The sight of him brought her up short and she couldn’t stop herself from slapping a hand over her mouth in shock.
He nodded, a bitter smile on his chapped lips.
“I should’ve called you. That knife was laced with something. The doctors can’t do a damn thing.”
His eyes were beginning to yellow, his skin had taken on a gray pallor, and his cheeks were sunken as if he hadn’t been eating at all.
Alice looked away to hide the tears that leapt to her eyes. Once she felt under control, she sat down, though she couldn’t manage to meet his gaze for too long.
Whether she loved or hated him, or felt some combination of both, Douglas didn’t deserve this.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, surprised at how much she was.
He fidgeted with a loose string on the blanket covering him.
“I knew the risks.”
“I need help.”
“I figured.”
An unexpected stab of guilt shot through her. If she had known he was sick...
Would it really have mattered?
Her chin raised just a little as she pushed those thoughts away.
“I need to know anything you can tell me about Phantasm’s business holdings. Any place he might be vulnerable.”
Douglas laid back against his pillows and frowned at the ceiling.
“He kept his personal holdings secret for the most part, but I think he had a partial stake in Percy’s drug business. If it’s still running, he’d have taken over.”
“Do you know where they distribute?”
“A small bakery in Park Side was the only one I knew of. Percy used street kids as delivery mules.”
Alice frowned in disgust.
“Children?”
Douglas shrugged.
“It’s not the worst thing Percy did to kids.”
She felt sick at hearing that, but also a little proud that she’d helped get rid of a man like that.
“What bakery?”
“The Dough Boy.”
Alice chuckled.
“Yeah,” Douglas said smiling. “I remember that place, too.”
“Best sweet rolls in the city.”
“Your mom was always trying to figure out that recipe. Only thing she ended up doing was making lumps of half-cooked sugar dough.”
“Or rock hard balls.”
They sat for a moment, each with a smile on their faces for the precious few happy days before drunken tirades and beatings took over.
Alice was the first to realize what she was doing and shook herself out of it. He’d grieved for her mother, she believed that. But she wasn’t about to reminisce with the man who’d made the last few years with her mother a living hell.
“Thanks,” she said, jumping to her feet.
“Alice?” he said, just before she opened the door. “Be careful.”
She wanted to turn around and smile at him, reassure him, or just see that look of true concern on his face. But instead, she simply nodded and bolted out of the room without a backwards glance.
Alice wished she could find more excuses than just missions to ride the Black Lightning, but people had started associating the bike with Serpent, and she couldn’t risk someone making the connection. Still, when she could ride it, she took every opportunity to open it up, zipping between cars and whipping around corners at speeds that would inspire Uncle Logan to give her a very long talk.
The Dough Boy was at the end of a street in Park Side where small businesses had been attempting to thrive since before she was born. Some had managed to make it longer than five years, but most learned the hard way that to have a business in Park Side, you either had to know someone that would help you protect it, or deal with monthly break-ins.
She had just finished stashing the Black Lightning down an alley when footsteps, soft and shuffling, sounded behind her. Turning with her fists up, Alice came face to face with...two wide-eyed children.
The gangly, tow-headed boy shoved someone small behind him and put up his own skinny fists.
“You better leave us alone,” the boy snarled.
Alice couldn’t help smiling, and knelt to look the boy in the eye. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Are you the Serpent?” said a small voice behind the boy.
“Yes, I am. What’s your name?”
From behind the still defensive little boy came the most mesmerizing child Alice had ever seen. Everything about her was pale. Her delicate skin on her delicately pointed face. Eyes such a light blue they were almost white. Hair that, though it was dirty and limp, was still a beautiful flaxen color. Alice couldn’t help staring at her as she stepped into the pale moonlight. And for the first time since she was a child, Alice thought that maybe she’d wandered into fairy land.
The boy frowned at the little girl.
“Emmeline! She could be lying.”
“She’s not, I told you the Serpent was real!”
“You kids shouldn’t be around here, it’s dangerous.”
“Yeah? Where we supposed to go?” the boy asked, his bottom lip protruding a little in defiance.
“Wait a second,” she said, running back to her bike.
It took a few minutes to find a business card for the Children’s Home, though it was bent and had a smudge of something green on it.
“Here.” She gave the card to the boy. “Take a cab and go here, the matron will pay the cab fare.”
“There’s no cabs around here,” he said.
“Go to the end of the street and take a right, walk two blocks and you’ll see some cabs, I promise.”
The boy stared at the card, and then frowned up at her.
“If you’re trying to trick me—”
“I’m not, I swear. This is a good place, a safe place.”
Emmeline bounced on her tiny feet and giggled, a sound that reminded Alice of what she always thought Tinker Bell might sound like.
“Thank you, Serpent!”
The hug Emmeline gave her was a shock, mostly because Alice had never engendered trust and affection while in the guise of the Serpent. She hugged the little girl back, cringing when she felt Emmeline’s ribs and sharp shoulder blades.
“If you’re hungry they’ll open the kitchen for you,” she said. “All you have to do is ask.”
The boy grabbed his sisters hand and almost dragged her out of the alley, Emmeline beaming the whole way.
Alice stared at where they’d disappeared around the corner. All the hours Mrs. Frost had tried to get through to her about the importance of the charities she was a part of and Alice had never been able to grasp it, thinking how could it compare with being a hero?
Now, with one simple act, Alice was beginning to understand. What she’d just done had its own thrill, one that she suspected would last longer and do more for those children than every mission she’d been on in the last month.
With a smile on her face and bounce in her step, Alice climbed the fire escape to the roof where Lionel and Marco were waiting.
“Where’ve you been?’ Lionel asked, his body tense.
Though Lionel had been trying to make up for his behavior on the street two weeks ago, there were moments when Alice would glimpse a feral temper in his eyes. It always made her feel a little afraid of him, no matter how much she told herself that Lionel would never hurt her.
She studied him for a moment, noticing how his hands kept clenching into fists, as if he couldn’t wait to fight someone, anyone.
“I had to take care of something,” she said, giving him a wide berth as she walked toward the edge of the roof.
“Thugs?” Marco asked.
She shook her head.
“I’ll tell ya later.”
“There’ve been groups of two kids leaving every ten minutes, packs on their backs,” Marco said.
“When did the last pair leave?” she asked.
“About fifteen minutes ago. It’s a good bet they’re all out.”
“And on
the street with all those drugs,” Lionel said, his voice an annoyed growl.
“We can’t beat up kids,” Marco said, his voice carrying an edge.
“I didn’t say we do that! But—”
“Enough,” Alice said. “We have a job here, if we shut this down then chances are those kids won’t have to do this anymore. We can alert Garrick when we finish and he can bring them to the children’s home.”
Lionel looked away, his jaw tensed.
Taking a chance, Alice touched his arm.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we need you. Are you up for this?”
After a moment his breathing slowed and he nodded.
As they crept down from the roof and looked at the bakery across the street, Alice felt a prickle of apprehension. There were no guards, and the quiet on the street felt artificial, as if someone had told everyone to clear out.
She looked over at Marco, his shadows twirling around the edges of his gray duster.
“Do you feel—?” she began.
“Something’s strange,” he said, eyes black.
“What?”
He cocked his head to one side, the shadows writhing faster around him before slowing to a crawl.
“Never mind it’s...I don’t know, someone in there was...excited.”
“Like they know we’re coming?” Lionel asked.
Marco shook his head.
“I don’t know, the feeling is gone, it just disappeared.”
“Maybe…Maybe we should abort,” Alice said, the words sticking in her throat.
It was the last thing she wanted to do but walking into a trap wouldn’t do any of them any good.
“No way!” Lionel said. “This could be a major part of Phantasm’s business.”
“But, if they’re expecting us, then it could be a trap.”
“What if I go in the front and you two go through the back, take them by surprise from two fronts,” Alice said, trying to find a way to do the mission and be safe.
Lionel snorted. “Yes, because you’re such a power house.”
Alice felt anger heat her face.
“What is wrong with you tonight?”
Lionel opened his mouth to retort but Marco was there first.
“If you two want to fight we should go back to the loft. Otherwise, we have a job to do!”
“Fine!” Lionel threw his hands up. “I’ll go around back and the two of you can handle the front.”
Alice tried to tell him to wait, but Lionel was across the street before she had the chance.
“Has he been like this-?”
“All day,” Marco finished for her. “He’s angry, I can feel it coming off him in waves.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but right now we better get in there before he starts tearing up the place.”
They ran across the street without incident, Lionel disappearing down the narrow side alley and around to the back of the bakery.
The shades on the front windows of the bakery were drawn and the door was a thick wood with three padlocks, not unusual for this neighborhood. Alice tried the door handle. To her surprise, the door gave a little. None of the deadbolts were engaged, not even the handle lock.
Her eyes met Marco’s, which were once again completely black.
“Maybe-” she whispered.
Then the sounds of Lionel fighting at the back of the bakery met her ears, and she knew that there was no aborting the mission now.
Alice pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold, Marco waiting behind her. She wanted a minute to make sure no one was waiting with a gun or anything to ambush them before Marco came in.
A small lamp behind the counter gave just enough light to see the outline of the tables, chairs stacked on top. A faint sweet smell hit her when she opened the door, and for a bizarre instant, she wondered if someone was baking sweet rolls. But then the scent became sickly, like flowers that had gone rotten in a vase.
She was about to turn and ask Marco if he felt anything when rough hands pulled her further into the room.
“Serpent!” Marco called out, just before the door was slammed in his face.
Alice drew her batons and turned in the direction where the hands had come from.
A man stood in the dim light, his face in shadow from the wide-brimmed fedora he wore, a suit of black hanging from his tall, thin frame.
Alice opened her mouth to say something when the sweet smell hit her even stronger and she gagged. That’s when she saw a thin fog floating along the floor, the faint light casting a pale sheen on it.
Alice stepped back to try and get to the door, but the room spun and she landed on her bottom. The sounds of Marco banging on the door and Lionel fighting at the back of the bakery were starting to become distant echoes in her mind. She expected to go to sleep, but instead, she drifted in a half-awake state.
“Wha-What is...?”
“Oh no, don’t try to fight it,” said a deep strange voice from the fog.
Terror, stronger and more real than anything she’d ever experienced stabbed her mind. Waking nightmares lifted themselves from the fog, a shadowy figure with a belt ran toward her, raising his arm.
“No!” She raised her arms and felt the sting of the lash.
Again, it fell as she sobbed, trying so hard to crawl away.
“What are you seeing, little snake?” said that voice, and Alice felt fingers slither across her face. She batted them away with a screech, eliciting a snarling laugh from whoever it was.
“Look at me, little snake.”
Like a child who believes that if she just keeps her eyes shut the scary thing will go away, Alice couldn’t look. She shook her head, whimpering.
A swift kick to her abdomen made her double over, followed by a punch to her face. Her stomach burned with pain and she tasted blood in her mouth. A man as thin as Phantasm shouldn’t have been able to hit so hard, and Alice was reminded of Percy’s enhanced strength.
Against her will, Alice’s eyes flew open as he reached down and pulled her up by the front of her suit. His face was lit just enough in the meager light for Alice to see it. What she saw made her scream in terror, her fingers desperately trying to pry the man’s hand from the front of her suit.
“You love them, don’t you? What would you do if they were broken? What would happen if they died, bloody?”
The man threw her down and when Alice looked up she saw it.
Marco’s hand, slick with blood, fingers twitching.
“You can’t help them, just like you made sure I couldn’t help the ones I loved!”
The man, who had to be Phantasm, kicked her in the stomach again. Alice gasped with pain and terror. She tried to crawl to Marco, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach him.
“Alice...help...Alice...” His voice was garbled, as if he were speaking half under water.
“I-I’m t-trying...M-Marco! Marco...just...!”
“Worse than watching them die,” said Phantasm, his distorted voice low. “Is having them hate you, I think.”
Someone loomed over her. At first, she saw her father. But then it became Lionel. His face cut, blood smeared on his suit, he opened his mouth and screamed at her.
“He’s dead because of you! I’ll never forgive you!”
“No, no...” she sobbed.
Lionel continued to scream, but this time it was in pain and grief. Alice barely managed to scramble away when she saw that same, looming figure running toward her, belt raised high. She half-crawled, half-ran the other way, tripping and falling face first into a pool of sticky blood. Screams and sobs were one and the same to her now, and she tried to find a way out of the blood, but it was all around, seeping slowly through her suit and onto her skin, bathing her in its condemnation.
“Alice...” said Marco from somewhere. “Alice...”
She curled into a ball and screamed uncontrollably, all the voices rising in a cacophony of terrifying nonsense arou
nd her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She was drowning in a dark sea of fear and ghosts. They grabbed at her, raising her up, only to push her down again. Arms and legs held down, no chance to break free.
Something sharp and hard pierced her skin.
A rush of heat tore through her.
Voices echoed through her head. Were they friendly? She couldn’t tell.
Finally, she was too tired to fight anymore. She took a deep breath. It felt like she was inhaling cobwebs.
When the darkness came, she embraced it.
Out of the oblivion came a blinding light, sending jagged stabs of pain into her skull. Alice tried to raise her hand to shield her eyes, but her arm was so heavy. She wasn’t sure where she was at first, but at least the voices had stopped and breathing didn’t seem so difficult.
Her eyes finally adjusted to the bright sunlight, and she could’ve cried with relief to see her eyelet curtains fluttering in a warm breeze, the prism she’d hung by her window cast rainbows across the small dressing table in her room. A gorgeous smell wafted over her and Alice felt her stomach rumble and twist with hunger, her mouth filling with moisture.
Swallowing was strangely difficult, her throat raw and dry. She saw a glass of water on her bedside table. But when she tried to sit up to drink it, the pain in her head became unbearable. The glass slipped from her fingers onto the floor as she fell back onto her pillows. Dark spots appeared in her vision, that same swell of fear and darkness threatening on the edge of her mind. The only defense she could manage was a weak whimper.
She didn’t hear footsteps or the door opening, so when a hand touched her wrist, Alice screamed, batting her hands at the person as she kept her eyes shut tight.
“Alice.”
The voice was so familiar...
“Alice, stop.”
Who?
“It’s Lionel, stop!”
She did, and slowly opened her eyes, wincing at the bright light. Strong hands held her wrists in a gentle grasp. The face was square and beautiful, wide lips with a grim set to them. Deep set, navy-blue eyes, ringed with dark circles, straw-colored hair that stuck up in odd angles, as if someone had run their hands through it hundreds of times.
Serpent's Sacrifice (The Vigilantes Book 1) Page 25
