As the rest of the cops ushered Barbie, Melanie, and Rick up the stairs, treating them with all the caution they were trained to use against potentially dangerous demons, Adam came to kneel beside me. He’s capable of a world-class glower, and he was giving it to me full force at the moment. Funny how he always gets so testy when he thinks I’m endangering the life of his king.
The Taser shot was beginning to wear off, and Lugh was still in control. I felt him force my lips into an imitation of a smile.
“Don’t be angry with Morgan over this,” he slurred. “It’s not her fault.”
Adam narrowed his eyes, his glare becoming even more furious, which was an impressive feat. “How about you?” he growled. “Can I be angry with you? What the fuck did you think you were doing?”
And Lugh—brave, powerful king of the demons that he was—passed control back to me rather than answer.
DOUBLE DEAD
A NIGHT TRACKER NOVELLA
by Cheyenne McCray
DEDICATION
To Daniel. All I can say is thank God for you.
Welcome to New York City’s Underworld
PRESENT DAY
Dark Elves/Drow: We rock.
Demons: I am so through with Demons.
Dopplers: Paranorms who can shift into one specific animal as well as into their human form.
Fae: Should have paid attention during our last case if you wanted to know all of the different races.
Gargoyles: Freaking ugly. And dangerous.
Incubis: No Adonis could begin to compare to these paranorms. Stay. Away.
Light Elves: Mirror, mirror, how art we better than all?
Metamorphs: Slimy paranorms who can take on the persona and appearance of any human and almost any paranorm. And not in a good way. Metamorphs have no redeeming qualities. None.
Necromancers: Exactly what you think. They talk to and raise the dead. Creeeeepy.
Shadow Shifters: Paranorms with the ability to shift from human form into shadows.
Shifters: Can transform into any animal of their choosing as well as take their human form.
Succubis: Promise sex good enough to sell your soul for. One word: don’t.
Vampires: There’s something with these guys that we’re missing.…
Werewolves: Can take wolf form almost any time, but at the full moon they go nuclear.
Zombies: I do not want to talk about Zombies. You can’t make me.
CHAPTER
Like a metal ball in one of those old pinball machines Rodán kept at the nightclub, the earth spun. Whirled. Bounced. Pinged. Every time I thought I would rush down into oblivion, something hard would smack me back into a spinning orbit.
What was happening to me?
I couldn’t think clearly. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning like that metal ball. Where was I? Why did I feel like that tiny pinball had smashed me like a wrecking ball? My whole body was one big mass of pain. I felt fluid trickling from my nose and over my lips, and tasted blood.
“Look at me, Tracker.” At the sound of the male’s voice I started. Could a voice be hard and cold, yet amused at the same time? Apparently it could. “Now, Tracker.”
I opened my eyes and tried to focus on what I saw in front of me. The images of three human males were wavering and trying to merge into one. Finally they became one and my head spun a little less. The male was dressed like an NYPD officer, and he was holding a baton streaked with blood. My blood.
The smell of alyssum, like newly mown hay, meant there was a Metamorph close. The strength of the smell told me there was more than one. At least two, maybe three. Despite my muddled state, I was pretty sure the male I was staring at was a Metamorph. Or rather I was looking at the reflection of the human whose appearance the Metamorph had taken.
“Thought I’d get the beating out of the way.” The male snapped his baton, then returned it to its place on his duty belt. “You’ll be less likely to draw out a game that you’ll lose … Nyx of the Dark Elves and Night Tracker.”
Connect the dots, Nyx.
I knew I was in my human form because I sensed it was still daylight and I felt the differences in my body. How did the Metamorphs know how to find me during the day or even know that I was a Night Tracker?
Night Trackers patrolled their territories to make sure scum like Metamorphs who broke the laws were eliminated or taken off the street and put into the detention center. The Metamorph’s or other paranorm’s punishment depended on the severity of the crime.
Then bits and pieces of memory came back to me as my thoughts began to clear. Chills rolled through my body.
I’d been waiting in my apartment for Adam to drop by for a little afternoon recreation. But when he got there, something had seemed wrong, out of place. I’d been so excited to see Adam, thinking about his adorable tousled hair and his boyish smile, that at first I didn’t notice that he didn’t smell of coffee and leather like usual.
Without bothering to close the door, he grabbed me to him and kissed me—
He’d tasted like grass. Dry, dust-coated grass.
Not Adam. Not Adam!
I stared at the man while thoughts of how they had captured me flashed through my mind. My stomach churned.
When he kissed me, my first reaction had been to jerk away from the being that was not my Adam. I wanted to puke from kissing what I realized was a Metamorph.
Realized too late.
He had a gun to my temple before I could blink. The gun didn’t faze me. Even in my human form I could have taken out a single Metamorph.
Eight more Metamorphs rushed through the open doorway. In my Drow form, with my Drow strength, my dragon-clawed daggers, and my elemental magic, I could have taken on all of them. Even in my human form I would have been hard to beat.
Right now I wanted to shake my head, shake off the memory. But my head hurt too much to move it. Metamorphs had gotten me. Metamorphs.
They’d caught me completely off guard, everything amplified by my shock and revulsion because I’d just kissed a being who was not Adam. A disgusting Metamorph. The fact that the being had managed to get that close to me, without my realizing what he really was, had added to the shock.
Before I’d been able to call the air to aid me, one of the Metamorphs slapped a cloth over my nose. That was the last thing I remembered before this moment.
The fog in my mind started to clear. Thoughts of how I’d been captured and what was happening now raced through my head so fast that I was almost dizzy from them. What were the Metamorphs doing? What did they want? Where was Adam?
I glared at the Metamorph. I wanted my hands around him in front of me so badly I could almost feel myself squeezing his neck. Feel it snapping. I attempted to lunge forward but my arms jerked against chains and metal cuffs bit into my wrists. The legs of the chair I was in scraped the floor as I struggled. I snarled and tried to lash out with my feet. They wouldn’t move. Metal ankle cuffs dug into my skin.
When I looked down at my shackled ankles, my long, tangled black hair fell over my eyes. Blood dripped from my nose onto my Dior pale cream blouse and slacks. My clothing was torn, bloody, filthy. My Pradas were missing, leaving my feet bare.
When I fisted my hands, the tension caused me to fully take in the fact that they’d beaten me while I was out cold.
The elements. I could take care of this whole situation and be done with it. A small cyclone would do.
My first shot at controlling the elements told me that the handcuffs that bound me were treated with elemental magic. My second attempt just reaffirmed that fact.
The specially made cuffs weren’t supposed to affect Trackers. They’d all been altered to recognize every Tracker in New York City so that our magic wouldn’t be affected. How had these Metamorphs been able to contain me? I couldn’t use the elements at all.
I frowned in concentration. Maybe I had to shift into my Drow half before the cuffs would have no effect on me and I could use my elements again. I was Nyx Ci
ar, paranorm PI during the day. After sundown I would be Nyx of the Night Trackers.
It wouldn’t be long now, though. I sensed that nightfall would be soon—none of them would be getting out of this place alive once I was through with them.
My hair was in my eyes and stuck to the blood on my cheeks when I raised my head.
Instead of some windowless interrogation room, we were in a large kitchen with peeling wallpaper and cracked and chipped laminated flooring. I was sitting in the middle of the cramped space. A dining table was shoved against one wall along with three brown wooden chairs, the varnish darkened with age and worn in places. Apparently I was in chair number four.
I almost smiled when I saw the stove three feet away on my right and the sink two and a half feet away on my left. Fire. Water.
If I could get out of these cuffs I’d be able to use the elements of fire and water and either toast or drown these creeps.
I was leaning toward the idea of toasting them.
“Hello, Tracker filth.” The male crouched in front of me. Instantly, from his powerful alyssum smell, I knew that he was a Metamorph. “I’m Tom Smith. I’m going to let you watch me cut your boyfriend into itty-bitty pieces.”
Fear for Adam along with instinct drove me to try to lunge for Smith’s throat. The chair rocked but I wanted to scream with rage as my bindings held me fast.
“Underworld sloth.” I glared at the Metamorph. “The pieces I cut off of you won’t be so tiny if you dare hurt him.”
Smith slapped my bruised face so hard that my head snapped to the side. The pain caused by gritting my teeth, to not cry out, was worth it as I turned slowly to glare at him again.
He scowled as he wiped his palm on his black jeans. “Detective Adam Boyd’s life is getting shorter every minute you mess with me, Tracker.”
“What. Do. You. Want?” My face hurt as I hurled each word at the Metamorph.
“I was misinformed about the whereabouts of tonight’s Paranorm Council meeting.” His question surprised me enough to cause me to blink. “The council gathers at sundown and my men are ready to greet them on my order.”
“What do Metamorphs care about the Paranorm Council?” Disgust edged every word I spoke. “Metamorphs don’t even have a representative.”
By the way his hands shook, I was pretty sure Smith was holding back his anger, trying to control himself this time. “That will change.”
“Yeah, right.” I gave a hollow laugh. “Like that’s going to happen.”
He lost a good portion of that control and slapped the side of my head so hard my ear rang from the force of it. “Tell me now or you die, Tracker. So does your boyfriend.”
I had to stall somehow. If I could keep him busy until sundown I would likely get my powers back. “How do you know if I’m a Tracker or not?”
“We have informants.” Smith gave a casual shrug. “We know you are a human PI for the paranormal world during the day. By night you become a Tracker.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Why me?”
“You are one of the very few paranorms who can come out in daylight.” He grinned. “And you’re predictable.”
Predictable? As a PI, maybe I was. That was going to have to change.
I said nothing, just stared at him. I didn’t know if he was bluffing about Adam, so I had to call his bluff. I almost groaned when he drew out his baton and snapped it to its full length.
“Carl.” Smith looked up, somewhere over my shoulder, and made a slight motion with his head. By the smell of alyssum, I knew it was another Metamorph who moved in front of me. Also dressed in an NYPD uniform, “Carl” looked and walked like a flesh-and-bone version of Robocop. Built like a muscle-bound weight lifter, he was slow to move. “Get Detective Boyd,” Smith said.
My heart pounded and my body radiated with tension. The bulky Metamorph headed through an archway of the place we were in, his boot steps loud against the tile floor before the sound finally faded.
Steps, sounding like high heels, came from the other side of the archway just moments after the Robocop Metamorph left. I continued to stare at the archway, and another Metamorph walked in.
With rich waves of mahogany brown hair and big gray eyes, this Metamorph was gorgeous—or at least the replica of the human or paranorm she mirrored was. And she knew how to dress. I’d give up my XPhone if she wasn’t tottering in Ferragamo pumps and carrying a matching satchel.
Despite her sophisticated, beautiful looks, the fake innocence in her eyes and her pouty lips made her look like a spoiled, pampered brat.
“Becky.” Smith went to the woman and hugged her in a way that made their relationship obvious. He kissed her before he pinched her ass cheek through the fine organza of her dress.
“Have I missed anything?” she said in a voice so squeaky it caused me to wince.
Footsteps again, only this time I heard two pairs—one stepping purposefully, the other shuffling unsteadily. I glanced back at the archway in time to see the muscle-bound Metamorph shove Adam into the room. The man I loved was shirtless, his body and face bloody and bruised.
Adam collapsed face-first on the tile.
And didn’t move.
CHAPTER
“Adam!” His name cut the air in an involuntary shout. I couldn’t have stopped myself from calling out to my lover if I’d tried.
I lunged against my bonds again and this time I nearly toppled my chair. Smith grabbed a spindle of the chair and kept me from pitching forward.
My breath burned harsh and heavy in my chest. “You might as well start thinking up your last words.” I turned my glare to Smith as I spoke with slow, deliberate malice. “You don’t have very many left.”
Almost imperceptible fear glittered in his black eyes before he laughed. A forced laugh that almost made me smile. He was scared of me, and I had to give him credit for not being stupid enough to make the mistake of totally disregarding what I might be capable of.
Adam groaned, and a tempest of emotions whirled through me as I swung my attention in his direction: relief that he was alive, followed by anger that he’d been hurt so badly, shifting into fear as Robocop Carl aimed a handgun at Adam’s head.
“It is a very important council meeting tonight.” Smith crouched so that he was eye level with me. “What location has the meeting been changed to?”
A trickle of blood rolled down the column of my throat from an open wound on the side of my head. “What are you going to do?”
Smith scowled. “What do you care, Tracker? You treat all Metamorphs like scum.”
I pulled against my bonds so that my body was a fraction closer to him. He looked like he wanted to shrink back. “You’re so slimy the only thing you’re good for is greasing machinery. But you’d screw that up, too.”
The Metamorph’s complexion turned a really odd shade of taupe. Smith unsheathed a dagger from his cop duty belt. The sharp edge gleamed in the kitchen light. He grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head back so that I was looking at the ceiling, which was yellowed and dirty from years of cooking in a cramped space.
“Tell me, or we can use the human cop’s brains to grease the floor.” Smith bared his teeth in a freakish smile as he leaned over me, blocking my view of the ceiling. I felt the cold, sharp edge of the dagger’s blade as he pressed it against my throat. “Where has the meeting been moved to?”
I didn’t dare swallow, knowing the blade would slice into my throat. The feeling of helplessness I experienced was not one I’d faced often. I heard a round being chambered in a handgun, and my heart started pounding hard enough that the sound of it throbbed in my ears.
“Now, Tracker.” Smith jerked my hair harder. “Tell me, or that’s it for both you and your human playtoy. After all, that’s what the human is to you, isn’t he?”
Sundown was approaching and I would be shifting within twenty minutes. I couldn’t think of any way to stall without getting myself or Adam killed. I’d just have to take care of the problem then. But fo
r now what choice did I have?
“It’s still at the Paranorm Center near the northern end of Conservatory Water.” I couldn’t help swallowing and gasped as the dagger bit into my flesh. “Below the Alice in Wonderland unbirthday party sculpture.”
The Metamorph narrowed his gaze but released his grip on my hair. “We were told the location had changed.”
“It was a ruse.” I raised my head as he backed up. “There were rumors that some kind of interruption might happen, but the council members didn’t want to move the meeting. So to make sure no one would try to barge in, they put out the word it had changed.”
My gut churned as I glanced at Adam and he groaned and rolled onto his side. Carl still held his gun with its sights aimed right at him.
I didn’t feel my own aches and pains. Instead it was as if I felt every bruise on Adam’s body as I stared at him.
“I actually believe you.” Smith turned and walked away from me. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Now to put my plan into action.
“Metamorphs won’t be screwed around with anymore.” Smith drew a Glock from his cop’s duty belt and aimed it at Adam’s head. “And I’m finished screwing with you, Tracker.” Smith leveled his gaze on Adam. “If you lied to me, here’s what will happen to your friend DeSantos.”
“Olivia?” I said, but then my mind spun as Smith’s aim followed Adam’s movements as my lover shifted and groaned again.
Smith squeezed the trigger.
A loud report echoed in the kitchen.
I screamed.
Blood splattered the kitchen walls.
Horror and shock made my head spin as Adam’s body slumped facedown in a lifeless mass on the floor.
“You—” I gagged on useless words as I stared at Adam’s body. In my mind spun thoughts of You promised and You lied. Stupid, worthless words.
Chicks Kick Butt - Rachel Caine, Kerrie Hughes (ed) Page 17
