Doran snorted. “It is their whole lives. They are guided by it. Ah, I see. You are the one Berget believes will fulfill the prophecy, hence, she still wants you to work for her.”
I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Jack is just a back up. If she can’t have me, then she can at least have the only other Tracker in the world.”
“Devious little thing, isn’t she?” Doran muttered as he walked past me.
“Where are you going?”
“I thought you needed to go to Dox’s place, to get the book?” He half-turned and arched a pierced eyebrow at me.
Not that I’d forgotten exactly, more that I’d just been sidetracked. “Alex, let’s go.”
The werewolf groaned and rolled onto his side. “Too much pasghets.”
With much prodding, I got Alex back into the Mustang and we were off, headed toward Dox’s place.
We drove in silence for the first few minutes until I couldn’t stand it. “You killed her?”
Doran glanced at me. “You didn’t expect me to?”
I turned my face from his and shrugged. “If you hadn’t, I would have.”
And that was that. In some small ways, ways I would admit to no one, Doran and I had similarities. Survival was always at the top of our lists, and we would do anything to make sure we stayed on this side of the veil unless our friends were in harm’s way. I vividly recalled Doran begging me to kill him before he hurt me or Pamela when Berget set him on the young witch. Yeah, for a Daywalker, he wasn’t half bad.
Even if he liked to tease Liam far more than what was good for his health.
We pulled into an empty parking lot, Dox’s “Temporarily Closed’’ sign hanging crookedly on the door of the bar. Days, it had been only days since we’d left his place and headed out to the west coast, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed.
“Still deserted,” Doran said as he opened his door. Alex pushed past him, bounded toward the Landing Pad.
“Brownies, brownies, brownies!”
I clenched my teeth to keep the emotions snugged down tight. With each new tragedy, it was getting harder for me to hold it in.
Anger, just focus on that. Good idea. “Dox didn’t have anyone else he trusted to run the place while he was gone.”
“You have a key to get in?”
I pulled a sword from my back. “Yup.”
Doran shook his head, a smile ghosting across his lips. “A girl and her weapons—such a pretty sight.”
“Shut up.” I was at the front door and pressed my hand to it first. A slight tingle and whatever protective spell Dox had laid on it dissipated. I checked out the lock. Light burn marks around the edge of it looked fresh, but nothing else was out of place. There wasn’t enough room to slide my blade between the door and the door jam. I stepped back and raised my blade to my ear, then ran it forward, straight through the locking mechanism.
Twisting my blade, the feel of metal on metal ran up the length of the sword into my arm, but the lock gave.
I gave a silent thank you to Milly for spelled blades that cut through pretty much any shit I threw at them. I pulled my sword back, but didn’t sheath it. I hadn’t known Dox to have any ability whatsoever with magic, which made me wonder whether it was Dox who’d spelled the place or someone else.
I slipped into the darkened pub; the only light came through the door window behind me. I flicked the light switch, nothing happened. Shit, there was no reason his power would be cut off, and I was pretty sure he hadn’t turned it off before we left. “Doran, you didn’t lay a protective spell here for Dox, did you?”
“Nope. But someone did, and it isn’t a shaman I recognize.” He moved beside me. Alex crept forward on his tippy toes and whispered, “Alex smells Troll shit.”
Oh, shit. There was a scuffle from the back room, where Dox’s office was and where the safe was that held the black-skinned demon book. I moved to the bar and crouched, pressing my back against it. Alex followed me, and Doran moved across the room to the wall and disappeared in a shadow.
Trolls, I hated the fuckers with all I had in me. Trolls helped skin and kill Dox and the other ogres, and they had been dodging me and causing problems for longer than I cared to remember. If I could kill them, I would. Just on principle alone.
Three of them sauntered out of the back room, laughing and joking. In the poor light it was hard to tell, but I thought two of them were similar in color and size, their bodies giving off an almost neon yellow glow. Tall, but thick in the body, they were buck fucking naked, their double pronged dicks hanging limply to their knees. The third Troll looked to be of a darker color, maybe green, and his body was squat and lumpy, reminiscent of a toad. When his tongue flicked out and grabbed a fly, I realized he wasn’t just reminiscent of a toad. I wracked my brain as they got closer. Toad Trolls had a poison they secreted out of their mouths that they could spit quite far. Wouldn’t bother me any, but it would burn through pretty much anything else. Like locks and safes. In his hands, he held the black-skinned book.
I drew in a quiet breath, getting ready to start slicing into them when Toady boy decided to get clever.
“Here, hang onto this, stupid. I want to leave the Tracker a message of me own.” He threw the book at the other two Trolls, both of which scrambled to grab it out of mid-air. They ended up landing on the floor, pounding the shit out of each other.
Toady boy wasn’t watching though. If I thought Trolls were disgusting before, it was nothing to this shit. A dick in both hands, he started to whack off on the bar, just to the left of me. Yeah, that’s what I said.
Nope, I was not getting that in my hair, thank you very much. While he moaned and panted, oblivious to the world around him, I snapped my sword forward and up, taking not only his two dicks, but both hands too.
The other Trolls were still wrestling on the ground when Toady began to shriek, acid spraying out of his mouth and onto the bar in a steady mucous stream.
“Alex, behind me,” I shouted as I jerked my second sword out and, with the two, sliced Toady boy’s head from his shoulders.
Now, most creatures notice when their leader goes down. Not Trolls. Not smart, but mean as hell, they were too busy bashing the shit out of each other to notice their buddy was headless, dickless and, more importantly, dead.
As the two Trolls rolled across the room, I scooped up the black-skinned book and waved at Doran. “Got what I came for.”
I walked to the door, Alex snickering at my side. “Dumb Trolls.”
Yeah, when a submissive werewolf who was stuck permanently at the mentality of a two year old thought you were dumb, that was bad.
Doran held the door. “After you.”
And just like that, we were outside, in the fresh air.
Surrounded by Trolls.
Ah, fuck, it was never that easy, was it?
Chapter 9
“Where are we going now, Liam?”
He did his best not to sigh. Pamela meant well, but there were times her constant questions grated on him.
Like now.
“Agent Valley should have answers to the questions we have, so we go there. And quickly.”
Milly made eye contact with him briefly in the rearview mirror. “You think they’ll try to silence him?”
“If he’s not with Ingers, and she’s willing to kill us on sight, with no provocation, yes. I think they would try to shut him up.” Which would be bad on a lot of levels. If Valley was gone, and Ingers was in charge, they would no longer be able to say they had allies with the humans. And with a war coming, they needed all the allies they could get.
At the moment, Liam realized he was going to tell Agent Valley everything they knew about Orion, about Rylee, and the coming war. The agent, and the FBI, would need to know everything if they were going to help. And Liam was damn well making sure they would help one way or another.
He gave directions to the area he knew Agent Valley lived in. When Milly pulled over on the street intersection he’d given her, she s
aid, “You don’t actually know what house he’s in, do you?”
“No, but I can figure out quick enough.” He shimmied out of his clothes, his nudity not something that bothered him. There were far bigger things to be worried about than a witch ogling his ass.
He folded the clothes and handed them up to Pamela.
“Here, hang onto these for me, would you?”
She kept her eyes forward, a pink blush staining her pale cheeks. “Okay.”
He opened the door and stepped into the snow. Pamela and Milly slid out of the Jeep to wait for him. This time of day the road was quiet, and most people were at work, so there was no one to peer out a window and see them. Without another thought, he let the shift take him, trusting if a human did see him, they would see something else. He didn’t know, didn’t care. Bones turned to liquid for a brief moment as they bent and twisted to that of a wolf’s, and then he was on all fours. Nose to the ground, it didn’t take long to pick up a scent, though it wasn’t Agent Valley’s.
The smell of death and rot lay heavy all along the road. Rotting meat, molding clothes … he wrinkled his nose and let out a snort. He twitched his ears as Pamela moved up beside him and put a hand on the ruff of his neck.
“Any luck?”
Of course, he couldn’t answer her. He just put his nose to he ground and kept scenting. Somewhere in here he should find Agent Valley. He checked cars and walkways and when the occasional curtain twitched Milly and Pamela waved and smiled.
Again, he understood that humans saw what they wanted to: a large dog being walked by two nice young ladies. Probably sisters.
He worked his way up and down the road twice before he finally understood what was bothering him. The smell of rot … as he’d told Milly, Agent Valley had smelled of rot when they’d spoken London. Maybe there was more to it than just working with a necromancer. Excitement flared through him and he picked up the scent with ease, tracing it to the peach-colored house at the head of the street, right at the intersection.
When he approached the door, the curtain beside it twitched ever so slightly.
Bingo.
He glanced over his shoulder and the two witches walked swiftly to the left side of him.
“It’s about time, wolf,” Milly muttered under her breath as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
Pamela snorted at her. “You could have stayed home. We told you that you didn’t have to come.”
Liam couldn’t stop the grin that crossed his muzzle. That was Pamela. Milly stepped to the side, out of the way so Pam could knock on the door, his clothes gripped tightly in her hands. Inside, there was a sound of feet shuffling. And the light click of a gun being loaded.
Without thinking, he body-slammed Pamela against the wall as silenced shots popped softly, driving through the door where they’d been standing. Snarling, he leapt forward, taking the door out with his body in an explosion of wooden shards. Being part Guardian had its perks. Two more shots went off before he could see clearly, the bullets tearing through his chest.
Liam looked up as the wounds healed closed, the shooter a young man with pimples on his cheeks. Loose clothes, baggy jeans and underneath the smell of death was a three-week-old case of body odor.
“Oh, shit,” he squeaked, half-lowering the gun before seeming to realize he was going to need it again. Liam bared his teeth and took a step closer, the fur along his spine stiff with his anger.
The kid took a few steps back; the scent of magic filled the air and then the gun was jerked out of his hand, seemingly plucked away by an invisible person. The kid’s jaw twitched and he looked past Liam to Pamela.
“You stupid witch. Stay out of this.” Of course, that was when the kid lifted his hand and a black thread of something coiled from his palms. A supernatural using a gun against other supernaturals? Wasn’t there a rule about that kind of stuff?
Liam didn’t wait to see what the kid could do. Leaping forward, he covered the distance between them with ease, and took the kid to the floor. Pimple face’s head smashed against the fake tile floor with a resounding thud and his eyes rolled back in his head. The black smoke, or whatever the hell it was, faded and drew back into the kid’s hands.
Pamela sucked in a sharp breath. “I think he’s a necromancer, like Anne.” She pushed him with her toe. “At least he’s not going to be raising anything nasty with his noggin conked.”
Liam took in a slow breath, couldn’t get past the stench of rot and knew this form wasn’t going to help him anymore. Breathing out, he let the change take him and within seconds stood on two feet. Pamela handed him his clothes as she turned her back.
Without hesitation, Liam scooped up the fallen gun. If it worked in the hands of a supernatural, he wanted it. He tucked it into the back of his pants, a feeling of familiarity rolling over him. Sure, he could use a sword, but a gun was his weapon of choice, and always would be.
Milly, though, had no such qualms. She watched him dress, her eye calm and assessing, but she said nothing. He forced himself not to hurry, knowing this was a power pull with her. She wanted to make him nervous, to put him off balance.
“Not going to work, Milly,” he grumbled as he pulled his shirt over his head and slipped on his shoes.
“What’s that, Liam?” Her eyebrows arched high, giving her a falsely innocent look.
He turned his back on her and crouched beside the kid. Even in this form, the scent of rot was strong. “Pamela, can you lace this kid up, stick him so he can’t do anything?”
“I can stick him on the wall, but I can’t stop him from raising dead things.” She swallowed hard, the gulp audible. Rylee said Anne freaked out Pamela worse than the zombies she’d raised. Weird.
Putting a hand to her shoulder, he gave her a squeeze. “That’ll be fine. You and Milly stay here, keep an eye on him. I’m going to search the house for Agent Valley.”
Pamela pinned the kid to the wall in seconds, her lips tight. Leaving them, he started through the house. Kitchen and living room were empty, as was the bathroom and two bedrooms. A full circuit left only one more door. He opened it and stared into the dark stairwell.
“Son of a bitch, it’s always the basement.” Above his head dangled a string and he pulled it, but the light didn’t flick on. A low moan echoed up to him, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with the noise.
He shook his head. “Like a damn horror movie. Wait for it, O’Shea, next you’ll see an image of your dead parents.”
A shallow breath and he started down the stairs. While a flashlight would have been great, he didn’t really need it; a light source came into the basement from somewhere, maybe a ground level window. His eyes adjusted to the low level with ease.
One more step and he was on the concrete floor, which happened to be covered with a think layer of water.
“Shit on a stick. Valley, what have you gotten yourself into?” He did a slow turn. To his right was an open area and a few chunks of wood, to his left another door with a faint glow coming under the gap at the bottom. The basement seemed to be circular, similar to the house above. If he wanted to, he could run tiny laps down here. A moan and a thump against the door to his left drew his attention. His feet splashed in the water, but with each step the smell of death intensified. Forcing himself to crouch, he touched the water and brought the smell to his nose.
Gagging, he stood up fast and fought not to puke into what wasn’t just water, but a slurry of old blood and viscera.
“Fuck, that is nasty.” Doing his best not to think about what he stood in, he made his way to the door. Hand on the knob, he twisted it. In the backlit room stood Agent Valley, swaying on his feet.
“Sir?”
His old boss seemed to stare right through him, teeth clicking together twice before he really seemed to see Liam.
“O’Sheaaaaaaa.” He raised his hands and lurched forward. Liam caught him, felt the lack of resistance in Valley’s flesh, fingers inadvertently driving through to the bone.
“Sir, what’s happened to you?” What the fuck was going on here?
Agent Valley was interrupted with anything he might say by screaming upstairs.
Liam spun, taking Agent Valley with him. “Sir, we have to get out of here, because if I know Pamela at all—”
An explosion rocked the foundation of the house when they were halfway up the stairs, the timbers around them shivering and then collapsing completely.
Lunging and dragging his old boss, cringing as chunks of flesh heaved from the agent’s arms, Liam managed to get them both to the top of the stairs.
Pamela was there, pulling at his arms. “We have to go, Liam. That lady from the police station is here.” Shit, things just got better and better.
Behind Pamela stood the pimple-faced kid, who appeared to have regained consciousness. He stared at Liam and Valley.
“Don’t hurt him.” Was all the kid managed to say. Liam chose not to point out there was no hurting someone who was already dead and rotting.
“Come on, let’s go.” With a single heave, Liam tossed Agent Valley over his shoulder, the older man’s gut squishing and squirming in a most viscous way.
Nothing to do now but run.
And hope to hell there was enough of Agent Valley left when they stopped running, he could tell them what the hell was going on.
Trolls, while not particularly clever, fast, or empathetic, were truly not fun to deal with on a large scale. And a large scale was exactly what we were looking at with at least thirty surrounding us.
Doran glanced sideways at me. “Let me try to calm this before you start lopping off more heads. I’m not sure even you can manage this many.”
While I didn’t put my swords away, I did give him the benefit of the doubt. He was right, there were too many for me to be thinking I could manhandle the situation. A bit of finesse every now and then didn’t hurt. Usually.
He cleared his throat and raised his hands into the air, effectively silencing the crowd. “Boys, you have a slight problem inside the bar. One of your leaders has been ambushed by those who were supposed to be helping him.”
Tracker: A Rylee Adamson Novel (Book 6) Page 8
