by E. S. Moore
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m hoping to get some more information tonight. I shouldn’t be out too long.”
He nodded, frowned slightly, as if unsure I was telling him anything, and then walked away with a shrug.
Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“I know,” I said. “I shouldn’t keep everything to myself. But right now, I don’t think I can talk about it. I just want to eat without thinking about blood and guts and the people who’ll more than likely end up dying before this thing is done.
He hesitated and then nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Just don’t shut us out too much.” Ethan rose. “I’m going to get some coffee and head on down to my lab. Do you need anything before I go?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll go down and grab some weapons just in case, but I’m really hoping that tonight is just an information run. I could use a night off.”
He dropped a hand onto my good shoulder, squeezed, and then walked away.
I set my fork down, no longer hungry. I hadn’t meant to, but within five minutes, I’d pushed both men away. I should have told them something—anything at all that would let them know I wasn’t going to go running off to my death. Even the tiniest interaction would have helped.
But right then, I just wanted to forget about everything for a bit. It was bad enough I was going to have to talk to Mikael about what was going on. After that, I planned on hitting up Jonathan at the Den to get some answers from him.
It was going to be a real shitty night.
I rose and headed down into the basement. Ethan was already hard at work downstairs and I inwardly hoped he wasn’t summoning his demon. I might be free of the marks, but that didn’t mean he was. If we could find a way to get him free, we could put Beligral behind us forever.
Of course, I’d probably have to retire if we did. He supplied us with the silver for my weapons and as much as I hated to admit it, he’d helped me with a few problems I wouldn’t have been able to handle on my own. Demon or not, he’d been invaluable.
On that happy thought, I grabbed a fresh gun, checked to make sure it was loaded, and then slammed it home. The sword and knives came next. I ran my finger down the sword blade before sheathing it, marveling at how it didn’t burn like it should have. Even Adrian had proved himself invaluable lately.
Once armed, I put on my coat, patted the big door that led down into Ethan’s lab, and then headed for the Bloody Stake.
The parking lot was practically empty as I pulled up next to the door. There was no sign that anyone had died outside. The blood had been washed away, leaving behind only the faintest trace. It would take a really good werewolf nose to smell it.
I entered the bar to find a somber crowd. Except for Bart and Mikael, who were always there, only two other people were inside. They sat close to the door and actually jumped when I walked in.
“Slow night?” I asked, turning to Bart.
He glowered as he got me a beer. “What do you think?”
I took the bottle and forced a smile. “I guess a murder can do that.”
The two patrons suddenly stood and walked briskly out of the bar.
Bart grunted and wiped down the already spotless bar. “Thanks,” he said with a sigh. “You’d think a death here would be a draw. Always had been. But now, people are scared—more scared than usual.”
“It’ll get better,” I said. “I can promise you that.”
He eyed me a moment before nodding and turning away.
I took a long pull from the bottle and then turned toward Mikael. He was alone tonight, looking forlorn. He watched my approach, smiling now that he wouldn’t be alone.
“Oh, how good it is to see you, my sweet.”
I sat down and set the bottle between us. “Want anything?” I asked. He didn’t have a drink of his own. It bothered me that he’d just been sitting here with no girls, no drink or food. It was almost as if he knew someone would be needing his services. I had a feeling he knew it would be me.
“The death counts have been rising,” he said, ignoring the question. “I’ve heard there was a big killing recently, one that left numerous people of questionable quality dead. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“The Left Hand,” I said. “At least, most of them.”
He smiled at that. “I see. Should I assume we’ll be hearing less of them in the coming nights?”
“I hope so.”
“I’ve also heard a rumor that a filmmaker has made his last film. I take it Anton was able to get you what you needed?”
I thought back to the video he’d shown me and my stomach squeezed. “He did.” I didn’t bother adding I’d been too late to make the kill myself. Somehow, I figured he already knew.
Mikael spread his hands. “It seems I’ve done my part, yes?”
“You have.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. While no one else was in the bar with us, I didn’t want anyone—including Bart—to overhear anything I had to say. “I have a name.”
Mikael raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” he said, matching my tone. “What sort of name are we talking about here? Another of your mystery kills? Is it Monday already?”
“Not this time,” I said with an inward wince. Did everyone know about Mondays? “I believe this name belongs to the leader of the Left Hand.”
That definitely sparked his interest. “What is it?” he asked, almost greedily.
I wasn’t surprised. This was a man who made his living dealing in information. If I could supply him with something he didn’t know, then it had to be worth something to him, right?
I smiled. “If I give you this name, you’ll tell me everything you know without worrying about how much it costs. And I don’t just mean money.”
“Of course,” he said, as if it was a given. “Tonight, everything you ask of me will be free in all ways.” His eyes gleamed. “Now . . . the name?”
“Gabriel.”
He blinked. “A last name?”
“None that I’ve heard.”
His smile faded. “The messenger?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“In the Bible,” Mikael said with a sigh. “Gabriel is the messenger of God.”
“We’re not talking about an angel here, are we?” Fear shot through me. If Gabriel was anything close to Levi, I was in some serious trouble. There was no way I could stop him.
“I don’t think so,” Mikael said. “If an angel was in town, I would know about it.”
“Okay, then, we’re dealing with a human. That means he’ll leave some sort of trace, one you can follow.”
“I might.”
“So what can you tell me about him?”
He spread his hands in an apologetic way. “Not much without a last name or more information about him. I know of a Gabriel who once spent his time here, but he has long ago left the city. I doubt he has anything to do with leading the Left Hand. It isn’t his style.”
I sat back, frustrated. “So, I’m pretty much stuck with a useless name?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that, my sweet. You’ve taken out a large number of the Left Hand, if rumors are true. That will make a difference.”
“But if the leader is still out there . . .”
“Then he might kill others, yes? He might recruit more people to his ranks.” Mikael gave me a smile. “Which means he’ll be forced to put himself out there, leaving a trace, as you say. I believe he would do it here, where so many of his own have met their end. From what I can tell, this man will not give up easily. He will do whatever he can to exact his revenge.”
I took a drink and mulled it over. At least he didn’t think Gabriel had left. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he packed up and looked for greener pastures to recruit new members of the Left Hand. I doubted he’d stay away for long. I much preferred him here, where I could catch him in the act.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see if I can dig up anything more about him.”
<
br /> “Sorry I could not be of more help.”
I started to slide out of the booth, but stopped. “What can you tell me of the activities of Nathan LaFoe?”
Mikael’s eyes widened at that. “Looking into one of your own now?” he asked, sounding vaguely amused.
“Let’s just say, I’m curious.”
He shrugged. “I am sorry to tell you, but I cannot give you the information you seek.”
“He has you in his pay?”
Another shrug. “He has things he wishes to be kept on top of. And while your name gives me something to work with, it isn’t enough to betray my clients.” He gave me a “what can you do” gesture.
“What about Keira Emery?”
“What about her?”
“Can you tell me anything about her? Where she came from? Who she is? What she wants with Jonathan and the Luna Cult?”
“I could.” He crossed his arms in front of him.
“Will you?”
Mikael studied my face for a long time before speaking. “Have you asked yourself why you would want this information?”
“Because I want to make sure she’s safe to be around.”
Mikael laughed. “Safe? A werewolf is never safe, even if she has joined up with the Luna Cult.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said. “I also know that you do not ask this because you think she is up to something. You ask for another reason entirely. It is all over your face.”
I looked away. I hated how everyone seemed to be able to read me so well, lately.
“Oh, my sweet,” Mikael said, leaning forward. “You are in uncharted territory—for you. You think you have things under control, but I can see the cracks forming. You are troubled because you refuse to allow yourself to express yourself fully. You want to keep everything bottled inside so much, you are shielding yourself from everyone and everything. If you do not let yourself break free, you will eventually shatter.”
A part of me wanted to draw my gun and show him how easily I could express myself. A gun did quite a lot of talking without all the words.
But I sagged in my seat instead. I knew he was right. Keira might not be my favorite person in the world, but deep down I didn’t really think she had anything to do with the Left Hand. I hated her simply because she was close to Jonathan, closer than I ever seemed to come.
Right then, it was decided. She was better for him. She could give him things I couldn’t. Hell, I didn’t even know if Jonathan and I would be compatible. We were two different monsters. We didn’t mesh well with each other. You just had to mingle our blood together to see that.
“Thanks,” I said, standing.
“Anytime,” Mikael said, leaning back. “If you figure things out, please let me know. I’ll be interested to see how this plays out.”
I nodded and walked away.
I’d planned on going to the Den to ask more questions about Nathan and Keira, but now, I was going to go for an entirely different reason. I’d tell Jonathan everything I knew about the Left Hand, would tell him I was going to keep working on the problem until they were no longer an issue.
And then I was going to tell him not to worry about me. I would stop interfering. He and Keira should have their chance to connect without me lurking around, causing a rift.
I left the Bloody Stake and made for the Den.
29
It was a long ride to the Luna Cult garage. I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk to Jonathan, especially about Keira, but it had to be done. They had been in the back of my mind since I’d seen them together. It was becoming a distraction. If I wanted to focus on finding Gabriel, I needed to put everything else behind me or else I’d be the one who ended up dead.
I parked in the depths of the garage and sat listening to the echoes of my movements. The garage felt emptier than usual, though there seemed to be the usual number of cars. I was pretty sure the black one deep in the shadows belonged to Jonathan, though it was hard to tell. It seemed like all the wolves in the Den had black cars.
If it was, then this wouldn’t be yet another wasted trip. If I showed up and Jonathan wasn’t there, I’d be done. I wasn’t going to drive all this way, just to have to deal with someone else, someone I didn’t trust nearly as much as I did the Denmaster.
Even though I was anxious to get to the Den, say what I had to say, and turn my attention back to the Left Hand, I couldn’t bring myself to hurry. I kept my head down as I walked, listening to the sounds around me. I put one slow foot in front of the other, moving inevitably toward a moment that would more than likely change my life.
I don’t think I’d ever done anything this hard before. I was going to be putting myself out there. To tell Jonathan he could be with Keira without my interference meant I was admitting I cared. I’d much rather have someone stick me in the back with a red hot poker than have to talk about this sort of thing.
The thought actually made the wound in my shoulder ache. I grimaced. Maybe I wasn’t so keen on the physical pain either, but damn it, this wasn’t going to be any fun at all.
I stopped just before the green and looked the Den over. The walkways were cracked and crumbling, the grass green, but too long and filled with weeds. Stray pieces of trash littered the lawn, blown by the breeze coming off the small lake on the other side of the trees.
Then there was the building itself, with its old graffiti and dark windows. I knew that inside it looked totally different, that Jonathan’s glamour hid what really lay beneath the veneer, yet it actually hurt to see it looking so rundown. I wanted the Cult to be able to quit hiding, to be able to take care of the lawn without fear of someone coming in to kill them.
It was a dream I knew I’d never realize. If it weren’t the Left Hand, it would be one of the numerous counts and countesses. And if not them, I wouldn’t put it past some of the more intrepid Purebloods to cause the Cult serious problems. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if the other Luna Cult factions around the country wouldn’t come along to burn the place down, simply because Jonathan had turned this Cult into something special.
With a sigh, I started forward. There was no sense putting this off any longer. I could dream of peace all I wanted, but it wasn’t going to happen until every vampire and werewolf on the planet was exterminated.
And that was something I knew I’d never live to see.
I reached the doors to the Den and stopped. Thanks to the cameras around the campus, everyone inside probably already knew I was coming. Someone was more than likely waiting by the door even now. They never came out to greet me. They’d stand there by the stairs, waiting to give me whatever news awaited me.
I pushed through the doors, into the blinding light . . .
Straight into a room filled with bodies.
I froze just inside the room, unsure I believed what I was seeing. There were about a dozen of them, all dressed in Cult robes. They lay around the room, glazed eyes staring toward the ceiling.
“No,” I whispered, drawing both my gun and sword. This couldn’t be happening, not now.
I held completely still. The door swung silently closed behind me. It was the only sound outside my rapid breathing and pounding heart.
I scanned the upper floors, looking for any signs of movement, of life. A hand hung from the top step. The body was out of sight, but I knew the owner was as dead as everyone else.
I knelt by the nearest Cultist and pressed by fingers to his wrist. He was still warm, but there was no pulse. This hadn’t happened long ago.
The urge to call out Jonathan’s name was so strong, I almost did it. He could be dead inside, his body cooling even now.
Keira.
Somehow, I knew it had to be her. She’d come in, gotten close to the Denmaster, and then killed him and his Cult. She could have been working with a count somewhere, perhaps one the Cult had wronged recently.
Then again, there was Nathan and his strange behavior as of late. Could he be responsible for this?
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About a hundred other scenarios zinged through my mind, each more unlikely than the last. This could have been anything, really. It didn’t have to have anything to do with Keira or Nathan or even the Left Hand.
I checked the body for any sort of visible wound that would tell me what had happened, but found nothing. There wasn’t a tiny hole in his neck where a needle could have gone in, no stab wounds, crushed skull, or anything at all like that. It was as if they’d all simply fallen over dead at the same time.
I stood and took a step forward. My foot brushed the flared robe of the dead Cultist. Something crackled beneath it.
I knelt down, eyes still scanning above and all around just in case whoever had done this was still around, watching me. I used the tip of my sword to move the robe to the side.
There, lying beneath the cloth, was a plastic cup.
Looking around, I noticed there were more cups lying near each of the Cultists. It looked as if they’d had a party of some sort, one that ended with all of them dying.
A suicide pact?
I could hardly think. There was something missing, some bit of information that would help me put it all together.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Jonathan. Was he alive? Dead? Dying? How much longer did I have before his life finally slipped away?
My hand tightened on my weapons as I walked briskly toward the office door. My head was spinning and I was sick to my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t stand the thought of Jonathan possibly lying dead somewhere, all before I could tell him how I truly felt.
The office door was open a crack. If someone was hiding inside, they could have been watching me this entire time. They could be crouched there, ready to strike the moment I stepped through the doorway.
I raised my gun and used my foot to open the door the rest of the way. It swung open and I immediately dropped my aim as my heart fell through the floor.
Bunny slippers.
That was the first thing I saw.
No one else was in the room as far as I could tell. The hidden door was firmly closed.
I stepped inside and looked down at Pablo. He was lying face-down on the floor. Blood pooled beneath him, telling me he hadn’t died like everyone else. There was too much of it for him to have broken his nose or lip when he’d fallen.
