Serpent's Sacrifice (The Vigilantes Book 1)

by Trish Heinrich

  She squatted down behind some of the crates to watch and listen. If she could learn something new about the Syndicate and what they were doing before all hell broke loose, she had to try.

  On the other side of the warehouse came a set of terrified screams.

  Baritone sighed. “I told you not to bring the new guys. Phantasm scares the shit out of them every time.”

  “Phantasm’s here?” asked one of the sweaty men. “Let me go! I need to see him!”

  Alice gasped as one of the sweaty men broke free and snapped the neck of the muscle man behind him. It looked no harder for him than breaking a twig.

  Baritone drew a gun and unloaded it into the other sweaty man, who was just barely being restrained.

  Baritone started to reload. “Get the other one and—”

  The sharp report of a gunshot rang out, breaking one of the few lights. Muffled sounds of fighting echoed in the warehouse.

  “Damn it!” Baritone said. “Go find out what the hell is going on!”

  Baritone turned and walked a few steps in her direction. She saw that one of his eyes was hidden under a patch, a deep scar running under it from his hairline to his square chin. He scanned the area above her and Alice held her breath, looking for a good moment. She had to get a jump on him. Fighting head-on with a guy this size was something she could do, but would rather not.

  Baritone turned around at the sound of someone falling into crates, followed by more gunfire and screams. Seeing her chance, Alice shot a serpent bite and hit his cheek. The man swatted his face as if killing an insect. For good measure, she swept his legs out and landed a swift kick with her reinforced boot to his face, but the man was still lucid enough to catch her foot and push back. Alice fell, and as the man crawled toward her, she rolled to the side, and balancing on her hands and one knee, she kicked him in the face.

  She saw the blood streaming from his nose, saw the glassy look in his eye and expected Baritone to simply fall over.

  He didn’t.

  Staggering to his feet, he towered over her, meaty hand snapping out and grabbing her arm.

  She pivoted, ramming her elbow in his solar plexus and hearing the satisfying groan of air from his mouth.

  But, still he didn’t let go.

  “You’re not supposed to be here, Serpent,” Baritone said in her ear.

  “Never could resist a dark warehouse.” She feinted a hit to his groin and hooked her foot onto his ankle instead, sending Baritone to the floor.

  He laid there for a moment and Alice thought she’d finally done it.

  Then he rolled over. His movements were sluggish, but there was a feral glint in his eye.

  “He’ll have your head for this,” Baritone’s words were slow.

  “Who? Phantasm?”

  Baritone laughed. “You...have no...idea.”

  He collapsed face first. Alice waited to make sure he was out, and then heard the soft thud of a body behind her.

  She turned to see someone lying unconscious a few feet away. Lionel was on the stairs, fighting off one of the muscle men. Alice was surprised to see blood on Lionel’s face. It wasn’t unheard of for him to be wounded, but it was rare.

  Alice jumped onto a nearby crate and launched herself at the muscle man, landing on his back. She pressed her gauntlet into the man’s neck and shot a bite. She jumped off just before he fell back, tumbling down the stairs.

  “Where’s Marco?” Alice asked.

  Lionel’s eyes grew huge behind his cowl and he pushed her down. “Look out!”

  The glint of a knife flashed above her head. Before she could stop it, the knife was lodged in Lionel’s chest.

  He stared at the knife and staggered back.

  Alice looked up and saw that it was the other sweaty man, the one who’d broken one of the muscle men’s neck.

  He laughed, a high-pitched sound that chilled her blood.

  “Not so special are you, American Steel? A dose here, and one there, and I can,” he pulled the knife free, “be even better than you.”

  Lionel fell onto the stair behind him, blood flowing freely from the wound.

  Alice had a moment of true fear. What if the knife had pierced Lionel’s heart? Was that something he could come back from?

  The sweaty man raised the knife again to finish Lionel off. Alice snapped out of her shock and punched the man in the stomach. He took the hit and laughed at her. Then he back-handed her, almost sending Alice over the railing.

  “Stupid bitch!”

  He was thin, shirt and pants hanging on his frame. How he’d managed to land a blow that was even stronger than Baritone, Alice had no idea.

  And it didn’t matter.

  Sweaty man raised the knife again.

  Lionel kicked the man’s knee cap, and Alice heard a sharp crack.

  The man barely reacted.

  Alice raised her gauntlet and shot him with two serpent bites, just for good measure. Then, she kicked his legs out from under him. Sweaty man fell down the stairs.

  Alice expected him to get back up.

  She didn’t expect the knife to be lodged in the man’s gut.

  He pulled it out, blood on his teeth as he grimaced.

  “You’ll both be sorry! There’s more of me coming and you’ll wish I’d killed you tonight!”

  He staggered toward the stairs, and then fell, like a puppet with cut strings.

  Alice stared at the man in shock. But then, the smell of smoke stung her nostrils and she knew things had gone from bad to worse.

  “Steel?” she said.

  He staggered to his feet. One huge hand was pressed to his chest, and Alice could see his labored breathing.

  A man came running behind Lionel swinging a bat down towards his head. He stopped cold as if someone had frozen him place. His eyes became huge and he screeched in terror as shadows wound around him. Marco appeared behind the man, duster swirling around him as he punched the man and threw him over the railing.

  “It should...heal,” Lionel took a step and stumbled.

  The blood was staining his shirt, spreading out.

  “We have to go,” Marco ducked under Lionel’s arm and pulled him up. “One of the men started a fire. It’s burning up the crates.”

  “No,” Lionel said, grabbing the railing. “We need evidence. You two go, I need to find that file.”

  “Are you crazy?” Alice asked.

  “No way,” Marco said at the same time.

  Now Alice could see the garish light of flames, the smoke getting thicker.

  “We have to, or it’s all a bust!” Lionel said.

  The wound must’ve closed some because the bleeding had slowed.

  “You’re wounded!” Marco said. “I’ll go.”

  “I’m healing!”

  “For god’s sake!” Alice said. “Marco, can you do it?”

  He nodded.

  “Fine, you go. Lionel, so help me god, you argue with me and I’ll kill you. C’mon!”

  The smoke was so thick now that it burned Alice’s eyes and was making it hard to breath. When they got to the side door it didn’t budge.

  “That little—” Alice said, throwing herself against it.

  “He was playing both sides,” Lionel growled. “Move.”

  Lionel took a deep breath and threw himself against it. The metal door bent, but didn’t open. He did it again, this time clutching his chest wound and wincing. The hinges groaned and gave way a little.

  Alice coughed from the smoke.

  Lionel pressed against the door and, after another minute, it gave way.

  He pulled Alice through and into the clear air. She coughed as they ran across the street.

  The flames had spread fast and Alice wondered if there had been an accelerant in the warehouse, maybe a chemical used in the creation of the drug.

  Bottom windows began breaking, flames seeping out from them, and Alice looked around in a panic, realizing Marco wasn’t there.

  “Shadow?” Lionel y
elled.

  “Shadow!” Alice echoed, running to the alley.

  He wasn’t there.

  She scanned the roof tops, but there was no sign of him.

  “Shadow!” she yelled again.

  “Here!” he answered, running down a side street.

  Alice threw her arms around him.

  “You got it?” Lionel asked.

  Marco nodded, coughing.

  “There was something weird in the office. Like a lab of some kind. I don’t think this was just about Fantasy.”

  Lionel winced and leaned against the wall of a nearby warehouse.

  “Let’s talk about that later. Right now, we need to get him to Gerald’s,” Alice said.

  “I’m alright,” Lionel said.

  She stared at him, arms crossed.

  He sighed. “Fine!”

  Usually, Lionel leaped across rooftops as Alice and Marco rode on the Lightning to and from missions. But tonight, Alice knew that wasn’t an option. She patted the seat behind her and stared at him until he sat. Alice had never driven the motorcycle with someone Lionel’s size behind her.

  “This will be interesting,” she said as the Lightning purred to life.

  “I’ll meet you there,” Marco said, shooting his grappler onto a fire escape and zooming to the top.

  The wail of sirens began to echo as they sped away from the burning warehouse and Alice knew that Garrick would have some choice words for them tomorrow.

  Not to mention Mrs. Frost.

  She wasn’t sure which conversation she was dreading more.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  VIGILANTES TORCH WAREHOUSE

  Police are currently looking for the vigilantes known as American Steel, Shadow Master, and Serpent in connection to a warehouse fire that occurred late last night.

  The warehouse was connected to the crime syndicate that has been distributing the drug known as Fantasy. Detective Garrick told the Chronicle that the warehouse could have contained thousands of dollars’ worth of the drug.

  The police have been looking for information regarding the identity of the person behind the dangerous hallucinogen known as Fantasy, for nearly a year. With scant leads and no arrests, this warehouse could have contained information as to the identity and whereabouts of the distributer of this drug.

  Detectives are now attempting to sift through what is left of the warehouse in hopes of uncovering anything that may lead to some success in this case.

  When asked to comment, the Mayor’s office released this statement:

  “Although many in Jet City owe a debt to the vigilantes for their service, this careless act raises some serious questions as to whether the vigilantes should be allowed to continue. We will hold a special City Council meeting to discuss this issue and decide what is best for the people of Jet City. The Police Commissioner will advise his men on how best to handle the vigilantes until such time as more permanent laws are in place. In the meantime, we ask all citizens to neither detain nor encourage the vigilantes.”

  Despite such statements, citizens who have been helped by the vigilantes took to the streets and have been seen protesting outside City Hall. A representative of the citizens has stated that they will break into the City Council meeting to have their voices heard, if need be.

  This, coupled with the recent violent protests on behalf of Negro College students, has police on edge, with some voicing concerns that perhaps it isn’t worth keeping the vigilantes in Jet City, after all.

  Alice sighed as she set the paper down on her coffee table. For a moment, even the loud thump of Mrs. Frost’s cane as she paced up and down the loft couldn’t diminish the thrill Alice felt seeing her name in the paper.

  Mrs. Frost grunted out an annoyed sigh and Alice clenched her jaw. The woman had shown up early, waking Alice up and demanding to know if she’d seen the morning paper.

  Alice jumped off the couch and began spooning coffee grounds into the percolator. There was no way she was going to let Mrs. Frost berate her without a little caffeine in her body.

  “Well?” Mrs. Frost asked, small eyes boring into Alice. “What have you to say for yourself? All the goodwill you have spent months building up with the police and city council is gone in one night!”

  “We made a mistake.”

  “Yes, that is obvious.”

  Alice spun around, eyes blazing. “You never made a mistake? A mission never went sideways for you? We did our best. None of us expected someone crazy on Fantasy to torch the place!”

  “If you had brought the police with you for a mission like this, perhaps it would not have happened. You would not only have preserved your reputation, but garnered even more respect. Now,” Mrs. Frost shook her gray head, “you will be lucky if they allow you to start over.”

  Alice threw the spoon into the sink and watched as the percolator warmed up. It was nothing she hadn’t said to herself a dozen times, but to hear Mrs. Frost say it just made Alice angrier.

  “You are far too impulsive,” Mrs. Frost continued. “And so is Lionel. Sometimes, I think Marco is the only one with a brain between the three of you, but he lacks the spine required to make both of you stop and listen.”

  “Enough! I know we made a huge mistake! I don’t need you rubbing my face in it. And I certainly don’t need you insulting my teammates.”

  “Oh no, heaven forbid I do that!”

  “What do you want from me? A blood oath to run every decision past you in the future?”

  “If I thought it would make any difference, I would accept your sarcastic offer in an instant.” Mrs. Frost sighed, easing herself down onto a chair. “What I want, Alice, is for you to see the larger picture. To plan and decide things, based not on one mission, but instead to look down the road, to see a year or two from now. How do you want the city to see you? What do you want to have accomplished for them? Your actions in everything you do will determine the answers to those questions, will determine your ability to protect the city, which is what ultimately matters. Not your thrill when you punch a man or see your name in the paper.”

  Heat rose to Alice’s cheeks as she poured the coffee. What was so wrong with getting a kick out of those things? And how was she supposed to make sure that every mission added up to some future legacy?

  She asks the impossible! No wonder Aunt Diana quit!

  “Are you going to at least offer me a cup of that?” Mrs. Frost asked.

  Alice poured her one, but didn’t join Mrs. Frost at the table. The two sipped their coffee in silence, listening to the distant thunder of a summer storm. Soon, the patter of rain against the windows filled the silence and Alice closed her eyes, enjoying natures symphony.

  “Alice,” Mrs. Frost’s voice was low, almost gentle.

  It made her eyes snap open in surprise. There had been a handful of times Alice could remember hearing that tone from Mrs. Frost.

  The woman met her eyes, a strained look on her face, bordering on pain.

  “Are you—”

  “Fine.” She waved her hand and took a deep breath. “I am well, thank you, just a little indigestion. Coffee on an empty stomach.”

  “What did you want to say?”

  Mrs. Frost frowned, looking into her cup. After a moment, she shook her head, spine straightening. “Nothing, it can wait. I understand you are seeing Douglas today?”

  Alice didn’t believe that it was nothing, but also knew that Mrs. Frost was more stubborn than anyone. Ever. There would be no point in pressing her, so Alice just nodded.

  “And then, later today, do not forget that you have the Ladies Auxiliary tea at two o’clock.”

  Alice sighed and set her cup down. “I think there’s far more important things to be doing than that, don’t you?”

  “No, I do not. I doubt punching a criminal will provide food for a poor family’s table, or shelter for them. This part,” Mrs. Frost pressed a wrinkled finger to the table, “of your life, is just as important as what you do at night. The sooner you see t
hat, the better.”

  The guard nodded at Alice as she walked into the visiting room. It was either the exact same guard every time or all of them looked identical, she couldn’t tell. Douglas was waiting for her in the same room, as always wrists chained to the table, a grim-faced guard standing next to him.

  Once Alice gave him a half smile, the guard left them to their conversation. It was true that this had gotten easier in the nine months she’d been doing it, but that didn’t mean she was used to it. She tried to distance herself from him in her mind, tell herself that he was a source, nothing more. To Alice, her father had been as good as dead for twelve years, why let that stop now? This man sitting before her, his scarred face and condescending smile, was a means to an end. And when that end came, she’d never have to sit in this room and breathe the same air as him ever again.

  She sat on the edge of the folding chair and met his stare. What Baritone and Sweaty man had said at the warehouse last night was bouncing around in her mind.

  She was pretty sure that the Syndicate was running Fantasy, but the files from last night had been full of coded notes and mathematical equations that none of them could decipher. Not to mention the lab Marco had found. When they’d described it to Gerald, he said it sounded like they were not only making something there, but also conducting experiments. But on who and with what, they could only guess.

  She wanted answers and wasn’t going to let Douglas dodge her questions like he’d been trying to do.

  She took a deep breath. “Who’s Phantasm?”

  Douglas jerked in his chair and his small eyes widened.

  “How do you... Where did you hear that name?”

  “Last night. Some men mentioned Phantasm at a warehouse filled with Fantasy. What’s the connection? Who is he?”

  “Leave it alone, Alice. You’ve made a dent in the Syndicate. Just keep cleaning up the messes and leave this alone.”

  She took a deep breath, an irrational anger taking hold of her.

  “Whose mess am I cleaning up? Are you just their whipped messenger boy? Is that what’s going on?”

  “Goddamn it, you stubborn idiot! You don’t know what you’re opening up.”