Any Given Doomsday

by Lori Handeland

  Of course, lucky didn’t seem to be in my repertoire very often lately.

  That was proved to me when I boarded the plane. Since I’d purchased my ticket all of two hours ago, I had a seat between a woman who’d never seen a cupcake she didn’t like and a grungy teenage boy who appeared to have given up showers until Tibet was free.

  I wished for some of Summer’s fairy dust so I could inspire in them a burning desire to sit anywhere but here. Perhaps back at the terminal.

  The flight to New York was excruciating, but like most things in my life, it ended. As the plane banked over La-Guardia, the lights of the city sprinkled the night like that fairy dust I’d wished for. Water sparkled on either side of the runway as the pilot landed the jet with a teeth-jarring thump, then slammed on the brakes so hard I was grateful for the seat belt that kept me from kissing the back of the seat in front of me.

  I tried Jimmy’s number the instant the words You may now use your cellular phones left the flight attendant’s mouth. I got voice mail again.

  “Shit.”

  The cupcake lady scowled even as the smelly kid winked. I flipped my phone shut and got off the plane as quickly as I could, my unnatural haste making me blend in with everyone else in the terminal.

  I retrieved my bag, stopped at an ATM—then winced at the remaining balance on my bank receipt. This seer gig was costly, and it didn’t seem to pay very well. If I managed to succeed, at least I’d still have a day job. If I failed…

  I shrugged and tossed the receipt into the nearest trash bin. If I failed, money wasn’t going to mean diddly anymore.

  Outside the airport, I got in the cab line and climbed into the vehicle indicated when my turn came. The weather here was reminiscent of home, the night clear and crisp. I was glad I’d brought along one of the flannel shirts Sawyer had given me.

  The cabby’s name was unpronounceable. He was either from the Middle East, India, Pakistan, or some other country whose name I should know but didn’t.

  I’d been in New York twice and never gotten a cab-driver who was actually from New York. Both times I’d come for work—once for a conference on the urban police force and once for a workshop on new methods for finding missing persons. I’d been sent because I was so good at it. Locating Sanducci should be a—

  “Piece of cake,” I murmured.

  “You would like cake?” The cabby met my gaze in the mirror.

  “No. Sorry.”

  “To where?” he asked.

  Horns honked behind us. People in the cab line glared. Soon they’d be making rude hand gestures and cursing in several languages. This was, after all, New York.

  “The Empire State Building.”

  I had to start somewhere.

  I tried Jimmy’s cell several times between LaGuardia and Fifth Avenue. He never picked up. Like all the other instances, the phone never rang, just went directly to voice mail.

  The cab let me off at Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street. Even though it was long past the time when people with day jobs should be in bed, the sidewalks bustled.

  During business hours, tourists would stream into what was now the tallest structure in Manhattan. I’d never been to the observation deck. Not only was there a never-ending line for the privilege, but it cost money. I had better uses for mine.

  The building from my vision—a lowering monstrosity made of glass and what appeared to be black marble—sat across the street. The sides reflected the city and its lights.

  The edifice seemed almost as tall as the Empire State Building, but it was hard to tell from the ground. Guess I’d just have to check it out from inside.

  That proved to be a little harder than I’d thought.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  The security guard looked like something out of a graphic novel—as wide as he was tall, no neck to speak of, muscles straining the seams of his black rent-a-cop uniform.

  People moved in and out of the revolving doorway— men, women, young and old—they all resembled lawyers on speed. Everyone was in a huge hurry and they were all dressed for court. Dark suits, briefcases, shiny black shoes.

  Did 1 have the right place?

  My eyes met the guard’s, and Ruthie whispered, Vampire.

  Guess so.

  I smiled, trying to appear stupid, which wasn’t as hard as it should be. “I just wanted to see from a higher window. The skyline, you know?”

  The guard scowled and jerked his head—no mean feat considering the lack of a neck—in the direction of the Empire State Building. “Opens again in the morning. Pay the price, chicky.”

  Chicky? Maybe I had scored pretty high on the dummy scale.

  “What is this place?”

  “Whaddya think it is? Office.”

  “Who owns it?” I breathed, widening my eyes in fascination.

  Too bad I hadn’t stopped and changed into a tight, low-cut dress and some do-me shoes. Too bad I didn’t own any. Still, I had the feeling this guy would have been more forthcoming if I’d shown a little skin.

  As I’d expected, he didn’t bite—at least not on my simpering question—just jabbed a strangely skinny finger, considering his barbell-induced body, at the exit. “Go.”

  I went. I wasn’t getting anywhere through the front door.

  Which was why they’d invented back doors.

  I allowed the crowd to cany me along, then slipped free and headed down a damp, disgusting alley. I didn’t plan on doing anything right away. I just wanted to check the place out. What harm was there in that?

  No one lurked in the alley but me, so I tried the back entrance. Locked.

  I leaned against the wall, wishing I had a cigarette, just for show. Sooner or later someone would come out.

  Quicker than I’d expected, the door opened, and one of the suits strode away without even glancing back. I caught the edge before it closed and slipped inside.

  I wasn’t going to stay long. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my flannel shirt, dirty jeans, and boots. If no-neck saw me, there’d be hell to pay. Around here I had a feeling hell would be just like… hell.

  Inside, the walls were brilliant white, the fluorescents so bright they nearly blinded me on the reflection. If I worked here for any amount of time I’d need sunglasses— or new corneas.

  All of the activity seemed focused at the front—in and out. a constant stream. Back here there was only me. I took thai as a sign I was supposed to do exactly what I was doing. Recon.

  The first floor told me nothing except this was a very busy place. The elevators were right behind the guard; I ignored them in favor of the stairs. Slipping into the stairwell, 1 stowed my duffel in a shadowed corner, removing only my fanny pack, which contained my cash, credits cards, and ID, and the silver knife; then I hustled up the first flight.

  The second level contained offices, as did the third. I discovered the hard way that no one cared I was here when I opened the fourth-floor door and bumped into an Oriental woman wearing a suit the shade of charcoal. She nodded and moved past me as I paused to listen to Ruthie’s whispered, Vampire. I sensed a theme.

  Several other employees—also vampires—saw me and didn’t scream for a guard. I supposed that once I’d passed security, I was considered A-okay.

  I wandered upward, discovering law offices, just as I’d suspected, but also financial services and investment bankers. Pretty much any kind of job you’d imagine a suit would perform was contained within these walls.

  By the time I got to the fourteenth floor, I was starting to get wigged about being trapped. If security, or the Strega, caught me here, I’d be running down thirteen flights of stairs to escape. Not pretty or practical.

  I decided to let fourteen levels of recon be enough. However, when I opened the final doorway, I gaped at a completely different hallway.

  Dim lights, muted gray walls, mahogany doors, black tile. Most disturbing of all, no people.

  I couldn’t resist. I started opening the doors. Each room was
empty. No desk, no phone, no windows. Nada.

  Now I couldn’t just leave. I hiked up to fifteen and discovered more of the same.

  I was kind of surprised no one had come after me yet. They had cameras in every hall. Despite the extreme security of the front entrance, I was less than impressed with it as a whole. It hadn’t been that hard to get in and even easier to stay.

  As I was making my way back to the stairwell, debating whether I should ascend to sixteen or hightail it to the lobby before my luck ran out, I caught sight of something seemingly discarded in an alcove halfway down the deserted hall.

  Leaning over, I reached for it, then snatched my hand back when I saw what it was.

  A Yankees cap.

  Panic flared, but I talked myself down. Jimmy’s Yankees cap was still in a plastic bag, tagged as evidence in Milwaukee. This could be anyone’s. Yankees’ crap was everywhere, along with I heart ny. They should just make everything i heart the Yankees and be done with it.

  As I stared down at that cap, I convinced myself it belonged to anyone but Sanducci. What were the chances he’d bought another, then dropped it right where I’d find it?

  Pretty damn good if he was pulling a Hansel and Gretel.

  As if in slow motion, I saw my hand reaching out, getting closer and closer as I bent to pick up the dreaded navy blue hat with the annoying ny. The instant I touched it, I saw him.

  Bound and gagged, bare-chested and bleeding in a room very much like the ones I’d just searched.

  Chapter 31

  I dropped the cap and ran, crashing into the stairwell and heading up. I’d checked all the rooms on the two floors below me, and they were empty.

  On the landing outside of sixteen, I paused to catch my breath and forced myself to make a plan. Blasting in there, especially when I had nothing to blast with, would get us both killed.

  The only weapon I had was Jimmy’s silver knife, so I withdrew it from the fanny pack and peeked into the hall.

  This one was the same as all the others—dark and depressing, as empty as the rooms that lined it. I continued upward.

  Now that I’d seen Jimmy, now that I believed he was in trouble and not one of the sources of the trouble, I couldn’t leave. In a perfect world, I’d call for backup and the cavalry would come. In my world, which was so far from perfect the word had very little meaning, the backup was in New Mexico, which meant the cavalry was me.

  Jimmy had looked bad—pale, sweating, bruised, and unconscious, with streams of blood trailing down his bare chest. I couldn’t risk losing him by waiting even an hour. Not when I was so close.

  I kept checking rooms, finding nothing, no one, until I reached the twentieth floor, last room on the left.

  I smelled the blood as soon as 1 opened the door, saw it as soon as I hit the lights. I stepped inside, hesitating only an instant before I locked the door behind me. “Sanducci?”

  No response.

  Jimmy was tied to a chair. Unfortunately he was tied with chains, not rope. Someone meant business, which I’d already figured out from the cuts. across his chest. They healed, even as I watched, but slower than they should have, so I knew that whoever had made them had done so with something that hurt a dhampir more than silver. Whatever that was.

  Fury boiled in my gut. Talk about inhumanity, but then I guess that’s what we were talking about. From the appearance of this room, humanity had died badly over and over again.

  The place was both similar to and very different from the others I’d seen. Same shape and size, but outfitted a little better, or perhaps worse, depending on your point of view.

  Of course, from the point of view of most sane humans, a torture chamber wasn’t a good thing.

  The walls were lined with spiky implements, both ancient and spanking new—a scimitar, a mace, knives in every shade of metal, a chain saw, even a flame torch.

  No guns, bum luck. I supposed a bullet was too far removed. Whoever this place belonged to—and I was pretty certain I knew who that was—liked to get up close and personal with his victims.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t too trusting, because every single weapon was chained to the wall as firmly as Jimmy was chained to the chair.

  I went to work picking the lock on the chains with the silver knife. I guess it was good for something. If I could wake Jimmy up, and from the way his head lolled, I wasn’t certain I could, we were out of here. I didn’t bother to think of how we’d accomplish such a feat; I just knew that it had to be done. I’d carry him if I needed to.

  Down twenty-odd flights? my mind mocked.

  I ignored it. Sometimes you just had to.

  The locks were trickier than any I’d picked before. They seemed ancient. Considering the Strega’s pedigree, they probably were.

  Sweat began to run into my eyes. Impatiently I swiped it out and kept working. Urgency made my fingers fumble. I cut Jimmy, and he moaned.

  My gaze went to his face, but he didn’t wake up. By the time I returned my attention to the cut, it had already healed.

  Reaching out, I traced a finger down a puckered red line on his chest. “What did they do to you?” I whispered.

  “Do not sound so sad, Miss Phoenix.” I froze as the voice swirled through the air all around me. “I can assure you that he liked it.”

  I expected the room to be empty, the voice either in my head or spilling from an intercom. I’d discovered the room now locked from the outside, with Jimmy and I trapped in the Strega’s lair.

  This place had been obscenely easy to infiltrate, which only meant one thing.

  Sawyer had been right.

  In the back of my mind, I’d known this was a trap, but I hadn’t cared. Still didn’t. I’d found Jimmy, which was all that mattered. Together we’d end this.

  The owner of the voice stood just inside the closed door. Had he unlocked, opened, then shut it? I doubted that. My money was on his just appearing. Poof.

  I didn’t ask who or what he was. If his Italian accent wasn’t a big enough hint, his olive-skinned, patrician face was. I’d seen the Strega before.

  Slowly I stood, placing myself in front of Jimmy, the silver knife clutched in a hand gone slick with sweat. I doubted the weapon would do me much good against this… thing, but I couldn’t bring myself to put the blade aside. At least it was something.

  “You arrived so very quickly.” His voice was mesmerizing—melodious and foreign. If he hadn’t been an evil half-demon bent on making the human race his plaything, I might have been charmed.

  “I am impressed. I believed we would have to do more to coax you here. But then love—” His lips twisted with disdain. “It has always been the undoing of the human race.”

  He’d used Jimmy as bait—no shock there. What I couldn’t figure out was how Jimmy had allowed himself to be used. No one had used Sanducci since he was eight.

  “You have survived every test I’ve sent.”

  My face must have shown my confusion because he laughed, the sound smooth, rich, and somehow wrong— joy sprouting from the joyless, amusement where amusement did not belong. “The berserker. The chindi. The coyotes.” He spread his hands. “I did not think they would win, but I had to try.”

  I remained silent, trying to think, to come up with a plan, but having very little luck. It would be nice if Jimmy would wake up. Even nicer if his chains would just fall off like the Apostle Paul’s so he could do something other than die.

  “I should have known from the moment I heard your name—Phoenix—that you would rise from the ashes of every calamity.”

  The Strega looked me up and down. The touch of his gaze made me long for a hot shower and a gallon of bleach.

  “I am sorry to say you will not rise from this,” he continued. “You have great powers, yes. But in the end, you are only human.”

  I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. “We’ll win, and you know it.”

  “Do I?” His lips curved; I caught just a hint of fang.

  “Read the Bible
lately?” I lifted a brow. “Oh, I forgot. Your hands probably get a little crispy whenever you touch one. I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes—good always triumphs in the end. Always.”

  “Do you really think so? What is the point of a battle if the outcome is certain?” He lifted one shoulder, then lowered it. “Even if I lose in one of the years to come, the longer I win, the longer I stay out of that burning lake of fire I have heard so much about. So do not expect me to just give in.”

  “Ditto,” I murmured.

  He laughed again. “Delightful. I do enjoy guts, and not always for lunch.” The Strega contemplated me with an expression I couldn’t decipher, but I thought it might be admiration. “I’d like to make you an offer: Care to join my side?”

  My answer was a snort. “I’m not that easy.”

  “No?” His face turned cruel. “According to my son, you were the easiest he ever had.”

  I jolted, both at the revelation, which really wasn’t much of one, and at the crude dismissal of one of my fondest memories.

  The Strega’s eyes widened. “Hit a nerve? Which one? Where you gave up the prize of your innocence so soon, or where the man you have loved most of your life has turned traitor?”

  Just because Jimmy was the Strega’s son—if that was even true; all I had right now was the Strega’s word, and a lot of circumstantial evidence—didn’t mean Jimmy was on his side. Why would he be? The man had left him in the streets to be used and abused.

  Considering the blood, the chains, the just-healed scars, it appeared the Strega had continued that policy since they’d renewed their acquaintance. Even if Jimmy had gone off the deep end, pledging undying devotion upon meeting his long-lost daddy, I couldn’t see how that devotion would prevail past all the torture.

  Of course, stranger things had happened.

  “Sticks and stones,” I said. “There’s really nothing you can say that’s going to make me leave him behind.”

  “Leave him? Just where is it you think you are going?”

  “After we kill you, maybe we’ll take a vacation.”