by Kelly Meding
“Kill me if you’re going to,” Belle said.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I replied over my shoulder, not giving her the respect of looking her in the eye. “If anything happens to Aurora or Joseph, then I make no guarantees the next time we meet.”
“Likewise.”
“I’m not your enemy, Belle.”
No reply.
“You can put that away,” I said to Leo. He tucked the gun into his jacket. “We’re going to take the service stairs down. Do you have a car?”
He nodded.
“Good, then you’re driving.”
I ushered him into the hallway and pulled the door shut. No last looks over my shoulder. No time for emotional good-byes as I closed a chapter, not only in Chalice’s life but also in my own. There was no going back this time.
There was only forward.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday, 12:44 A.M.
Leo’s station wagon was across the street, half a block down—a sore thumb among dozens of shiny, late-model cars and trucks. In the dark, it could have been tan or yellow, with dark brown paneling on the sides and rust spots near the rear wheels. The cargo area was stuffed with suitcases, cardboard boxes, paper shopping bags, and a plastic laundry basket. Similar items packed the backseat.
I didn’t do more than observe the oddity of it. My back burned, and the blood loss was making me dizzy. The jaguar must have cut me deeper than I thought.
Leo fumbled his keys with trembling hands and unlocked the passenger-side door. “You’re bleeding,” he said again.
“Yeah, sorry,” I replied.
He shrugged out of his jacket, took the carry-on away from me, and draped the coat over my shoulders. I hissed when he brushed one of the open wounds.
“You need a hospital.”
“It’s fine. We just need to get the hell out of here.”
Sirens punctuated my statement, too close for comfort. Leo tossed my bag into the backseat while I slid inside. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, head on the dash. Nauseated beyond belief. I closed my eyes. The driver’s door opened and shut, then the engine roared to life.
“Where—?” he started.
“Your motel.” I could patch up, clean up, and lie down for a minute. Catch my breath.
We moved away from the sounds of sirens. Leo impressed me with his silence. I had no energy for fielding a hundred questions on the whos and whys and what the hells. Just wanted to rest until—shit. I would have banged my head on the dash if it weren’t too heavy to lift.
My cell phone was still under the pillow.
I groaned.
Leo must have mistaken it for pain or discomfort, because he asked, “You okay over there?”
“Just trying to not bleed on your upholstery. We almost there?”
“Yes.”
He made a left turn and, a few seconds later, pulled to a stop. The engine cut off. I mustered the energy to raise my head, expecting some garish neon sign and peeling exterior. I blinked hard, confused by the brick wall and near-dark to my right, and the long, narrow alley stretching out in front of the wagon.
Panic set in, cold and quick. I was in a car with a man I didn’t trust, in a blind Mercy’s Lot alley. I cleared my throat, hoping to keep my voice level. “This isn’t—”
“I don’t have a motel room. They cost money.”
I forced my head to turn and look at him. He seemed smaller behind the wheel of the massive station wagon, and not just from the shock of shooting two were-cats. He was ashamed.
“Oh” was all I managed.
“I’ve got first aid.” He flipped on an overhead light, unlocked his seat belt, and reached into the backseat. He produced a large fishing tackle box, grimy from wear and faded with age. “You really should—”
“No hospital. Not for this.”
“Those scratches could get infected.” He snapped open the lid and started rummaging around inside.
“They won’t.” I swallowed, suddenly thirsty. “Leo, what were you doing there?”
“You told me to leave the apartment, so I left. Didn’t have anywhere to go, though. I guess I just hoped Alex would turn up, so I waited.” He put cotton bandages and medical tape on the seat between us, then looked at me. Confusion was etched all over his face. “I saw your friends leaving with three people. The girl looked scared. I knew you hadn’t left, so I went back up.”
“You saved my life.”
He shrugged and dipped back into the tackle box. Scissors, gauze, cotton balls, and peroxide were added to his pile before he snapped the lid shut and settled the box on the floor.
“Don’t you want to know—?”
“Hell no.” He shook his head emphatically, wire glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. “Because if I even entertain the notion that I saw what I saw, I’m going to want a drink. And then I’ll want another drink, and then five drinks, and then I’ll be off the wagon for the first time in six years. So I didn’t see what I saw.”
Fair enough.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
It took some doing—every time I moved my shoulder, the gaping wounds shrieked at me—but we got the shirt off. I shifted to face the window and watched Leo’s partial reflection in the glass. He soaked a cotton ball in peroxide. I closed my eyes, clasped my hands, and clenched my teeth until the painful process was over and he was taping down the last of the gauze pads.
“It’s the best I can do, but they need stitches,” he said.
“They’ll heal. Can you get my bag?”
He retrieved it, then put it on the seat between us. I rummaged inside for a clean shirt. Put it on with a little help from Leo. The pain was lessening but still present, as was the need to vomit. I was eager for the familiar itch of the healing process. His bloodstained jacket was on the floor by my feet, ruined.
“Thank you for this,” I said.
“You’re in some bad trouble, aren’t you?”
“It’s not good trouble.”
“Was Alex in trouble, too?”
I turned to look at him. He had the framed photo out, clenched in his hands. He looked so miserable, I wanted to spill the truth right there. I didn’t. If he thought accepting that he’d just shot two shape-shifters would dump him off the wagon, the real truth would send him on a fatal bender. “Alex isn’t involved in this,” I said, as close to the truth as I could manage. “How long have you lived in your car?”
“About four months.” He continued to speak to the photo. “Alex doesn’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Me and Alex, we were talking and trying to fix things. I lost the job he helped me get, then I lost my apartment. I was too ashamed to tell him. That’s why it took me so long to get here. Had to hustle some cash for gas.”
“He would have understood.”
Leo shook his head and put the photo back in the bag. “No, not about this. I’m an old fool, thinking he’ll ever forgive me.”
“You might have been surprised.” Forgiveness is a tricky thing—a lesson I’d learned the hard way, many times. A lesson I was still learning—especially when it came to forgiving myself.
We didn’t speak for several minutes, and I was grateful for the silence. I needed to think. The relationships among the Clans were beyond confusing, and I still couldn’t reconcile my feelings for Phineas. He could have been playing me this entire time, using me to get inside information on the Triads’ plans. Setting me up so Belle could take me out and be a hero to the Clans for protecting their secrets. Facts and events pointed toward his treachery.
My gut told me otherwise.
I hadn’t a clue where to start looking for Joseph and Aurora. Part of me wondered if they’d be safer with Belle’s people. She seemed to have resources beyond that of a simple diner waitress, and I didn’t doubt her hatred of me. Or her sincere belief in protecting the identities of the other bi-shifters at any cost. Including my murder.
My hand jerked. She hadn’t menti
oned Wyatt, but he also knew about the bi-shifters. Had she sent people to silence him as well?
“I need a phone,” I said.
“There’s a cell in the glove compartment,” Leo said. I gave him a sideways frown. “Borrowed it from a friend, but the battery’s low.”
It was also about five years out of date, but it was still a cell phone. I waited for it to power up, my anxiety mounting. Wyatt would already be in fits from our interrupted phone call. The Triads would have heard about the throw-down at the apartment by now.
I pulled the antenna, punched in the number I’d called back earlier, and waited. It rang and rang. No one picked up. “Shit.” I canceled the call and tried to drum up Kismet’s phone number. My mind blanked. “We need to go to St. Eustachius.”
“Now you want the hospital?” Leo asked blankly.
“My friends are there. They can help us.”
He seemed poised to argue—or beg against it, I couldn’t be sure—but started the engine. I leaned gently against the seat as he drove, concentrating on the alternating sensations of pain and itching as I fed Leo directions.
The city quieted as we left Mercy’s Lot for downtown, moving closer to the Anjean River. Everything seemed still, as though it were holding its collective breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hated that feeling. It left me tense, on edge, ready to burst out of my own skin.
I directed Leo to the same side street Phin had parked on. “You don’t have to wait for me,” I said as he parallel parked on the curb opposite the river.
He gave me a wan smile. “If I don’t, then I’m likely to go find the first all-night bar I can, and I’d rather avoid that temptation.”
“It might be safer.”
“Maybe.” He paused. “Chalice, can I ask you a question and get the God’s honest truth?”
I almost said no. I didn’t want to give him a truthful answer, especially if he asked about Alex. Maybe the were-cats hadn’t sent him off on a bender, but learning his son had been turned into a vampire half-breed was the perfect excuse to end a six-year sober streak.
“Please?”
The reply leaked out. “Okay.”
I braced for the question I didn’t want him to ask. He surprised me with, “You’re not really a barista, are you?”
I blinked, almost relieved. Granted, the question opened up a whole nother set of complications, but these I could handle. “No, I’m not. I help deal with things that most people don’t see and don’t want to see.”
“Like tigers who turn into girls?”
“Yeah, like that.”
He blew hard through his nose. “And Alex found out? Is that why he left?”
In a roundabout way … “Yes.”
“Is it really more complicated than that?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
I wished he did, but complicated didn’t even begin to cover my world. “What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Almost quarter to two.”
“I’ll be back before three. I need to be somewhere at sunrise.”
“Be careful.”
With the most confident smile I could muster, I climbed out and jogged to the corner, gritting my teeth the entire time. The block was quiet, save the gentle rumble of the river. Even the hospital seemed to be sleeping, despite dozens of windows blazing with light. I turned the corner, out of Leo’s sight. I just hoped he stayed in the car.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on Wyatt’s hospital room. The open space near the window. The Break caressed me with static fingers, no longer hindered by that strange force field. I pulled on the power, and the world around me dissolved. I floated. Felt smashed flat as I moved through the solid walls of the hospital—uncomfortable, but not as painful as the first few times.
Motion ceased, and solid linoleum formed beneath my feet. The scratch wounds smarted and stung, and a dull ache pressed between my eyes when I opened them. The room was dark, empty, the bed stripped. Equipment put away.
“She was right.”
Heart thudding in my ears, I spun around, fists clenched. Felix stood in the shadows of the far corner, hands in his jeans pockets. He looked bored.
“Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” I snapped, trying to get my racing pulse under control.
“Sorry. That was a really cool entrance, though.”
I rolled my eyes. “Who was right about what?”
“Kis. She said you’d probably show up, so she told me to wait and give you a message.”
“Which is?”
“Truman and St. James were moved from here to a more secure location.”
“Why?” The question slipped out, even though I could guess.
“Because someone sneaked in and tried to kill them. Well, tried to kill Truman.”
My stomach quailed. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. He had a silver cross that knocked her for a loop long enough to get help in here.”
“Were-cat?”
Felix tilted his head, considering me. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
Son of a bitch. “She alive?”
“And being detained for questioning.”
“I can save you the trouble. My would-be killer fell into overconfidence mode and spilled right before the tables were turned.”
“Yeah, we heard something about that over the wire. Morgan’s team was sent in to check it out.”
Morgan would have a hell of a time wrestling Jag Man’s corpse away from the police. It was the third time in a week that the cops had been called to that apartment. My guess was it would take more than a Handler’s flashy Special Cases badge to get access. Or a call from the brass.
“So what do they want?” Felix asked.
“Same as us. Security for their people.”
He snorted. “By trying to kill ours?”
“It’s what we do to them.”
“Whose side are you on?” he asked, shooting me a queer look.
I bristled. “Right now? Mine, because I’m the only person who hasn’t tried to kill me at some point this week.” We could have this argument anywhere and at any time. I had better things to do. I still had to stash my new shadow and then get to Rufus. “Do you have any cash on you?”
“Some. Why?”
“Because I need it. Now, where did you take Wyatt and Rufus?”
Leo started awake when I knocked on his car window. He’d fallen asleep with his head against the glass, breath puffing a cloud of vapor the size of my fist. He blinked at me, momentarily confused, then rolled the window down with a hand crank.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Scoot over. I’m driving.”
He complied without question—which surprised the hell out of me—and gingerly inspected the back of the passenger seat before settling in. Probably checking for blood. I slid in behind the steering wheel as headlights flashed into the alley. I started up the car and pulled out. Felix fell in line behind.
At first, Leo didn’t notice. After five blocks and two left turns, he twisted around in his seat. “We’re being followed,” he said.
“He’s a friend.”
Three blocks later, we pulled into the lot of the Palm Tree Inn, a white-painted brick motel nestled between two fast-food joints. It was U-shaped, its garish sign marking the open end of the lot. I parked near the office. Felix pulled in next to me, then darted inside.
“Is something happening here?” Leo asked, gazing around. Confused.
I turned to face him. “No. Leo, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to stay here for a few days while I take care of some things.”
His expression morphed from concern to anger and back again, unsure which to choose.
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” I continued, “and I can’t do my job if I’m trying to protect you. When this is over, we’ll talk. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
> Understanding dawned. His face went slack. “You mean about—”
“Three days, Leo. Just promise me you won’t go near alcohol or the apartment.”
A silent war waged in the ensuing silence, lasting the several minutes it took Felix to return with a key and room number. I climbed out with my bag and handed the car keys to Leo. He stared at them, then at me. “Fine,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, then followed Felix back to his car.
We waited around the corner, lights off, until Leo retreated to his room with a suitcase and shut the door.
“He your old man or something?” Felix asked when we were back on the road.
“Just someone I’m trying to help,” I said.
“You can’t help everyone, Evy.”
“Nope.” I’d lost too many friends to think otherwise. “But the day I stop trying is the day I take a header off the Wharton Street Bridge.”
He grunted.
“Do you have any extra weapons?” I asked after a brief silence. “I’m feeling a little naked over here.”
“Not in the car,” he said.
I kept my eyes forward. It was his hesitation in replying, more than the answer, that unnerved me. I wasn’t asking for an arsenal. Just a knife or gun. Even a dog whistle would have made me feel better. Every Hunter carried extra weapons.
My overbearing tendency to question Wyatt’s orders had gotten us into many fights in the past. I latched on to that bullheaded curiosity—the impossibility of simply accepting an answer—and let it guide me. “How many were-cats attacked the hospital did you say?”
“Just the one.”
“And he attacked Wyatt first?”
“Yeah, he did.”
He. I watched the city fly by as Felix drove us west, back across the peninsula of Mercy’s Lot. Through quiet streets dotted with the occasional homeless wanderer or brave adventurer. Toward an unknown destination. I didn’t know what was waiting, but instinct told me it wasn’t Wyatt. “Not a very smart would-be assassin,” I said. “With Rufus recently shot and suffering from third-degree burns, the were-cat goes after the man who’s most likely to fight back and win?”
The leather on the steering wheel creaked. Felix had a white-knuckle grip, but his profile revealed nothing.
