Oh, fuck me. The other side was not a ‘ta-da,’ more of shit on toast we’re in trouble.
“Shut the door!” I screamed as I ran toward him.
He wasn’t fast enough, and the doorframe cracked as the giant spider pushed its way through. Its body brushed the top of the doorway, and its legs folded nearly in half in order to make it. A tawny golden fur covered its body, and in another time I would have said the thing was magnificent, maybe even beautiful. There was one real small glitch.
Its eyes glinted silver.
A Guardian.
And I wasn’t betting on being able to talk us out of this one. But there was no choice, I had to hope this Guardian had some sense, as did Eagle and Bear.
I lowered my blades and did my best imitation of meek. “Guardian, we did not mean to disturb you. We were on the hunt for another.” The arachnid scuttled forward, its furry legs flashing. Doran and I dove in opposite directions and the spider spun, going after Doran.
“Alex, keep the door open!” I swung hard with my blades, crisscrossing them in front of me and taking the leg closest to me off partway up. A high-pitched squeal more porcine than anything else erupted out of the Guardian. It spun and faced me, and I held up my blades.
The time for meek and mild was gone. “I will fucking well take you apart limb by limb or you can go back into that hole you came from.”
It clacked its fangs together twice. “Child of the Lost Ones, you take my leg and expect me to go obediently where you tell me to?”
I slid my blades along each other and adjusted my stance. “No. But you need to have an option before I chop you into tiny little pieces. You can leave now, with seven of eight, or you can stick around and see how many appetizers I take before you’ve had enough.”
The Guardian went still, only the fur on its long legs waving in some unseen breeze. “The Lost Ones were always foolishly brave. It is why they are no more. It seems their blood runs true yet.”
I dropped my weight, bracing my body, thinking this was it, the Guardian was going to attack. It let out a long breath. “I do not wish you well, Lost One, for I do not think well wishes will help you with where you’re headed.”
It took a step back, and then another. With nothing more said, it slid through the doorway. Alex slammed the door shut and pressed his back against it, his golden eyes as wide as I’d ever seen them.
“Big ass spider.”
I slumped where I stood, the adrenaline rushing out of me. “Holy fucking hell that was lucky.”
Alex slid down the doorway and I pointed at him. “No more opening doors unless I’m right there, got it?”
He crossed his heart with a claw. “Gots it.”
I slid my swords into their sheaths as I turned to Doran … “Doran?”
There was no answer from the Daywalker. He must have made a run for it down the hall. I strode around the corner and stumbled to a halt. He was flat on the floor, two huge puncture marks in his middle, foam frothing out of his mouth.
“Fuck, Doran!” I dropped to the ground, grabbed him and rolled him to his side. His body convulsed, shaking with the venom pumping through it. No wonder the freak ass Guardian didn’t mind leaving. It had done damage to us already.
An eye for an eye and all that shit.
I wiped the foam away, tried to clear his throat. “Alex!”
There was a scrabble of claws on the rock floor and then he was with me, but like me, there was nothing he could do.
I lifted Doran a little, slid my hand down his arm to feel for a pulse. It was erratic and weak, but there. Only one person might, maybe could help us.
I tipped my head back and screamed his name.
“FARIS!”
Just once, I called for him. He would hear me and come, or he would ignore me and Doran would die in my arms. I quickly slid out of my jacket. Losing another friend, wasn’t an option. I wiped his face again and slid out one of my blades. I pressed it gently against my arm. The blade was so sharp, I didn’t feel the sting, even when the blood flowed down my arm to pool in my elbow.
I lowered my wrist over Doran’s mouth, my blood dripping in, turning the white foam pink. I scooped the foam out with my fingers so my blood dripped deep into his mouth.
He let out a moan, the first real noise I’d heard from him.
“You would give the Daywalker your blood?” Faris said behind me.
I pressed my wrist against Doran’s mouth, felt him latch on, his lips suctioning around my open wound. “You got a better idea?”
“You woke me to watch you two have your little love fest?”
The snarl in his voice turned me toward him. “I wasn’t sure this would work, vampire.”
Faris spun on his heel and limped away from me. In the back of my mind, I took note that Faris was really not healing well.
Doran sat up, his arms wound around mine, holding me to him. I didn’t know how long to let him draw from me, but since he was sitting up, I figured we were about done. “That’s enough for you.” I slid my finger between his mouth and my arm and popped the suction.
He moaned and sagged forward. “Rylee, that was bad.”
“I hope you didn’t see a bright light and head toward it when I brought you back.” I sat beside him, my hip against his calf.
Coughing, he shook his head. “No, not so picturesque.” He shuddered. “Your blood is different, Rylee, stronger. It shouldn’t have brought me back from that venom, not from a Guardian. I should have died no matter what you did.”
I shrugged. “Can I do anything about it, my blood that is?”
He slowly shook his head. “No, but be aware of it. Your blood was a draw before, but it is stronger yet. Do not let Faris bite you, or Berget. Or anyone else for that matter.”
His words were an eerie echo of Berget’s. “Just add it to the pile of shit on my plate. For the record, I hadn’t planned on letting anyone bite me.”
Alex snuggled up beside me. “Sorry, don’t be mad at Alex.”
I curled forward to hug him. “Hey, I’m not mad at you. You didn’t know it was on the other side.”
“Alex sorry, to Doran.” He reached out and slid a claw over Doran’s hand.
Doran waved him off. “No big deal. What’s life without a little poison now and then?”
We said nothing more, just shifted and shimmied until the three of us leaned against the wall and waited for Faris to show up. Wrapped around each other, like children scared of the dark night, praying for their parents to rescue them. Only there were no parents coming for us, we weren’t praying, and would have no rescue but the one we came up with ourselves.
The place Frank led them to was not what he’d been expecting. He’d expected an old, run down building with barbed wire twisted around the fence and gate, sluggish Trolls patrolling the perimeter, the obvious suspect.
Not a mirrored building that glistened even under the weak starlight, looking as pristine as only a brand new building could. No guards, no fence, a nice parking lot and trees planted every ten feet along the front of the property. Young trees that hadn’t had a chance to be anything but saplings.
Night had fallen as they drove, and now it was closing in on midnight. Snow still fell in an icy mist, felt but not seen. Not much time was left before Rylee would be back and waiting on them. That would be a first.
Liam eyed the place, looking for a way in. “Did you get inside, Frank?”
Frank sat on the other side of the backseat and shook his head. “No, I got this close, and then slipped around to the back. They were doing some sort of demo outside to prove the guns worked.”
“How did you know they were doing a demo? How did you know these guns worked against supernaturals?”
Frank swallowed hard enough that the two witches in the front seats turned to look at him.
“They had a firing squad.”
Chills swept through Liam, and though he suspected he knew the answer, he still had to ask. “What exactly were they shooti
ng, kid?”
Frank swallowed hard again before answering. “I didn’t know what the creatures were, but they were tied up together and they weren’t human. Not even close. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
It didn’t matter what kind of supernatural had been rounded up for the firing squad, the point was it had been done.
“What a clusterfuck,” he said softly, wondering in that moment how Rylee was faring. Hell, she was probably back at Giselle’s, pissed off they were taking so long.
He made the decision quickly. “Milly, can you show Pamela a way to hide us, so we can slip in?”
Milly snorted. “Like a cloaking device? This isn’t Star Trek, O’Shea.”
The wolf in him had him leaning forward and physically crowding her across the seats before he could stop himself. A low growl slipped though, making it very difficult to think of anything but her neck snapping between his teeth.
“Liam.” Pamela put a hand on his shoulder. “I can cause a distraction, I don’t need her to help us get in.”
He turned slowly to look at the young witch. Not a drop of fear trickled out of her; she trusted him with her life. With a slow easing of his muscles he slid back on the seat.
“What are you thinking?”
“I did it for Rylee once, I started a fire. Everyone rushes to that, and we sneak around back and in.” She tucked a strand of blond hair behind one ear. “We can leave Milly in the car and take Frank with us.”
Milly stiffened in her seat, and he heard the beat of her heart shift. She was afraid to be left alone, afraid Orion would come for her when she had no one to save her ass.
“Good idea, Pam. Let’s get this done.”
The three of them piled out of the Jeep, and Milly didn’t move from her seat, didn’t wish them luck, didn’t ask them if they were sure.
He almost thought he saw a tremble of tears shine across her eyes, but he ignored it.
The bite of the North Dakota wind snapped at his bare face, but the fresh air was welcome after sitting in the Jeep with three other people and the residual odor from Agent Valley.
Taking the lead, he motioned with his hand for the two kids to follow him. Shit, this must have been how Rylee felt, towing Pamela, Alex, and Eve around on her salvages and such. While they were powerful in their own rights, they were children, untrained and so very young.
With nothing but the soft crunch of their feet on the packed snow, they slipped around the side of the building, staying well back from the lights.
Halfway there, Liam saw a major flaw in the plan and touched Pamela on the arm. “They will see where the shots come from. Go back to the Jeep, get Milly to drive and let off two or three fireballs. Be sure not to hit the doors, we want to drive them out front, not push them out the back.”
Her jaw tightened. “And then just you and Frank go in?”
Liam drew her close. “They can’t hurt me. And Frank can raise the dead. We’ll be okay, but not if they are on top of us before we even reach the door. We don’t want a fire fight, not with people who have guns that work against us. Double back and meet us along the road there.” He pointed to a dark line passing through dense canopied trees that ran parallel to the building. He didn’t point out he had a gun—Frank’s—tucked into the back of his pants under his shirt.
She let out the building steam of teenage indignation in a big gush of air. “You’re right.” No more words, she turned and ran back the way they’d come, her long hair streaming behind her.
Liam didn’t waste any time. “Frank, let’s go.”
They jogged around the perimeter and were at the back of the mirrored building within a few minutes, crouched low against the snow. Between the building and them was a line of dark, dirty snow, posts driven at twelve-foot intervals, chains dangling from them. Liam lifted his nose and took a deep breath.
Trolls, they’d used Trolls. Not that the killing of the slimy bastards was any loss, but if the Trolls decided they had a vendetta against the humans, and the Trolls were aligned with Orion … shit, clusterfuck didn’t begin to cover what they could be looking at.
“How are we going to know the witch does anything?” Frank whispered, his eyes round and dilated behind his glasses.
“You’ll know. And don’t call her ‘the witch.’ She has a name. Use it,” Liam said softly. There was very little finesse behind Pamela’s abilities, just sheer power. With her, it was all or nothing.
“Sorry.”
Without warning, an explosion erupted, lighting the night on fire as a column of flame shot high into the sky straight up the front side of the building.
“Holy shit,” Frank breathed. The kid had missed Pamela’s previous light show, exploding Ingers’s cars, since he’d been unconscious.
“Remember that next time you try to take her on or call her ‘the witch,’” Liam grunted as he started forward. A second column joined the first and then a streak of flame the size of a truck soared in an arc toward the top of the building.
Liam paced himself so the kid could keep up; even at that slow speed, they made it to the back of the building without anyone seeing them.
They skidded to a stop, and Liam pressed his hands against the door, which opened easily. Not even locked? That was cocky beyond any FBI agent or operation he’d ever known.
They stepped inside and Liam froze, his nostrils flaring, every nerve in his body dancing with recognition.
Witches, and lots of them, had been here. His thoughts connected. “Frank, we have to get some of these weapons out of here, and then we have to burn this place down.”
“Isn’t that what the witch—I mean, Pamela—is doing?”
Liam forced himself to move forward, deeper into the building, deeper into the thick smell of witch and dark magic. “No. And we have to hurry because we aren’t dealing with humans.”
Frank swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing several times. “Other supernaturals are helping them kill their own kind, that’s what you’re saying?”
Liam followed his nose, sniffing for gun oil, and picking it up pretty quick. He didn’t bother to answer the kid. “This way.” He wove through the lower levels of the building. The weapons were always stored down low in the FBI buildings, easier to grab on the way out. They didn’t run into anyone as they traversed the hallways, though Liam heard footsteps now and again.
He brought them to a door labeled “Armory.” With a glance at the kid, he pushed the door open and peered inside. Armory indeed. Guns of every size and type. Without questioning himself, he grabbed two handguns to replace those he could no longer use. While he didn’t mind Rylee’s blades, guns would always be his first choice.
“Grab two guns and the ammo for them.”
Frank did as he was told and Liam gathered up ammo for himself, stuffing it into a large backpack on the floor. Footsteps coming down the hallway made him pause. He snapped his fingers and got Frank’s attention. “Hide.”
Frank stared around them, settling on tucking himself between two desks.
Liam loaded the weapon, almost casually, though his heart thumped hard. The last time he’d used a gun, he inadvertently killed his partner. Being as close to supernaturals as they’d been, the bullet veered sideways instead of staying on its intended course.
The door swung inward and a man in his forties strode into the room, his head down. “Gods be damned, I thought we’d taken out that meddling coven.”
Liam didn’t wait for the witch to bring his head up, didn’t give him time to use a spell. He just pulled the trigger. Even in his hands, the gun worked and the bullet stayed true, driving through the man’s head.
The witch was dead before he hit the floor.
“That was loud, Liam,” Frank whispered, standing.
Liam nodded. “Yeah, guns tend to be that way. Time to leave, I think.”
Frank nodded, then lifted his hand, and the body at Liam’s feet twitched. Frank gave him a half grin. “I’ll leave him to guard the weapons. Tha
t should scare the shit out of the rest of them.”
The dead witch rose slowly, pushing itself to its feet, but only had eyes for the kid who intoned in a more than creepy voice. “Protect this room, kill all who enter.”
The zombie nodded, its head lolling forward and back with far more looseness than it should have.
Liam scanned the room, saw two files on the far side. He grabbed them and stuffed them into the bag alongside the ammo.
All of this seemed too easy, too well laid out. Then again, it wasn’t the FBI running the show; it seemed to be a coven of witches who thought no one could touch them. Who thought no one was left to slip through the back door and steal their things.
“Pride goeth before the fall,” he whispered as they stepped out the room, quickly retracing their footsteps. The back door was in sight and he pushed the kid ahead. “Go.”
The crackle of air, the scent of ozone. He didn’t think, just leapt for Frank, tackling him to the floor as the lightning zig-zagged through the hallway, bouncing off the walls.
Liam rolled, and brought up the gun, sighting down the barrel. The gun barely bucked in his hand as he squeezed off two shots. The witch at the end of the hallway dropped, her eyes going wide as she clutched at her chest.
“Not so much fun when your shit is turned on you, is it?” He pushed to his feet and grabbed the kid, the sound of many feet and voices coming their way. “Come on, Frank. They’ve taken away the welcome mat.”
They shoved through the door and out of the building, bolting across the open space, across the firing squad line, and into the dark winter night.
Running hard, they met up with Pamela and Milly on the side road.
Liam jerked the door open. “Pamela, let it burn, we have to destroy it.”
Her eyes lit up and she jumped out of the Jeep. Fire flew from her fingers, tagging them exactly where they were. But it didn’t matter. The building was burning hard and fast and for all the witches who were left, it was too much. They scattered as multiple explosions in the lower floors burst windows.
Milly got out of the Jeep and went and touched Pamela on the shoulder. “That’s enough. They won’t be able to stop it, but they will come for us. I know them well enough.”
Tracker: A Rylee Adamson Novel (Book 6) Page 12
