Son of Sam (The Last Scribe Prequels Book 4)

by R. Lee Walsh

  “Speaking.”

  “So yeah, I might have some information. You know, about your friend.”

  “Go on.”

  He clears his throat and I hear several voices talking in the background. “Well, see, here's the thing. I can't be sure, you know, but I was talking to some friends of mine like you told me to and one of them said they'd seen someone who looked like your friend at a gas station yesterday. He remembered it because he was camped out under a tree by the place and he saw a girl matching that description go in the restroom with an expensive purple leather backpack, but didn't see her come out. He didn't think much about it until this morning when he saw a different girl getting on a bus at the downtown station with the same bag.

  “What do you mean 'didn't see her come out'? So you think she's still in the restroom?”

  “Well, that's why I'm calling. We think it might be the same girl. You know, the one from the gas station and the girl who got on the bus. She just looks different.”

  “Different how?”

  “Well, sir, he said the girl who went in the restroom had long dark hair like you described, but the girl who got on the bus had short, kinda blonde hair. He swears it was the same bag, though. He noticed it because people who ride the bus don't normally have expensive luggage and well, in our line of work you notice these things. Maybe it's a coincidence, but I thought you should know.”

  I pause for a moment, absorbing what he's told me. She changed her appearance. No wonder no one's been able to locate her. “Was anyone with her?”

  I hear whispering, then he clears his throat. “He says not that he saw.”

  “Did he see which bus? Where it was headed?”

  There's another pause while he relays the question. “That time of day there's only the one. The cross-country to Portland.”

  Grinning, I nearly drop the phone. Portland, Oregon is the only city in the U.S without an Omega Alliance satellite church, which is why it's also my headquarters. “You, my friend, have just given me the best news I've had in ages.”

  “Yeah? So you think it's worth something?”

  “I'll have to verify it of course, but I'd say you've earned your reward. And your friend as well. Where shall I have it delivered?”

  He converses briefly with his partner. “Same place we met alright with you?”

  “My associate will meet you there in an hour.”

  Hanging up, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. The woman and her portly companion are rising from their table and I watch them walk away with a smile on my face. When they're absorbed into the throngs scurrying back and forth in the main terminal, I make another call.

  “Call off the dogs. I found her.”

  A waitress comes over to lay the bill on my table and I wait until she heads back toward the bar. “Get two people on the Greyhound cross-country that left from here this morning. It's headed for Portland. We're looking for a young girl with short blonde hair and a purple leather backpack. Tell them not to approach her. Oh, and I'll need someone to run by a convenience store on Clinton and Westcott. There's two homeless gentlemen who need to disappear.”

  ~Six~

  “How difficult can it be?” I snarl, growing increasingly frustrated at the incompetence of my own people. “All you had to do was ride the bus and keep an eye on her.”

  “I'm telling you, we tried. After the press conference yesterday she stopped getting off the bus altogether. Then, today, some Irin woman got on and sat with her. She spotted us right away so we had to get off.”

  “What Irin woman?”

  “The blonde Amazon.”

  He can only be referring to Jolie Ann, which means the Irin have intercepted my girl. No matter. By the time she arrives in Portland, I'll be ready.

  “I want someone at every stop to make sure she's still on the bus. I'll meet it myself when they get here.”

  “Trouble?” my assistant Nell asks, bringing me the latest flyers for a New Generation rally I have scheduled next week. Dressed in a plain white uniform, her mousy brown hair is pulled back into a simple bun.

  “No more than usual.” While she's privy to much of my dealings, there are some things she doesn't need to know. First rule of war: trust no one.

  “Peach is back,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Apparently she decided to take some time off in L.A.”

  We both know time off had nothing to do with Peach's little vacation. An Irin defector, she's a recent addition to my organization and I still don't trust her. She's been a close friend and lethal ally of my brother for millennia. “How's she look?”

  “No visible scars.”

  “And our L.A people? I assume you confirmed this. What are they saying?”

  “That she kept to herself mostly. Worked in some biker bar in Anaheim. You know how she is.”

  “Once a barmaid, always a barmaid,” I grin. Nell and Peach have both been barmaids at one time or another. While Peach seems to find menial assignments entertaining, Nell finds them humiliating.

  “She wants to meet with you sometime soon,” Nell shrugs. “I said it'd have to be later this week. You know, after your package arrives.”

  Perusing the flyer, I toss it across my desk. She tucks it into the folder she's clutching to her chest. “These are fine. Who's on my schedule this afternoon?”

  “Thorn and that woman from the zoning committee, but Thorn cancelled. Said he'd meet you tomorrow at his place.”

  “Fine. What's the word on my brother?”

  She scratches her head and looks out the window behind me. “Nobody's seen him.”

  A week ago he showed up on my doorstep claiming to have stepped down as leader of the Irin. After another pathetic attempt to tear my head off, he up and disappeared. Since then he's been off the radar and now that my girl's close to arriving, his continued absence worries me. Obviously something's afoot and I don't need anymore surprises.

  “What about the Sheva? What are they saying?”

  While the pact strictly forbids the Sheva from taking sides against the Irin, there's nothing that prevents them from sharing gossip.

  Nell frowns, still avoiding my gaze. “There've been some new developments but maybe you should talk to Thorn first.”

  Leaning back, I sigh. “You said he cancelled. Let's hear it.”

  She clears her throat and shifts her weight, glancing out the window behind me. Whatever she's about to say can't be good and I'm sure that unfortunate episode when I lost my temper with Peach last month has her worried about how I'll react.

  “I'm not going to beat you, so relax.”

  Her brow furrows and she points to the chair in front of my desk. “May I?”

  Growing impatient, I nod. She seats herself and opens the folder she's been holding, handing me a newspaper article. The headline states that gang members all over the country are turning themselves into the authorities. I've already seen reports about this on CNN.

  “So? What does this have to do with us?”

  She hands me another article along with a sheet of paper with the golden seal of the Irin Council on the letterhead. I hesitate before taking it. “Is this a joke?”

  Nell says nothing, clutching the flimsy folder to her chest again, her knuckles white. Intrigued, I read the short Coucil missive then peruse the article which features Fernando Cabrera, the first gang leader to turn himself in.

  “Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?” I ask, tossing the papers toward her.

  “It just came this morning,” she mumbles.

  According to the Irin Council, Mannuel Cabrera, also known as the King of the Sheva has sworn allegiance back to the Irin. As their leader, his decision encompasses all Sheva. Basically, the Sheva no longer exist. The question is, what would prompt such a mass exodus? Unless. . .

  “The newspaper article lists Fernando Cabrera as the first gang leader to turn himself in. I take it this Fernando is Mannuel's son?”

  Nell opens her mouth but I cut her off. “So Mannuel broke t
he pact. The Irin must've found out and he made some kind of deal to save himself and his son. What I don't get is how he convinced the others to go along with it--there's what? Half a million Sheva? It's a damn high price to pay for one lousy half-breed, even if he is the king's son.”

  “Grandson,” Nell mutters, tucking the papers back into her folder.

  I blink, staring at her averted face. “What?”

  She takes a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “Mannuel had twelve children. He also has thirty-one known grandchildren who have all sired multiple great-grandchildren and great-great grandchildren.” She pauses to look me in the eye. “He's not the only one. The exact figures are unclear at the moment, but we're estimating thousands of Sheva half-breeds exist. Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

  “It's not possible,” I hiss, my mind reeling. One child is possible to hide from the Irin, but due to their violent nature, usually not for long. Yet hundreds of thousands have just been discovered and sworn loyalty to the Irin? Not only is this an egregious insult to every Irin whose child was slaughtered, but a devastating blow to my organization. The New Generation employs thousands of Sheva and according to this, they're not only gone but now my enemies.

  “Why now?”

  “Sir?”

  “What prompted this sudden reveal?”

  Nell shifts in her chair, looking out the window behind me. “Storm's coming.”

  I turn to look out the window and see ominous dark clouds gathering on the horizon. Frowning, I automatically lean closer to the glass, scanning the area around the building. Nell clears her throat like she's about to say something more, but I interrupt with a shake of my head.

  Storm.

  These days he goes by the name of Riley. Weather's his weapon of choice and as second in command, if my brother really did step down, he's the new leader of the Irin. Ruthless, cunning and a brilliant strategist, he's feared almost as much as my brother. Of course he's responsible for the Sheva migration. The question is how.

  “Anyone know where he's at?” I ask absently, still surveying the street.

  “Last I heard, Los Angeles,” Nell replies, standing.

  I turn to face her and realization dawns, my blood pressure rapidly increasing. “And Peach just returned from there you said?”

  She takes two steps back, swallowing hard. “This morning.”

  Black rage leaches all color from my vision. The first gang members to turn themselves in were in L.A., along with Mannuel and his extensive brood of offspring. Everyone knows Storm and Peach were once inseparable. I'd be willing to bet that's where my brother went as well.

  “Call her. Turns out my schedule just opened up.”

  She nods and darts from the room before I detonate, the door slamming behind her. I turn back to the window as a barrage of fat raindrops hit the glass.

  I knew it. Deep inside I knew that traitorous little---

  The phone rings on my desk, jarring me from my murderous reverie.

  “What?” I bellow into the handset.

  “Bad time for a chat?” a deep voice chuckles and my whole body goes rigid. A jarring peal of thunder shakes the building and I grip the phone so tight the plastic cracks.

  “Not at all,” I reply cooly. “Matter of fact, we were just talking about you.”

  “Good things, I hope,” Riley drawls, his amusement evident. “But listen, I'm sure you have a busy schedule so I won't take up much of your time. I just wanted to let you know that Peach can't make it this week.”

  “I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Right. Anyway, she wanted me to tell you she's feeling much better and no hard feelings.”

  Struggling to maintain my human form, I count to ten. “No feelings at all,” I grind out, staring at the enormous black cloud swiftly moving toward the building.

  “Great. Oh, and before I forget--you might want to replace that window.”

  A bone jarring series of lightning bolts hit the building and sparks fly from the metal window frame as the glass explodes. The power flickers and I hear the sound of terrified screams as every last pane in my newly finished high-rise systematically shatters. Hurricane force winds assault me with shards of glass and icy needles of rain. I slowly walk toward the gaping hole where the window once was and see the storm dissipating as fast as it appeared. In moments all that remains is a mountain of broken glass heaped at the foot of my building.

  The wind dies down and I hear a distant rumble as a gleaming motorcycle rumbles up the street to the south. Coming to a halt several blocks away, the driver and his traitorous female passenger with a mane of flame red hair both look up at me.

  Only at the end of the age are the Irin allowed to use their powers openly which means the end has truly come. The woman blows me a kiss but the driver only stares. Even from here I can read Riley's expression. There are no more rules.

  There's nothing I'd love more than to brawl like the old days, to burst through the air in my natural form. Unfortunately, the digital age means instant media coverage and I can't risk blowing my cover. No, this cheap display was Storm's pathetic attempt to goad me while delivering a message loud and clear.

  I hear footsteps rushing toward my office door and the sound of sirens in the distance. Nell comes bursting in as the motorcycle drives away.

  “Are you alright?” she gasps, holding a tissue against her cheek. She has multiple tiny cuts on her hands and face.

  Taking a calming breath, I nod. “I'm fine. Go check on the others.”

  She stares at me, a look of barely controlled fury on her face. “What are you going to do?”

  “First we're going to get this place cleaned up and have new glass put in. I'm thinking shatterproof this time.”

  “And then?”

  I smile, revealing my baser nature momentarily. She swallows, her eyes widening before she looks away. “And then we go to The Powers. The Irin have declared open war.”

  ~ Seven~

  The Countdown Begins

  “You're sure this will cover the smell?” I ask, holding a bottle of dark blue liquid Thorn has provided. The product of one of my past experiments, a twist of fate has him listed as Sheva. In truth, he's something far more dangerous, not to mention being my only surviving son.

  We sit at a booth in his newest establishment, an upper class bar and grill called Merde. An army of construction workers have descended on my office building and no one will be able to enter for at least a week. That little stunt cost me a fortune in repair costs, not to mention the medical bills for more than a dozen of my employees who were injured.

  “Been using it for centuries,” Thorn replies. “No one's smelled me yet. Human or Irin.”

  I glance at him, casually taking in his carefully polished exterior. “How much do I use?”

  “Teaspoon a day. That's it. What you have there should last about three months. I give it to all my people.”

  “What's in it?”

  “Lot's of things, but nothing harmful. I developed it myself and tested it extensively. Since I'm the only one who can make it and the only supplier, everyone comes to me.”

  “Side effects?”

  “No complaints so far.”

  Nodding, I push the bottle to the side. Up to now, no human has ever claimed to smell me, but after my encounter with Paula Temple last week, I'm not taking any chances. “So what's the word on the others? Are they ready for tonight?”

  “You'll have a dozen waiting at the bus station and another handful watching outside. She won't get away.”

  “No mistakes. I mean it. If any of you screw this up--”

  “Not going to happen,” he interrupts. “We know what the stakes are.” He scratches his neck, then takes a deep breath. “So. . . you'll never guess who came to see me yesterday.”

  “I'm in no mood for guessing games, boy.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Storm. Said he needed cover for awhile.”

  Stunned, I stare at him, a dozen
scenarios playing out in my head. “Why would he come to you?”

  “You forget-- as far as the Irin are concerned, I'm part of the Sheva migration. He made it clear that my cooperation was not only expected, but mandatory.” He pauses, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Technically, I'm considered Irin now.”

  “So what did you say?”

  “What could I say?” Thorn continues, feigning dismay. “The Irin leader comes to me for a job and I can't refuse. So I hired him as a bouncer.”

  Before the sun rises tomorrow I'll have my bride and the Irin unknowingly just set up camp in my house. Things are looking better all the time. The only thing that still worries me is my brother. His continued absence can only mean he's up to something.

  “Let me know if you hear anything about tonight--even if it's just a rumor.”

  “Always do,” Thorn says, checking his phone. “You better go. My employees start coming in soon.”

  He walks me to the front door, unlocking it so I can leave. The glaring midday sunlight makes us both squint as I step outside.

  “Later,” Thorn says, preparing to close the door, but I put out my hand to stop it.

  “Be careful. If Storm finds out who you are, I can't help you.”

  He frowns, looking up and down the street before he answers. “I'm not the one you should be worried about.”

  He pulls the door shut and I hear the lock turning as a tall, gangly boy with neon blue hair whizzes by on a skateboard, knocking me against the building. He briefly turns with an apologetic shrug, but doesn't even slow down.

  “Watch where you're going!” I shout, tempted to teach him a lesson in common courtesy. Shaking my head, I wave toward my SUV which is parked across the street. Nell's handling my business from the vehicle until our office is once again functional. She slowly pulls out and maneuvers over to the curb in front of me. As I reach for the door, the same skateboarder whizzes by, bumping my arm. In a flash, I grab the back of his shirt and his feet fly out from under him. He slams onto the pavement, flat on his back.

  Leaning over so he can look me in the eyes, I shake my head. “You got a death wish, son?”