My lips were cracked, my throat desert-dry. I heard another greased-skid mutter rumble of thunder in the distance.
I just got kicked around by a rogue Were. That's twice in twenty-four hours I should be dead. Dead. Even with the bargain, I would be dead. Rotting. Gone.
In Hell, probably. Almost certainly. That's where hunters end up, in Hell.
Or so the Church said. No Confession, no Communion, and no Heaven for those of us who come face to face with the nightside. The murders we commit and the foulness we witness remains with us even after death; it is a point of doctrine from 1427 onward. It hasn't ever changed, despite hunters' petitions.
Sometimes I wonder about that.
A shiver passed through me, muscles locking like a seizure. I pulled myself together with an effort that chilled fresh sweat on my skin. "Fuck," I whispered. "Where did he go? Where is he?"
Saul's weight shifted slightly, his arms tightening as soon as I spoke. "He bolted south. There's a full pack of Weres after him, Dominic went with them." His mouth twisted down for a moment, and my brain slammed into overdrive.
What's he doing here ? He should be chasing the rogue. "Go." My lips were numb. "You're a tracker. Go."
An electric current bolted from his eyes to mine, something surfacing in his and shooting straight through my veins like a jolt of recoil. I almost flinched, the feeling was so strong. He should have gone after the rogue that killed his sister, but he'd stayed here to make sure I was all right.
Why?
I didn't know, and I didn't care. For that one moment, someone looked into my eyes and saw past every wall I'd ever built to protect myself. And I could swear I saw past every wall he'd ever built in his head too, and that something in me—something deep and buried, something bruised and battered but still strong— recognized him.
Knew him. Somehow.
What the hell?
"I'll be back." He rose in a swift wave, letting go of the gun, and was gone through the shattered door into the back yard, his shadow briefly made of black paper against the grayness of a thunderlit dawn. The air swirled with electricity.
I shut my eyes. Storm coming. Probably hit this afternoon, I can feel the pressure shifting.
Why did he do that?
The shrieking, gibbering animal part of me didn't care. Blood soughed in my veins, and my skin crackled with drying sweat and other slick drying fluids. I heard my pulse, clear and strong.
I was alive.
This is getting surreal even for me. And that's saying something.
"What the fuck is going on?" Harp's voice was loaded with a growl of its own, somehow all the more chilling because of the soft clear femininity of the tone. "Kismet? Care to clue me in?"
I heard my breath, harsh and jagged, leaned my head back against the freezing concrete of the wall. "Jon Clarke called from New York. He told me Navoshtay had trapped a Were for his own amusement, damaged him. But Navoshtay's daughter set the Were free and fled with him." My throat was raw, I tasted blood with the words.
"We've got a major paranormal incident shaping up. God knows what she wants that Were for. And I've got a goddamn 'breed capable of a psychic nuke looking to make this more difficult than it has to be."
That was only half of what Jon had told me, but I knew better than to open my mouth about the rest of it.
That's bullshit, Jon. I'm surprised at you. The sick thump under my breastbone wouldn't stop hatching thin tracers of nausea.
I have it on the best authority, Kismet. Somehow, Arkady's daughter bred with a rogue Were. She's pregnant, and her daddy's after her.
What authority do you have it on? I'd persisted. Too many stars were moving into alignment, and the constellation they were making was disturbing, to say the very least.
The best authority, Kiss. Watch your ass out there. There's no telling what will happen if this situation gets out of control.
The trouble was, it was already out of control. Were don't like hellbreed, and hellbreed don't like them. But Jon wouldn't tell me this if it wasn't true. Hunters don't lie about this sort of shit.
Even a little white lie can kill a hunter, and there are too few of us as it is.
I should have been screaming in fear or sobbing with the snapback reaction of passing too close to death and clawing my way through once more. I should have been pushing myself to get up, clean myself off, and do something to stop this immense clusterfuck-in-progress.
Instead, I was thinking of Saul Dustcircle's eyes, and feeling the electricity that went through me at the memory of his skin on mine.
He knew me. Or for one brief, endless second he had seen right through me. It was the same thing. He had somehow recognized what I was, down at the bottom of my soul.
And he had still held me.
Get up, Jill. Get back on the horse. You don't have time for this.
Not while there were people dying and a rogue on the loose. Everything else could wait.
Cleaning up wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Most of the forensic techs had been in the front yard, poking at a suspicious patch of grass dying under the weight of a viscous, rapidly decaying fluid that might have been oil. I couldn't figure out what the liquid was, even after scanning it with my blue eye. It reeked of hellbreed and death, blackening the grass underneath. The techs took samples, but I didn't think they'd get anything. Hellbreed tissues break down quickly once they're damaged, and this stuff seemed no exception.
The rest of the cops hadn't seen the rogue shatter out of the cellar, or the collection of changed and unchanged Weres streaking after it.
Thank God for small favors.
The bodies in the cellar were being untangled by Forensics, gently and thoroughly. I couldn't see the cavalcade of blue rubberized bags going out the front door, but I heard it each time a coroner's van started up and the picture-flashes started popping. My skin would run with gooseflesh and I would repeat the promise to myself.
I will avenge you, whoever you are. I will grant you vengeance on the thing that did this to you. I left the copper cuff off, paying my penance with each eye-watering noseful of stench striking across my sensitive nostrils.
I could even tell myself the hot water slicking my cheeks was just from the smell.
Harp leaned against the wall inside the shattered cellar door. I sat on the steps going up to free air and a day overcast with the promise of thunder, yellow-green stormlight drenching my shoulders from behind. She had settled into immobility, her eyes lambent with the weird light.
Mike Foster detached himself from the organized hive of activity and crossed over to us, peeling off his latex gloves. "You okay?" His sleek ponytail wasn't mussed, but his eyes were haunted, with dark circles to rival my own growing underneath.
"What's the count?" That wasn't what I meant. What I wanted to say was, did you find the children? Tell me you didn't.
"Thirteen." His eyes met mine, spoke for a long moment. "Two of them…" He didn't have to finish the sentence.
I made a slight movement, closed my eyes. The worst thought of all returned—that there had been dust on the counter and the dishes, and bills from last month on the table.
I should have known. I should have somehow saved them.
Mike sighed. "I think we've got everyone. We'll ID them if we can, there's no clothes or anything hanging around.
That's weird."
Not so weird if a hellbreed is cleaning up afterward. It's like them to minimize the information you can get from a scene. "Not so weird." I hauled myself wearily to my feet. "Buzz me if you need me, 'kay?"
I wanted to howl and beat my head against the concrete. I wanted to take off blindly running south, after the rogue and the hunting pack of Weres trailing him. Hopefully he had already been brought to bay and dispatched.
Hopefully.
I rocked forward, standing up and opening my eyes. Foster, at the bottom of the steps, flinched as he met my gaze.
The silver chimed in my hair, tinkling sweetly as leather creak
ed.
"Jill—" He stopped abruptly, tried again. "Be careful, okay? This is bad. The bodies, they've been…" His eyes cut over to Harp, and the sharp stink of human fear cut through the reek of death for a moment.
"Savaged." Harper said flatly. The feathers in her hair fluttered as she made a swift movement of distaste.
"Chewed up. You'll find muscle mass gone and organs missing, as well as splintered bones."
Mike winced. His watch glittered as he reached up, raking his fingers through his glossy hair. "I wish your friends wouldn't tell me these things." He directed it at me.
I wish Pepper was back on duty. She had a higher tolerance for this sort of thing. Still, I couldn't blame Mike. This would bother any reasonable human being.
Should I be glad or upset that "reasonable" doesn't describe me? I almost shot Saul, and nothing I've done has turned out right on this job. I should have picked up on this long before now.
I reached out, blindly. Mike's hand met mine, and I squeezed briefly, gently. The scar pulsed on my wrist, sensing human flesh and high emotional distress. I reined myself in with a physical effort, more sweat slicking the waistband of my leather pants. Things would start chafing if I kept this up.
There was something in my throat, a difficulty like talking through mud. "Sorry, Mike. Give a call if you need me, and see the psych boys for some downers if you have to. Okay?"
"It's not me I'm worried about, Jill. It's you. You're looking a little worn out."
I wonder why. I made a face, freeing my fingers from his. "So they tell me. When the nightside slows down, I will too." I turned on my heel and was gone up the steps before he could respond.
Harp matched me step for step, and she waited until we were in the back yard before her fingers closed around my arm. "Jill."
I stopped, staring across the yard at the greenbelt behind the house. There were bushes back there, and a screen of trashwood trees. Dusty greens and grays ran together in front of my eyes, and I was suddenly sure it would be a good place to watch the house from. I caught no breath of being watched, but you don't live long as a hunter without checking the terrain.
Harp's fingers didn't loosen. She could break my arm without half trying, with a Were's strength.
Of course, I could heal in moments and repay her with interest.
What am I thinking? She's my friend, and she's a Were. I'm too close to the edge if I'm even thinking like this. But the engine in my head didn't stop turning over the probabilities, evaluating every single living thing around me.
When you can't turn that machine off, it's time to get some rest. Unless, of course, you can't rest because the bodies are piling up.
Harp didn't shake me, but I got the idea she wanted to. "What's going on?"
I tried not to feel relieved. "I wish I knew. I only have half the pieces of the—"
Her face went through frustration, a flash of anger, and settled on impatience. "No. I mean with you and Saul."
Dammit I suppressed a guilty start, knew she would feel it anyway. "Don't know there either. You're the one who sicced him on me. Besides, he thinks I'm tainted."
Good one, Jill. Why did he swap spit with you, then? And so nicely, too. I felt the flush creeping up my cheeks again, couldn't stop it. Cursed inwardly.
"He apologized. He didn't understand, and you know what Rez Weres are like." Harp's tone was so dismissive I felt my teeth want to grind together.
"Not so much. I never worked with a Rez Were before." I pulled away from her hand, achieved exactly nothing.
Felt the temptation to grab her wrist and lock it, give the quick jerk to dislocate and bring my knee up…
Calm down, Jill. She's not the enemy here. "Let go, Harp. I'm not in the mood."
"He's acting possessive." In her you-are-being-dumb tone.
So I played dumb. "Who?"
"Saul."
"Is that what it is." Then, mercifully, my pager went off. I dug with my right hand in my pocket and fished the damn thing out. "Let go. It's Galina." Thank God it's her. Anyone else calling, it'd be likely to be another body in the streets. The Weres are chasing the rogue, and that just leaves this blonde hellbreed and her loving daddy to deal with.
She gave up, letting go of my arm and making a short noise of annoyance. "Just be careful, Jill. Don't break his heart."
I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you. Why don't you keep him away from me? "Weres don't date humans, Harp." I swung away from her. "Now I'm going after that goddamn hellbreed. Buzz me if you need me."
"You're not exactly fully human anymore, Kismet." She had to raise her voice a little, and thunder underscored her words. I took a deep breath of the dusty green smell of impending rain and hunched my shoulders.
Yes I am, I wanted to shout back over my shoulder. I am still human, and humans don't date Weres.
Yeah, the snide little voice of my more sarcastic side piped up. But rogue Weres don't work with hellbreed either.
And hellbreed don't make bargains with hunters. Pigs are going to start flying any moment now.
Chapter Twenty-one
Galina's shop was shut up tighter than an oyster, the sign turned to "closed" and the blinds on the front windows drawn down. Her back door was closed and locked too, and the red-orange carapace of Sanctuary shielding wedded to the walls resounded uneasily, crackling with the charge in the air. The storm was coming in fast, breathless expectancy hanging thick under the clouds, pressing on pavement and hurrying people.
I knocked at Galina's red-painted back door for a long time, more uneasy than ever. I couldn't break in and poke around inside her house without dealing with the Sanctuary bindings, and if she wasn't answering she was either out or had retreated to her inner sanctum for some Work. The latter was most likely; Sancs don't often go abroad.
Then who the hell called me from here ? And would Galina be out with a rogue Were on the streets? Not to mention the hellbreed action recently.
I thought about it, eyeing the porch roof over her back door.
A few moments later I was on the roof, and I cased it thoroughly, even sweeping behind the glass cube of the greenhouse where Galina grew all sorts of fun stuff. I mean, where else are you going to get your hellebore and mandrake, if not from your local Sane?
I don't like this. Who called me? Where's Galina?
My boots creaked, dyed dark with dried blood. My coat flapped, lifting on stray breaths of breeze as wind flirted uneasily between earth and storm-laden sky. The scar pulsed, random little soundless chuckles of wet delight spilling up my arm from its puckered tissue.
Even the emergency hatch behind an AC unit was closed and stubborn. I moved to the edge of the roof and peered down the deserted street, not liking the feeling I was getting.
A slight prickling between my shoulder blades, as if I was being watched. Was it nerves? God knew I was having a little trouble with mental balance, lately. Getting almost-killed twice in one day can do that to you.
It's not the getting killed that's worrying you, Jill. It's a Were. Specifically, a Were who's "getting possessive," in Harp's immortal phrase.
It took a physical effort to get my mental train off that track. Stay focused, Jill.
I eased along the edge of the roof to peer down at the front of the store. Stray bits of paper rustled, skipping down the pavement. I caught a breath of diesel and a powerful hit of green-gray river water, and the ozone smell of approaching lightning. The street was deserted, lamps flickering into life in the gathering artificial twilight.
A glass and iron box a block up caught my eye, and my skin roughened instinctively. I felt cold all over, my breath shortening and my nipples peaking under my T-shirt, hard as chips of rock. Phone booth. Galina's got her number stenciled on her front window, and my pager's not exactly a secret I'm a goddamn idiot.
The cloak of red-orange energy over the building shivered restively, like a horse.
I froze.
The click of a hammer cocking sounde
d very loud behind me.
"Don't move," Navoshtay Siv Cenci said, in a pleasant, light tone. "Keep facing the street, hunter."
I've been shot before, hellbreed. But I stayed where I was, my back alive with gooseflesh and the knowledge that a
'breed who had nearly eviscerated me and made mincemeat out of Harp was behind me, with a gun. The click sounded like a large-caliber model. Or maybe that was just my nerves again.
Behind me. She had to have come up from the porch roof. Had she been watching from down the street? How had she gotten my pager number? It wasn't a secret, but still—
Galina had better be inside her sanctum. If you've touched her I will kill you. Rage worked its way up inside me.
Subsided with an effort that left me shaking, struggling to think clearly through the adrenaline haze. It wasn't logical—even a hellbreed couldn't harm a Sane inside her own House. Galina was too smart to go outside, wasn't she?
Wasn't she?
I waited. Patience, milaya. It is soft and quiet that catches mouse.
Only this mouse had the drop on me, and a gun to boot.
"You've killed to find me. To flush me out of safety." Cenci's voice was calm and pleasant, with only the tinkling wrongness of it to tell me hellbreed. I could sense it now, the contamination in the air around her. Silver shifted in my hair, heating up, blue light running under its surface. Thunder roiled faroff, coming closer.
"The Were's being chased," I said to the street. "He'll be killed mercifully. You, however, are a whole different ball of wax." Two children. And Jimmy Cheung, you bitch. Cleaning up? What kind of game are you playing?
The silence behind me took on a predatory cast, the pause of a shark in the moment just after blood hits the water and right before frenzy. Galina's building thrummed underneath me, quivering with unease. Slowly waking up, catching the current of bloodlust passing between my unprotected back and the hellbreed behind me.
"I should kill you," Navoshtay Siv Cenci whispered. "We don't want trouble. I just wanted to be left alone to do what I have to do. Is that so much to ask?"
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