar ice caps. He killed a lot of people when he submerged the city. Some people say he’s also responsible for freeing the demons.” I kept my own skepticism about the origin of the demons to myself.
“You shouldn’t speak his name,” she whispered as her eyes swept around the room as though looking for the man. “He will come for your parents and your aunt. He’ll come for you.”
I winced at the mention of people long dead. Because of her condition, my grandmother continually forgot that her son and his wife had been killed right before the final battle. I’d told her about the death of my aunt when it happened four years ago, but I hadn’t really expected her to remember it and she didn’t.
“He ruined us all,” she went on, still whispering. Her eyes shimmered. “I shouldn’t remember. Why do I remember? I don’t want to. I want to be with my friends.”
She began to cry soundlessly, unmoving. I rose up out of my chair and poured her a cup of water. She accepted it from me like a child would, clutching it with both hands that trembled. She lay passively as I blotted the tears from her cheeks with a tissue.
“There was a day when it was good,” I heard her whisper as I turned to dispose of the damp tissue, “and we thought we’d won. But then it all turned bad. I don’t know why.”
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I told her. “You’ve been through enough.”
She’d finished her water so I carefully took the cup from her. But when I moved to set it aside, she caught my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.
“Some do remember,” she whispered tremulously, “and they burn for it. But maybe…maybe it’s worth it, Arrow. To know the truth. I don’t know. They told me not to remember.”
Unease moved through me. I didn’t think her words were the ramblings of an old woman who’d been drugged with such determination that her memory had fallen apart along with her senses. Something of Elise St. Marx, the core of her, remained deep inside her.
