by Kelly Meding
“Nothing,” I said, surprised by the coldness of my tone. I released him and backpedaled to the middle of the room. He stayed by the wall, watching me warily. I turned away from him, toward Phin. “Looks like we’ll be able to solve the mystery of Leonard Call once you and Wyatt meet him. Make the phone call.”
“In a moment,” Phin said. He was difficult to read. The argument he’d just witnessed didn’t seem to bother him at all. Then again, as I’d seen, he was a great actor. He pulled a square of paper from his pocket and unfolded a photocopy. “This fell out of Snow’s pocket, and I don’t think he realized.”
I took the paper. It was dark, badly copied, but still legible. It was an invitation to the fund-raiser Kismet had mentioned earlier. “He’s going to a party?” Then I saw the location—Parker’s Grand Palace—and it dawned on me. Parker’s Palace. Park Place. Close together, but not the same location.
The rest of it detailed the exact function of the fund-raiser—money to repair the basement structure of the historic Parker Palace stage theater and bring the arts back to the old riverfront. Held in the lobby at seven sharp, tonight. A silent auction to raise money. Other donations welcome, with donors designated Patrons of the Arts.
“Holy fucking shit,” I said. “There really was something happening, only that idiot at the gym had the wrong day and place.”
“Or he had it right,” Wyatt said, somewhere close behind me, and his nearness made me flinch, “only we couldn’t see them going in and out last night.”
Phin’s head jerked to the side. “How is that—?”
“The tunnels,” I said. “Goblins stick to Mercy’s Lot because of the old sewer system and bootleggers’ tunnels that run beneath it.”
“But they shouldn’t have river access for at least six blocks,” Wyatt said. He stepped around to my left, completing our little conversational circle. “It’s why half of those buildings were abandoned after the river flooded fifty years ago. Water got into the tunnels and ruined the foundations. The tunnels were filled in and blocked up, but the damage was done. No one wanted to pay the extra expense of repairing them.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Until someone comes along who needs the access, so they take the time to dig it out.”
“That’s reaching, Evy, and it’s also giving Call a lot of planning credit.”
“He seems like the planning type—especially if this little revenge is four years in the making.” I found no satisfaction in his flinch. “Look, if there’s a tunnel that comes out beneath any of the four buildings on the corners of Park and Howard—”
“They could have met without our ever knowing,” Phin said. “They could still be there, waiting for orders.”
Over my shoulder, the digital clock read quarter past six. “We need a plan—and soon.”
Wyatt produced his cell phone and dialed, determination creasing his brow and pulling his mouth into a grim line. “Gina, it’s me. Check the basements of all the buildings on the Park-Howard corners. I think you’re going to find access to the underground.” Her muffled voice squawked back. “I know they were. Just trust me on this and check them out. Do you still have someone watching the theater where that fund-raiser is being held?”
More squawking. He frowned. “Well, get someone back there, because it’s a likely target tonight.” She talked some more; I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Think about it, Gina. We killed three hundred of one of the oldest and most powerful Clans in the city. At least that many of the city’s richest and most influential people will be there pretending to care about the arts. It’s the perfect target, and if we’re right, one of those tunnels is going to lead under or close to the theater.”
Another long pause had me wanting to slap Wyatt for not putting it on speakerphone. He finally got another word in. “I have something else I need to do. Just watch your back and do what you can, okay?” He hung up.
“She didn’t sound convinced,” Phin said.
“She’s not, but they’re checking out the basements, and she’s diverting Baylor’s and Morgan’s teams to the fund-raiser. Half the other Triads are Uptown dealing with reported sightings of coyotes and cheetahs in the historic district.”
“Shit,” I said. They were miles away.
“Distraction?” Phin asked.
“Very definitely.”
I was torn between wanting to run down to Parker’s and help, and needing to stay close to Wyatt when he met Snow and Call. Something told me the meet wouldn’t be far from the party. No sense in planning carnage if you’re not around to enjoy it.
Phin produced his own phone, but before he could dial, I said, “I’m going with you two.”
“You can’t,” Phin said.
I bristled, ready to dig in my heels.
“Snow thinks you’re dead,” Wyatt said, adding logic to the dog pile. “Kismet thinks you’re dead. We need you to stick to the shadows, because regardless of who thinks what or why, you’re the only advantage we’ve got.”
He was right, and I hated it. So I stayed quiet, afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d start screaming frustrated profanities.
Phin took my silence as permission to continue and dialed. “I’m with him,” he said after it seemed no one would answer. “All right, we can be there in ten minutes.”
“Be where?” I asked as he snapped the phone shut and put it away.
“A few blocks from here, corner of Twelfth and Grover. A car is coming for us.”
“I’ll never be able to track you in a car without their noticing.”
“We’ll end up within a few blocks of the theater, I’m certain.”
“Yeah, and fanning that out in four directions doesn’t narrow it down. After what Wyatt just told us about Snow and Cole, I’m not letting you two out of my sight.”
“You may not have a choice,” Wyatt said. “It’s more important to head down to Parker’s Palace and make sure—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Should I make that an order?”
I snorted. “Good luck with that, partner. I’m not …” It hit me, so obvious I laughed because I hadn’t thought of it sooner. Not that sixty seconds into an argument was awful timing. “Phin, do you know Jenner’s home number?”
“It’s in my phone memory. Why?”
“Because I think I know how to track you once you’re in their car.”
Chapter Twenty-one
6:10 P.M.
Being on the outs with the Triads meant I had no access to all their fun surveillance equipment, hence my backup suggestion. After Phin got over it and realized it was our best option, I called Aurora and filled her in on the plan. She readily agreed to assist, leaving Ava in Joseph’s capable hands.
We separated in the motel parking lot. I climbed into the rental car while Phin and Wyatt walked. At the end of the block, they paused for the crosswalk signal, and Wyatt looked back. I held his gaze, even though I doubted he could see me from the distance. We hadn’t said good-bye and had not exchanged “good luck.” I was still angry, and he knew it. He also knew to leave it.
Once they reached the next block, I drove out of the lot and turned north. I had to cross the river again, and it was faster to go north to the Wharton Street Bridge. I spent the trip pondering my lack of weapons. Wyatt had searched the car while I called Aurora. All he found was a tire iron and an emergency roadside kit with two flares. The three items were on the passenger seat next to me, my only company.
No, not entirely true. My silver cross was a potential weapon, assuming I got close enough to Snow to use it. I preferred not to, though. While I’d do everything in my power to prevent the deaths of those uptight socialites, I couldn’t bring myself to crave Snow and Call’s blood. I understood the kind of pain that had driven them to the precipice we all stood upon.
Call/Cole and I were startlingly similar, and yet vastly different. We’d both lost our lives by someone else’s orders. We had both received our lives back from the same person: Wyatt
Truman. The reasons didn’t matter, only the end result of new life—waking up alone, among strangers, unsure what had brought us to that point or where to go next. Cole’s new life had been infinitely harder than mine. I had Wyatt to center me and help me recover my memories. Cole had been alone.
Loneliness served my Gift as surely as that loneliness helped fuel Cole’s revenge.
I ditched the car two blocks north of our assumed perimeter, on the opposite side of the theater from where the Triads were searching, then moved south. Flares tucked down the back of my jeans and a tire iron held flush against my right arm, I stuck close to alleys and shadows, traveling fast and quiet. It was dusk, so the shadows were plentiful. Car traffic and the occasional pedestrian paid me no mind as I moved toward my predetermined destination.
The stone office building had seen better days. Two blocks from the theater and nestled between a cigarette outlet and a boarded-up apartment complex for sale, it was closed this Sunday night. I ducked into the alley between it and the cigarette outlet, making my way past a Dumpster full of rotting cardboard boxes. Out of sight of anyone on the street, I crouched and waited.
The seconds ticked by with the beats of my heart. I held the iron in my lap, ignoring the disgusting odors of mold and metal and old water. Far away, a car horn honked. Another answered. The cry of a bird startled me, and I looked up. Air stirred and a shadow descended into the alley. A bird with lovely caramel-colored feathers dotted with black specks and a grayish face blinked at me from the ground. Her small, hooked beak opened, and a quiet screech bounced off the stone wall behind me.
I stood up as the kestrel—on the phone, Aurora had told me her bird form—transformed. Her body grew. Feathers disappeared, creeping up to her head and back down in long, thick curls of hair, and elsewhere were replaced by delicate peach skin. Long wings shrank into arms, clawed feet into thin legs. Only Aurora’s eyes seemed to stay the same, as round and vivid blue as a woman as they had been in her kestrel form. Her stomach was still rounded and breasts were still swollen from her recent pregnancy, but she showed no modesty about her nakedness.
“They were taken two streets over, one up,” Aurora said. “Crawford Street, the brick building with the fire escape and the conservatory on its roof. It’s within viewing distance of the theater.”
“Thank you.”
“Should I continue to monitor—”
“No, I’ve got it from here.” I wasn’t letting her get into this fight, not with a baby at home—one who was probably five pounds heavier than she had been that afternoon.
Her eyes narrowed, mouth pressing into a thin line in a perfect imitation of Phin. “My family is there, too, Evangeline. I’m stronger than you think.” To prove her point, long and tapered wings grew from her back, much like Phin’s had when he bi-shifted. She let them span the width of the alley, impressive in their size and various shades of black, caramel, and white. Muscles rippled beneath the weight gain of pregnancy.
She had a point.
“Can you watch the theater?”
My request mollified her, but she continued to stand with her wings at full attention, like a guardian angel. A creature of legend and myth—just like her people were once believed to be. “Do you need a ride?” she asked.
I blinked. It wouldn’t exactly be a subtle form of travel, but activity in this part of the city was relatively quiet at dusk on a Sunday evening. Good thing we weren’t trying this during business hours on a weekday, or our picture would probably end up on the front page of someone’s conspiracy Web site. I took off my necklace and tucked it into my pocket. No sense in risking the silver.
I turned around and assumed the arms-crossed position I’d used with Phin, keeping the tire iron against my chest. She drew up behind me, breasts pressing into my back. Definitely the closest I’d ever been to a naked woman. Her arms looped around my ribs, locking tight.
“Hold on,” she said.
The warning was almost too late for me to brace. We were up and roaring through the air, sound beat by her wings and the rush of wind in my ears. I hadn’t expected her speed or strength, but she carried me with ease. Over the rooftops, down two blocks, and then she zoomed so low to the empty street I nearly screamed, sure we were about to crash. One more street in that direction, and then she zoomed sharply left, into yet another alley.
This one was wider than the others, big enough for a delivery van to drive through, and empty of any trash containers. She set me down on shaking legs, and I sucked in air, realizing for the first time that I’d forgotten to breathe during our flight. My chest ached from the pressure of the tire iron.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, still panting.
“Follow this alley to its end, then turn right,” she said, all business. “Across to your left is a fire escape and the building you need. Good luck, Evangeline.”
“You, too, and be careful.”
With a beaming smile, she transformed back into her kestrel form and flew into the darkening sky. I took off down the alley at a run, grateful for the proximity. The fire escape ladder wasn’t extended. Not that it mattered. I focused on the highest level, just below the roof itself, and closed my eyes. Slipped into the crackling energy of the Break, shattered, shifted, and materialized right where I wanted to be.
It was getting easier and easier.
Stomach in knots and adrenaline kicking in, I peeked over the edge of the roof. Six inches of stone dropped down about three feet to a wide, open area. Directly in front of me were dozens of cement slabs laid in no real pattern, creating a sort of patio area. Twenty-odd feet across the slabs was the stair access and elevator room. Just past it, dark glass panes visible on either side of the shed, was the greenhouse.
No one seemed to be on the lookout, which was both a relief and a surprise. Was Call really so full of himself that he didn’t think he needed protection? The sounds of the city seemed so distant, the night sky a blanket that hid our actions from the world.
The stair access door swung open with a screech, and I ducked back down, out of sight, heart slamming against my rib cage.
“This way,” someone said. Female voice, familiar. Isleen’s contact, Eleri?
The sounds of multiple people walking, shoes scuffling on the concrete, and then the same door slammed shut.
“Your boss have a green thumb?” Wyatt asked, a little out of breath. My hand jerked at the sound of his voice, and I clenched the tire iron tighter. Someone snickered. Damned good timing. They must have walked up the eight flights of stairs.
I strained to hear, their footsteps almost gone. Then something squealed—a hinge, maybe? I hazarded another look over the edge of the roof, just in time to see a door swing shut on the left side of the greenhouse. Still no sign of perimeter guards. Didn’t mean they weren’t there. I couldn’t sit and wait. Had to risk it.
I closed my eyes and transported again. The familiar dull ache began between my eyes, increasing when I materialized in front of the stair shed. I pressed my back against the metal siding and waited. No one raised any alarms or took potshots at me. I took another peek around, closer to the greenhouse. The glass panes were either painted over from the inside or covered with dark sheets of something. I couldn’t see through them, but that didn’t mean those inside were as blind.
About six feet down the wall, halfway between me and the door, was a slotted vent. Good a place as any to try to eavesdrop. I focused on it, hoped it was a blind spot, and slipped in. The headache increased as I completed my third transport in as many minutes, like tiny hammers beating my corneas. I stayed low and shifted to face the vent.
The grille was angled down, which gave me an upward view into the greenhouse. It was dim inside but not dark, lending credence to my hope that the windows were blacked out. Several bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, interspersed among rows of what were probably sunlamps, all off. Long wooden tables were empty, grayed with age. The odor of wet earth drifted out through the vent, along with the sound of voices.
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“Over there,” Eleri said.
Footsteps shuffled, then four people stepped into view. Wyatt and Phin stuck close to each other, profiles to me; both were alert, prepared for attack. Eleri was directly behind them, her tall, slim form encased in black, striking white hair bundled up at the nape of her neck. She kept her gun level with their waists, clean shots at their spines.
The fourth was Snow, recognizable by shape even without his black hat. He had no weapons in his hands. I didn’t doubt they were hidden well out of sight. “Far enough,” he snapped.
The quartet stopped. Wyatt turned to glance behind him, and I saw the welt on his jaw. I bristled and directed my unnoticed glare toward Snow, silently promising he’d get one just like it before the night was done. He walked up to Wyatt and started patting him down.
“Didn’t we go through this once?” Phin asked.
“Get over it,” Snow said. “Humans can’t be trusted.”
“Is that why your boss is human?”
Snow’s fist clenched; he didn’t swing. His temper certainly had a hair trigger. Eleri’s eyes never seemed to stay still, shifting her focus from person to person. Snow finished his pat-down and moved to Phin, who looked ready to belt his fellow Therian. Wyatt—to my utter surprise—seemed like the calmest one in the group.
My entire head shuddered, as though rocked by a silent sneeze. I froze, heart pounding, alarmed at the queer sensation of absolute quiet all around me and through me. Inside the greenhouse, Wyatt scowled. And then I realized—my connection to the Break was gone. Cut off. Shit.
Behind me, the air moved. I couldn’t duck in time. Color and lights exploded behind my eyes, then my face scraped concrete. None of my limbs wanted to respond. Stupid. So fucking stupid. Something dug into my ribs and rolled me onto my back. I blinked up at a tan blur, outlined by the night sky.
“I’d say it’s nice to see you,” an unfamiliar male voice said, “but you’re supposed to be dead.”
