The Strange Path

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  An abrupt vision crossed her mind, a laughing Asian woman dressed in a traditional Japanese kimono. It stopped Whiskey in her tracks. She carefully examined the image, catching a nostalgic whiff of ginger root, and realized the woman was Sanguire. Fuck! How far did Elisibet get back then?

  Sirens in the distance brought her back to the present. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder, and started walking again.

  Digging her hands into her pockets, she felt a strange set of keys. They were to Dorst’s apartment, the ones he’d given her before she left this evening. God, had it only been a couple of hours? She pulled them out to examine them. Maybe he’d let her crash there tonight. He might know what she should do now, too.

  Relieved at the alternative, Whiskey stuck the keys back in her pocket, and looked around her surroundings. She could be at Dorst’s place within the hour, putting her farther from Tallulah’s. Icing on the cake.

  ***

  Whiskey fidgeted at the outer door for a moment, then pushed the buzzer. It had to be almost one in the morning. Better give him some warning. She waited a full minute, receiving no response from the speaker, or the subtle click of the lock opening. Maybe he wasn’t home.

  She turned away and studied the street, considering. He’d said to come by at any time. Granted, he probably hadn’t meant a few hours after leaving, but the circumstances didn’t allow for much else. She chewed her lip, digging in her pocket for the keys.

  “You are a difficult woman to keep up with.”

  Whiskey jumped, looking into the shadows cast by decorative bushes and trees. Amber and steel washed over her, and she dropped her guard. “Reynhard, you scared the crap out of me.”

  Dorst eased out of the darkness, his face dimpled in delight. He made one of his elegant bows. “Sincerest apologies, my Gasan. It still remains a pleasure to see you so soon.”

  She sensed an expectant air from him. “Did you know I was going to be here?”

  “I had hopes.” He shrugged lightly, reaching for the keys in her hand.

  Whiskey released them, and he opened the outer door, holding it for her. She entered the foyer. She asked, “Has Fiona talked to you?”

  “No, not for a few days. Why? Has something happened?” He led them to the elevator.

  She wondered how to explain the disaster the night had become. “I almost got into a fight tonight, and she showed up with her pack.” The elevator pinged and opened for them.

  Dorst gestured for her to precede him. “Almost?” He pushed the button for his floor. “I assume her fortuitous arrival was beneficial?”

  “For me, but not for him.” She recalled the crackle of bones and cartilage as she hit Dominick that final time, the barren look in his eyes. She shivered as the elevator opened, distracting her from the memory.

  He led her down the hall, using her keys to unlock the door. “Do tell.”

  Whiskey stepped into the apartment, shrugging out of her backpack. “That albino guy you saw the other night, my friend’s boyfriend?” He nodded, and she continued. “He put out a hit on me tonight, and someone tried to collect.”

  The amber and steel swelled in the small apartment, and Dorst bristled. “Clarify.”

  “It just means I’m a walking target for a beating on the streets,” Whiskey said, making calming motions. “Not like a ‘hit’ in the movies. After a couple of days, maybe a week, it’ll die down.”

  His demeanor mellowed, but a dangerous edge clung to him as he whipped off his trench coat. “And Fiona’s pack arrived in the nick of time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Had she any reason to believe you’d be in the area of Tallulah’s?”

  Whiskey sat without invitation at the small dining table. “Not that I know of. If she asked around the street, she’d know about it. I’m not sure she’d think to, though, or that anyone would tell her.”

  “I doubt it, as well.” He joined her. “You still have the cell phone she gave you.”

  His words were a statement, not a question. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because it has a GPS tracking unit built inside. Plainly, Fiona has discovered its unique code, and has been using it to locate you.” He looked impressed. “One of her younglings is quite handy with today’s electronic surveillance equipment. I may just have to recruit him.”

  Whiskey’s blood chilled. “You mean she knows I’m here?” She turned to stare out the window at the street, half expecting to see golden Sanguire eyes in the darkness.

  “She knows the phone is here, therefore you must be, as well. That can be easily remedied.” He held out his hand. “The phone, my Gasan.”

  She fumbled the cell phone out of her pocket, and gave it to him. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going for a long walk, my Gasan, and perhaps a short drive until I find a proper resting place for this little boondoggle. You are going to remain here and sleep.”

  Whiskey scoffed. “Are you kidding? I can’t sleep, I’m too freaked out!”

  Dorst smiled, his expression slightly apologetic. “You’d be surprised.” He stood, gesturing for her to do the same.

  “Reynhard, I know you just want me to be safe. No worries, dude. No way am I going back out there tonight.”

  “I concur.” He swept into one of his special bows. Then with a swiftness beyond Human abilities, he straightened, reaching out to touch her temple. “Sleep.”

  Whiskey’s eyes slammed shut. She noted a distant sensation of falling. Amber and steel enveloped her before she hit the floor.

  ***

  Light and sound woke Whiskey. She squinted her eyes, trying to figure out where the sound of birdsong came from. Instead, memories flowed into her mind, her heartbeat increasing with each new scene—Castillo’s confession, Gin’s pregnancy, Fiona’s crowd beating Dominick to the ground, fleeing the scene of the debacle with a proverbial sword hanging above her head, Dorst’s sudden appearance and his attack.

  She sat upright, looking around for her Baruñal, unable to locate him. Unless he hid in the closet, she doubted he was here. Blinking, she remembered her newfound ability to touch other Sanguire. Her questing thoughts met emptiness, and she relaxed.

  Whiskey yawned and stretched. She found the obligatory alarm clock on the nightstand. It read a little after nine o’clock; the brightness outside made it morning. In the middle of the apartment, she looked around. She saw nothing ominous. Her pack sat under the table by the window, undisturbed. On the table sat a cell phone and a piece of paper. Whiskey picked up the note.

  Dearest Whiskey,

  I hope the morning finds you well. My sincerest apologies for forcing the issue, but it was required for both your safety and my peace of mind for you to nap a bit. Please, feel free to enjoy my humble yet temporary abode for as long as you wish. As they say in other parts of the world, “Mi casa es su casa.”

  It would be best for you to remain off the streets as much as possible, though I realize that may be too much to ask of such an active youngling as yourself. If you should choose to leave, keep safe, keep the keys, and call me no matter the reason.

  Remember, this afternoon you must attend to your third meditation. Regarding the recent situation among your peers, both Human and Sanguire, you might consider conducting the meditation in my apartment. I will gladly vacate the premises for your comfort.

  I’ve left this cell phone for your express use. Do not concern yourself with its security. I’ve taken the liberty of cloning all relevant data from the old one to this new unit. You have no need to worry about Fiona finding you with the GPS link.

  Faithfully yours,

  Reynhard

  Whiskey shook her head. Like I can sit still that long. As early as it was, she’d be safe for the time being. Ghost’s street family probably left Tallulah’s upon its closing three hours ago. They’d been at their flop a couple of hours at most. She had a good five or six hours to kill before it would start getting too dangerous to be out there.

  Her stomach rumbled.r />
  With no idea of when Dorst would return, she decided to get something to eat. Once she tamed the beast her stomach had become, she could think more clearly. Maybe Dorst would be back by the time she returned. They could discuss what her next step should be. Curious, she went to the closet and peered inside, eyeing a handful of clothes. One hanger held a crimson silk shirt, and she pulled it out to get a better look.

  Take more than you can give.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Whiskey squinted as she stepped out of the Mexican restaurant with her purchases. She set her breakfast on an outdoor table, and brought her sunglasses down to cover her eyes before divesting herself of her pack. Though the morning was overcast, she had difficulty dealing with the light. Still, better to be here than boxed up inside Dorst’s apartment or the restaurant. She sat down to enjoy her first meal of the day, confident she had a few hours of safety ahead.

  The tacos tasted like cardboard and the burritos too gummy for words. She forced herself to finish, and drank the syrupy soda with a grimace. Around her, traffic swept past on the busy street. Hardly giving the vehicles a second glance, she concentrated on the pedestrians as she kept an eye open for anyone from Ghost’s street family. By all rights, they should be asleep, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Dominick had been totally worked over last night, but he or his companions could easily point the finger at her. The damage had been serious enough that they might have decided to spend the morning hunting her down rather than sleeping.

  Ever vigilant, she nevertheless dismissed the people climbing out of an expensive car across the street until she felt a faint touch along her mind. The dry, grainy sensation of ashes spun around in her head. Aw, crap. Don’t they ever sleep either?

  “Ninsumgal!” Cora said with a laugh as she threw herself into Whiskey’s lap, forcing Whiskey to hold tight to prevent the blonde from falling. Cora’s hands, ever restless, stroked the silk shirt Whiskey had appropriated from Dorst’s closet. “Mmm, I love this.”

  “It certainly does become you.” Fiona approached with a bit more elegance. She’d traded riding leathers for a flowing emerald green dress, tight and sheer in all the right places. Behind her, Daniel drifted along, wearing tight leather pants and a collar, his tattoos readily visible. “You’ve obviously fared well since last night.”

  Not about to reveal where she’d ended up, Whiskey grinned. “It’s been pretty good.”

  “I missed you last night.” Cora contrived a pout, playing with the buttons of Whiskey’s shirt. “You should have come home with us.”

  “I missed you, too,” Whiskey half-lied. Having a willing woman in her lap played hell with her overactive libido. Instead of pushing Cora away, Whiskey nudged her closer.

  “She’s been positively broody since your departure.” Fiona came around the table to run her hand along Whiskey’s shoulders. “How are your dragons faring?”

  The stench of sweet flowers overpowered her. She sensed a questing connection along the physical touch. Half-panicked, Whiskey did the same thing she’d done the night before, somehow pushing with her mind. She must have done it harder than necessary, because Fiona pulled away with a hiss of pain. The flowers gave way to ash. Whiskey’s mouth dropped open. Did I cause that?

  Hesitant, Cora caressed Whiskey’s cheek, distracting her. Daniel watched them carefully, his body thrumming with sudden tension.

  Whiskey saw a flash of fury in Fiona as she looked away from her. The ashes are Cora. Only when Fiona’s expression returned to its cool superiority, did Whiskey relax. She cleared her throat. “Uh, the dragons are fine.”

  “My apologies for being forward.” Fiona’s voice wasn’t as faded as her complexion, nor was it as confident as it had been in the past. “I only wished to impress upon you how much we worried about your well being.”

  Whiskey’s eyes narrowed, knowing the words for a lie. “I’m fine, Fiona, but thanks.”

  Fiona lifted her chin.

  “May I see the dragons, Ninsumgal?” Cora asked.

  Nettled by the title, Whiskey said, “Don’t call me that.” Her tone sharper than she intended, she felt a stab of guilt as Cora ducked her head. By way of apology, Whiskey tilted Cora’s head up, and kissed her brow. She began to roll up the sleeve of the silk shirt.

  Soon the women admired the tattoo running up Whiskey’s forearm. Daniel decided things were safe once more, and returned to lookout status, watching passing people and vehicles.

  Having regained a measure of her haughtiness, Fiona smiled. “Would you like to finish it this morning? It’s healed well enough to continue.”

  Whiskey wondered how she could get away this time.

  Cora leaned forward, whispering, “I’d certainly enjoy checking your piercings later, sweet aga ninna. Perhaps they’ve healed, as well?”

  A rush of arousal swept through Whiskey at the offer, and her nipples tightened in response. Common sense kicked in before her libido took over her mouth. She had to go through the third meditation today, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d feel safe enough in Fiona’s clutches to do so. Yet the lure of a finished tattoo warred with the violent memories of Dominick’s beating. It didn’t help that she’d enjoyed her participation in the conflict once she’d gotten involved.

  “Fresh meat.”

  Daniel’s words were whispered, but Whiskey heard them over the noises of traffic and conversation. She turned her attention to where he stared, her heart sinking as she saw Gin and Ghost walking up the street with his pack.

  “Shit.”

  “Do you know them, sweet Whiskey? Are they a danger to you?” Fiona asked, drifting around to stand between the table, and the approaching street kids.

  Whiskey didn’t want to tip Fiona off to endanger her friend. “No.”

  Daniel kept his attention on the approaching group. “Are you certain? They smell very much like the toy we played with last night.”

  “Fuck.” Whiskey wondered if she could sink under the table without being noticed. Ghost probably wanted her blood for Dominick’s injuries, and the Sanguire surrounding her were eager to have another go at the street kids. Not only could Gin get hurt, endangering her baby, but Ghost could be killed. That would leave Gin without even that much support for her unborn child.

  Gin held Ghost’s hand as they walked, speaking to him in a low, serious voice. Whiskey easily located the sound, followed by his as he added something to the conversation. Behind them, three others tagged along. Gin glanced ahead, and saw Whiskey. Her expressions rushed through a gamut—from initial pleasure, concern and relief, to a look of revulsion. Her dark skin whitened, and she came to a dead stop. Whiskey heard her say, “Mi Dios.”

  Whiskey grunted as Gin’s expression closed, and her friend looked away.

  Cora turned toward her. “Whiskey?”

  Whiskey had to separate them before something happened. “I think getting this tattoo finished is a great idea.” She stood, hoping to draw Fiona’s and Daniel’s attention.

  Concerned, Ghost looked from Gin to the restaurant. Despite his dark glasses, Whiskey knew when he registered her presence by the stiffening of his body. His heart rate increased, and anger caused his white skin to pink. Behind him, his three friends also bristled. Ghost radiated a fury so thick, Whiskey smelled it over the vehicle exhaust fumes and rancid grease from a nearby garbage can. He traded places with Gin, keeping himself between his girlfriend and Fiona’s people. He released her hand in the process, balling both up into fists, and began walking again.

  The two groups eyed one another as they neared, though the Sanguire hardly changed their stance. Daniel sat on a table, his manner that of a lounging panther. The swelling excitement from Fiona was palpable, flowers overpowering Whiskey’s senses. Whiskey remembered the swift and devastating attack of Fiona’s pack against the rich boys threatening her when they’d first met. Knowing there would be bloodshed if the two groups met, Whiskey snapped, “Fiona! Daniel!”

  The two t
urned as one to stare at her, eyes glittering.

  “Let’s go. I want to finish this tattoo.” When they made no movement, she dropped her chin and pushed with her mind. “Now.”

  Fiona blinked in surprise at the order. Uncertainty crossed Daniel’s face and he stood, taking a step toward Whiskey.

  The tableau broken, she glared at them. “Is the tattoo parlor open already?” she asked, more to keep their attention than anything else. She watched the street kids from the corner of her eye as they continued past. Thank God for that!

  “Of course, dear Whiskey.” A smile tugged on Fiona’s lips as she glided closer, the Humans forgotten. “Most artists have their doors open by noon, but I know one or two who will gladly be available at this hour for the right amount of money.”

  Behind Fiona, Gin and Ghost passed. Whiskey breathed a sigh of relief when they chose to keep walking rather than force a confrontation. Her heart sank at the look of loathing on Gin’s face.

  “Whiskey?” Cora asked again, linking her arm through hers.

  With a sigh, Whiskey forced a smile. “Can you think of anything else that needs piercing?”

  Cora smiled, brushing her breasts generously along Whiskey’s arm. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  “Daniel.” Fiona, back in control, directed the man to get Whiskey’s gear. “Shall we, my little lamma?”

  Whiskey allowed herself to be escorted to the waiting Lexus, wishing she’d stayed put at Dorst’s place. She preferred starvation to this. At least she had the cell phone he’d given her; she doubted Fiona would begrudge her calling her Baruñal. She felt the eyes of the street kids glaring at her back. As she climbed into the backseat, she risked a glance in their direction. Ghost stared at her, hands still fisted. His mouth moved, and though he spoke quietly, she easily heard the word.