The scent of anger and betrayal rolled off Ghost, enveloping the two of them. It triggered an echoing fury in Whiskey, startling her with its intensity. Ghost could kick her ass with little trouble. Fear would be the usual cause for the adrenaline pumping into her system, not wrath. The difference confused her.
“We’re not cut buddies anymore, mi corazón.” Gin tugged lightly on his arm. “Just friends.”
Ghost violently shook her off, almost causing her to fall again. “Bullshit!”
Whiskey’s rage increased. She didn’t know what she could do. Street fighting wasn’t her strength. If she attacked, she’d be beaten to a pulp. Better that than Gin losing the baby. “You’d better tell him, and tell him now,” she said to Gin. “Or I’m going to do something I’ll regret.”
He swelled larger, suspicion in his eyes. “Tell me what?” he demanded, looking at his girlfriend.
Gin hesitated.
“Tell him!”
“I’m pregnant!”
Gin’s words filled the tableau, sharp and surprising. Ghost’s skin flushed light pink before immediately fading to its normal albino white. Around them, his street family stared in various states of shock.
“What?” He choked, voice rough.
Gin slumped into a chair. “I’m pregnant. I just found out yesterday. I went to the free clinic while you were in Portland.” She held her face in her hands, and began to cry. One of the girls knelt beside her to comfort her.
It took everything Whiskey had not to rush forward to support her friend. A lump developed in her throat in sympathy, complicated by the knowledge that this moment ended their friendship. She scowled at Ghost, who looked more like a fish out of water than a soon-to-be father. “You’d better take care of her, you bastard. If I find out you didn’t, I’ll kill you.” It didn’t faze her that she meant every word.
Taking up the gauntlet, he turned back to Whiskey. “You stay the fuck away from us.”
Whiskey swept up her backpack, and turned away. The spectators, both his street family and other bystanders, parted to allow her out of the immediate area.
Goodbye, Gin. Take care of yourself.
She fought a losing battle with the tears, feeling them spill over as she left the bar area and weaved through the pool tables. Gin’s sobs remained strong in her ears, a perverse part of her not wanting to let go of even this small connection between them.
She clearly heard Ghost speak to his family. “Anybody sees Whiskey anywhere around, take her out.”
“I can take her.” That was Dominick’s eager voice. “Let me do it now.”
“Whatever.”
Whiskey picked up her pace as she headed for the door. It had finally happened; Ghost had put a hit out on her. That didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her dead. A simple beating would do just as well on the streets. Like I don’t have enough troubles. Behind her, she heard footsteps in pursuit. Shit.
Bursting out of the club, she ran, scattering a handful of kids loitering outside. She got a half block away before Dominick and two others exited, looking for her. Glancing back, she saw one of them point, and call to the others. The trio pelted after her. Laden with a backpack, she knew they’d overtake her. Rather than search for a useless hiding place, she scanned the street for anyplace that would give her some tactical advantage. She ducked into a tight little alley, pleased to see no illumination except the streetlight on the other side. With her newfound abilities, she had no problem locating a clear path. They might not be able to find her in the dark. If they did, there wasn’t enough room for all three to attack at the same time.
“In here!”
Whiskey ducked into the heavy shadows of a Dumpster, pulling the hood over her head to hide her blonde hair. She forced herself to stillness as she listened to the stealthy approach of her pursuers. While she concentrated on being invisible, she frowned. She smelled ashes. It grew stronger by the minute. Ashes and saccharin sweet flowers of some sort. She jumped at a loud crash, biting her lip to keep from yelping in surprise.
“I know you’re in here, bitch. You didn’t have enough time to get out the other side before we came around the corner.”
She ground her teeth at Dominick’s snide voice. Her anger hadn’t dissipated with the immediate threat of a thrashing. There were three of them to one of her. She wasn’t stupid. The smell of ashes and flowers grew stronger, and she wrinkled her nose. There were other odors and sensations developing, too. Puzzled, Whiskey tried to locate where they came from, not finding anything in her immediate vicinity to explain the increasing potency. With her nose, she easily picked up rotting food, cigarette residue and dust. Her eyes widened. That’s not a smell. That’s Sanguire.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As soon as her mind made the shift, the variety of essences grew stronger. She sensed relief, pleasure, and not a little anger mixed within the tumult. Whoever they were, they were near, and glad to have found her. She didn’t feel Castillo’s dark chocolate or Dorst’s amber and steel among them. It had to be Fiona and her pack. Remembering what they’d done to Paul’s group of friends a few nights ago, Whiskey stood. These guys are toast!
“There she is!”
Whiskey left her hiding place, approaching the three street kids. “You got to get out of here.” She held up her hands in a peaceful gesture. “Someone’s coming—”
“Damn right someone’s coming.” Dominick marched up to her, and took an immediate swing.
She ducked, struggling with her pack.
“You guys watch for cops,” Dominick ordered. “I’m going to make this bitch hurt.” He swung again.
Whiskey dropped her pack on the ground, keeping clear of his fists. “I’m serious, man! You need to get out of here now.” She assumed a defensive posture.
One kid went back the way they’d come, and the other skirted around them in the close confines of the alley. He didn’t make it far. Whiskey heard a scuffle behind her, and Dominick glared beyond her shoulder, confusion on his face.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Look, Manuel, my little lamma has found entertainment for us. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”
Whiskey dropped her head upon hearing Fiona’s silky voice. Manuel grunted a response. She stepped back from Dominick, turning to see Manuel dragging the unconscious street kid toward them by the collar of his shirt. “Leave,” she growled at Dominick. “You still have time.”
“Not before I kick your ass.” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence, and he flushed.
Her eyes flickered to movement behind Dominick. Daniel neatly took out the second kid with a roundhouse kick. He paused long enough to pull the body into the darkness before approaching. “Too late.”
Cora rounded the corner behind Daniel, and rushed forward. “Ninsumgal!”
Manuel dropped his baggage behind Whiskey with a meaty thump. Cora brushed past Dominick to throw herself into Whiskey’s arms. Bronwyn appeared out of the darkness next to Daniel. She winked at Whiskey, fangs on display. Considering how little Bronwyn cared for her, the smile didn’t ease Whiskey’s nerves.
“Such big threats from such a little man.” Fiona studied Dominick. “And threatening a woman, no less. Your parents must be proud.”
He glared at her. “Fuck you. This is between me and her. Nobody else.”
Fiona appeared taken aback. “Is this so, sweet Whiskey? I certainly wouldn’t want to interrupt your playtime.”
Whiskey scowled at her, mind whirling. “Yeah, it’s between me and him. It’s personal.” She eyed Daniel and Bronwyn behind Dominick. “Let him out of here.”
“We’re not finished,” Dominick said.
Fucking macho idiot!
“I think not,” Fiona said simultaneously.
Whiskey smelled the fear rolling off Dominick. They both knew he was in over his head here, but his disagreeable personality wouldn’t allow him to back down. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a way to get him out of the alley, and still save
face with himself and his street family. If he walked out unscathed, the other two having been knocked unconscious by unknown assailants, it’d look like he’d run from a fight.
Undaunted by his abrasiveness, Fiona grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved, demonstrating quite a bit of strength as he stumbled away from Whiskey. He cursed at the rough handling, rubbing his arm.
Cora relinquished her hold on Whiskey, and joined her friends as they circled him, taunting and jeering at him. He turned with them, trying to keep them in sight. They reached in and pinched or poked him when his attention fled elsewhere, laughing as he yelped out in pain, and whirled to catch the perpetrator. Whiskey scowled at their antics. They played with him, like a pride of cats with a tiny, defenseless mouse, each trying to outdo the other, escalating their attacks as they went. She looked back at the street, wondering if anyone heard his calls.
“Will you not join us, my little lamma?” Fiona called. “This is for your benefit.”
Dominick looked at Whiskey, his face a mixture of shame and withering hope she could get him out of this, his strawberry birthmark stark against his pale face. Hell-bent for a little action, Fiona’s pack bristled with fervor. Maybe if she assisted, she could control the outcome. It’s not like the snitch doesn’t deserve a beating anyway. Disgusted, collecting her annoyance and irritation with their victim, she focused on getting the two of them through the next few minutes. It didn’t take much to arouse the simmering anger that had been with her since she’d discovered Castillo’s betrayal.
Forcing a grin, she became part of their circle. Stepping forward, she slapped Dominick hard. “You fucking idiot.” He spun away from her, right into Bronwyn’s arms.
Her attack sealed his fate as the pack’s onslaught became rougher. Each successive assault caused more damage, the women more vicious than the men in their midst. They took their time about it, prolonging his suffering for their amusement. Whiskey knew better than to pull her punches, and gave as good as the rest of them. At the very least, if Dominick became unconscious, they’d leave him alone. To that end, she sent a good number of attacks to his head and face in an effort to knock him out. As the assault continued, Whiskey’s fury turned to exhilaration. A cloud of blood and fear settled around him. It pulled at her spirit, releasing her from her initial inhibitions regarding the situation. Excitement flowed through her, overpowering the ache of sore knuckles, and the distant part of her that abhorred the torture she inflicted.
A cell phone rang, and Fiona stepped out of the circle to answer it. Several minutes later, she rejoined them. “Let’s wrap this up, children. Alphonse and Zebediah are waiting at the car.”
Dominick reeled in their midst. Blood ran down his chin from a broken nose. His eyes were nothing but black hollows in his face. His thin T-shirt had ripped, stained red with his blood. He staggered in their little arena, hardly conscious.
Whiskey caught a flash of metal in Cora’s hand, realizing she had a knife. Did Fiona mean to bring this to a more final end? Sudden fear shot through Whiskey, dissipating the bloodlust. She didn’t want to be involved in a murder. She stepped in front of Cora, and punched Dominick with everything she had. “Drop, fucker!” Sharp pain shot through her hand as her knuckles split.
He didn’t fall.
“Do it, Ninsumgal.” Cora shoved the knife into her hand.
Rage pulsed through Whiskey. Why the fuck doesn’t he go down? Rather than use the blade, she punched him again, her fist ramming his broken nose. With her sensitive ears, she heard the bones and cartilage break more, a gruesome crackling sound that would stay with her forever. Dominick stared at her with eerie, dead eyes. Whiskey shivered. If she didn’t know better, he was already unconscious, his body failing to take his physical state into consideration. He slowly crumpled to the ground, his head hitting the concrete with a significant thump. The smell of blood grew stronger, but relief flowed through her. Maybe they’ll leave him be now. “Shit, that hurts.”
Manuel paused to spit on their victim before giving Whiskey a once-over. “Not bad for a—you know.”
Whiskey frowned in puzzlement.
“That was a compliment, sweetness.” Fiona stepped over Dominick’s prone form as if he were merely a puddle to bypass. “Shall we leave? I expect someone will have heard enough to call the authorities.”
Feeling drained, Whiskey followed them. She heard a groan in the shadows from the kid Daniel had felled. Bronwyn stomped his head hard enough for Whiskey to wince. She glanced behind her, pleased to hear his heart still beating. Casting farther back, she tried to locate Dominick’s pulse. She saw blood oozing from her knuckles. Why can’t I hear his heartbeat?
Cora gently removed her blade from Whiskey’s hand, spiriting it away to God knew where. Her touch familiar and intimate, it distracted Whiskey, arousal pumping through her already singing veins.
“This way, my lamma.” Fiona waved them down the street.
Whiskey felt a measure of relief that they walked away from Tallulah’s. A handful of street kids loitered outside. A couple had kept their eye on the alley, and now ducked inside when they saw her. In a few minutes, other members of Ghost’s family would come out to see what had happened. Getting away from here was a fine idea, but not if it meant heading back into the serpent’s lair. “I’ve got somewhere else to be.”
Fiona turned to look at her, eyes hard as diamonds over a serene smile. “You’ll not be joining us?” she asked. “A hot bath after your strenuous evening, a soft bed to rest in, and a warm body to keep you company?”
“No,” Whiskey stated.
The cloying sweet stench of flowers expanded around her, leaving her no doubt as to whom the essence belonged. She recalled Dorst speculating on the connection between Elisibet’s violence and the innocuous nature she held, and wondered the same. Perhaps Fiona and Elisibet were more alike than different. The idea repulsed her. She pushed the smell away from her, like she’d done with Castillo at the café earlier that evening. Fiona’s eyes narrowed and, for a brief moment, a cold abrasiveness slid against Whiskey’s senses. Anger flared in her chest. She physically stepped forward, shoving hard with her mind. Fiona faltered, retreating, face pallid. The smell of flowers dissipated to nothing, and Whiskey took a deep breath in a vain attempt to dispel the last of it.
After a long examination, Fiona raised her chin. “Then allow us to at least escort you to someplace less...hazardous.”
Whiskey nodded, hearing a commotion at the youth club doors. “Good idea.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence. She wondered if they’d force her into the car. When they arrived at the Lexus, she saw Alphonse and Zebediah lounging upon the hood.
Cora slid enticingly into Whiskey’s arms. “Are you certain, Ninsumgal?”
The wave of lust nearly overwhelmed her. “Yeah.” Unable to help herself, she gave Cora a blistering kiss. “I’ll see you around.”
Cora smiled. She pressed closer and gave Whiskey another long, moist kiss. “I certainly hope so.”
Whiskey forcibly reminded herself that this seductive woman had wanted her to knife someone. “Thanks.”
“Just remember us, Ninsumgal.” She reached up to trace Whiskey’s lips. “I know I’ll remember you.”
Whiskey shouldered her pack, surprised they’d let her go so easily. Cora sidled to the passenger door. Most the others were already inside the vehicle, but Fiona leaned against the driver’s door.
When she had Whiskey’s undivided attention, she strolled closer. “Keep the Ducati for now. It’s not safe for you out here.”
Whiskey almost snorted at the humor of the situation. Like I’d be safer with you? She knew honest appreciation would appease the woman’s dominant streak. “Thanks for everything, Fiona. You guys saved my ass again tonight. I’ll never forget this.”
A satisfied smile crossed Fiona’s lips. “That’s all we can ask, my dear little lamma.” She leaned up, and gave Whiskey a peck on the cheek.
Whiskey watche
d until the taillights disappeared around a corner several blocks away. Blowing out a breath, she took in her surroundings. She couldn’t go to back to Tallulah’s any more than she could Malice now. She had enough money left over from Castillo’s donation for a meal or two, and the keys to a motorcycle currently parked three or four miles away. She had no friends, only enemies and opportunists waiting in the darkness for her blood. She had a whole host of complete strangers who would take one look at her, and assume she was the reincarnation of some dead bitch come back to wreck havoc once again.
“Christ. What the fuck am I going to do now?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Not wanting to waste time, Whiskey continued to put distance between herself and Tallulah’s. While she walked, she considered her dwindling options.
Ghost’s family had been at the flophouse a few nights earlier, Whiskey with them. Once they found Dominick in the alley, the hunt would be on. It wouldn’t take much to have someone check the abandoned building for her. The youth shelters were closed for the night. It wouldn’t do to get spotted in one of them anyway. She’d do herself no favors seeking asylum in a shelter—no street kid would come in to get you, but you couldn’t stay forever. They’d be waiting outside. Besides shelters didn’t call the police even if asked by their patronage to do so, something about making sure their clientele felt “safe” to come to them for assistance without being ratted out to the authorities.
Fiona had told her to use the motorcycle for her own purposes. Parked downtown, it might as well be a world away. Cruising that area at this time of night begged for further complications. The old-timers would make mincemeat of Whiskey. Besides, once she had the bike, where would she go? If she abandoned the Ñíri Kurám, what would happen to her?
While woefully ignorant of Sanguire society, she knew that the Agrun Nam’s knowledge of Elisibet’s doppelgänger made things more difficult. Once she disappeared from their radar, she wouldn’t be surprised if a general all-call went out to every European Sanguire living in North America. Where the hell could she go to get away from them without a birth certificate or state identification? How far did Elisibet’s influence and memory go? Would Whiskey be safe if she, by some bizarre chance, relocated to China or something?
The Strange Path Page 16
