by Keri Arthur
Which was no surprise, as that was exactly what Dmitri and Adán had intended when they’d created the thing. “Anything we can use to make a bridge?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m thinking we shouldn’t exit where they want us to.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“Because we’re supposed to be running from PIT’s clutches. It’d be much more believable if we actually stirred up trouble.”
“I suspect you have a plan.” And given his admitted addiction to the rush of adrenaline, it was probably a dangerous one.
He grinned again. “That I have, my dear. Come along.”
We jogged through the darkness until we reached the start of Hardie Street. Old warehouses and rusting containers lined one side of the road. On the other were a railway line and open space, although the line currently wasn’t usable because the trench had taken out a huge portion of it. On the far side of the trench, about a third of the way farther down the street, a temporary guard station had been set up. Lights constantly swept the area, and I could see at least four men. I had no doubt there were more.
“So what’s this plan of yours?”
“You blow the guard station up and cause some havoc, while I make my way beyond it and construct some sort of bridge.”
I frowned. “I’m not going to hurt—”
“I don’t want you to. I just need you to distract them with some noise while I create a believable escape route. Then we retreat to the other side of Brooklyn.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why? Sam said this was the narrowest point.”
“It is. But Dmitri and Adán are only a call away, and they can easily build a temporary bridge for us.”
“They still have to get past security.”
“No, they don’t. They can reshape the earth from a distance.”
I hesitated, and then nodded. While I wasn’t entirely sure the subterfuge was worth the effort, it also went against the grain to be following PIT’s orders. Especially when PIT was all take and no give.
“Right.” Jackson cracked his knuckles, his anticipation burning the air. “Give me twenty minutes to find what I need, then blast away.”
“Right,” I echoed.
He quickly climbed the mesh fence and disappeared into the shadows of the containers beyond it. I followed him and kept close to the darkness, hugging the old warehouses until I reached the first line of old containers. They were almost directly opposite the guard post, allowing me to keep an eye on what was happening without the risk of going too near the trench and setting off the sensors.
Five minutes passed, and two more men appeared. One patrol leg accomplished, obviously.
Once the twenty-minute mark had hit, I said, Ready?
Always.
I smiled and peeked around the corner of the container again. One of the guards has just entered the temporary shelter. I need you to make a slight noise.
The clang of metal against metal rang across the night. My smile grew. That wasn’t slight.
I’m not known for doing things by halves. If you don’t know that by now, we’re in trouble.
Five of the guards immediately raced toward the sound, their weapons drawn. The sixth remained in the shelter, talking into his phone. I swore softly and targeted one of the cars instead. The explosion was impressive and loud. The five guards dove for cover as bits of metal and fire shot above their heads and, in the distance, sirens began to wail. I blew up a second car, and, a heartbeat later, a Klaxon-like alarm sounded—caused by Jackson moving through the sensors, I suspected. The guards picked themselves up and raced forward. As they disappeared into the darkness, Jackson reappeared.
“That,” he said, “was fun. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”
He twined his fingers through mine and led me away. Although the trenched-off portion of Brooklyn wasn’t overly large, it nevertheless took us close to forty-five minutes to get to the opposite end of it. This was because not only did we have to contend with the military—who undoubtedly would have reported our presence had they spotted us, and wasted our subterfuge efforts—but also because streets had been altered or blocked by either the cloaks or the criminals who had controlled this area before them.
Eventually the strange hush of the place wrapped around us again, and we were alone in the battered remnants of what had once been a thriving community. Jackson paused as we neared the trench again, and he studied the skyline for a minute.
“There.” He pointed to a small, double-story house. While it wasn’t the only one on the street, it was one of the few that still retained its outer skin. Most of the others were little more than skeletal shells. “We’ll wait for the cavalry’s arrival there.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve already called Dmitri?”
“Yes.” The old gate creaked as he opened it. “And then shut down the phone. Didn’t want PIT knowing we were still in the area.”
I followed him up steps that bounced and groaned under our weight—an indication that this house wasn’t all that far off from becoming as skeletal as the others on this street. “I’m surprised you didn’t toss it.”
“Oh, I thought about it.” He opened the door and waved me in. The house was an old Victorian and, as such, had a central corridor from which all the rooms ran off. Stairs to the first floor were on my right, with a bigger room at the end. Grime and rubbish lay everywhere, and many of the old floorboards had been torn up. The smell of smoke lingered heavily, suggesting that not too long ago, someone had used the boards to fuel a fire.
I headed up. Things were a little better here—the floor was at least in one piece, although many of the walls had been kicked out and either the ceiling had been pulled down or had simply collapsed in two of the three bedrooms. I walked down to the room that overlooked the grasslands and the trench. Lights blazed from guard stations at either end of the street, but this portion of the trench remained in shadows.
I leaned a shoulder against the wall. “How does Dmitri intend to get past the sensors?”
“By building a bridge that spans above both them and the trench.” Jackson glanced at his watch. “He’d said he’d be here about midnight, so not long to wait.”
I raised an eyebrow, a smile teasing my lips. “So we’re just going to stand around and watch the dust stir?”
“Oh, I’d love to do more, trust me on that.” His tone was dry. “But this is hardly the ideal time or situation.”
“A fire fae admitting there is—occasionally—an inappropriate time for sex? I’m shocked.”
“So am I.” He shook his head, his expression one of mock horror. “Especially as the words are coming out of my mouth.”
I smiled. “I’m guessing some tender ministrations will be required to remedy the situation once we get out of here.”
“Or not so tender.” His grin flashed. “Because let’s be honest here, the dam is so full, the first release is likely to be hard and fast.”
My pulse skipped along happily at the thought. “I think I can handle that.”
“Good.” He motioned toward the backpack. “Why don’t we make use of our time and see what those laptops have on them?”
I swung the pack from my shoulder and opened it up. After handing him two of the computers, I sat down and booted up the third. It immediately asked for a password. Fuck.
“Similar story here.” Jackson shut down the computer and started up the last one. “Ha. Better luck this time.”
I shoved my computer into the backpack, then scrambled over. The home page was basic and uninspiring, and a quick look through Finder didn’t reveal anything suggesting it had been used for anything more than ordering stores and chemicals.
“They really have removed everything remotely related to the virus.” Jackson slammed the laptop lid down. “And I don’t think that was a wise move.”
“Maybe they had no other option. Or maybe this particular laptop really was just used for ordering.” I shrugged. “PIT doesn’t want Rinaldo to carry through with his threat any more than we do. I imagine there’ll be remnants on the other—”
I stopped as my phone rang three times and then fell silent.
“That’ll be Dmitri. Give me the phone.”
When I did, he hit the flashlight app, ran the bright light across the window three times, and turned it off.
After shoving the two laptops into the backpack, he scrambled upright, then helped me up. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
We rattled back down the stairs and made our way through the wreckage of the ground floor. The rear yard was tiny, the fence little more than a couple of support posts and a few weatherworn fence posts that were barely hanging on. Once we’d slipped through the biggest gap, all that lay between the trench and us was a sea of waist-high grass and weeds. Jackson paused, his gaze narrowed and body tense. A heartbeat later, the ground shuddered ever so slightly and, up ahead, a slender bridge of dirt and stone began to form.
He tugged me forward. The bridge was still forming as we stepped onto it, but it arched gracefully over the trench and never once felt as if it were going to collapse underneath us. Which was rather weird, given it was also deforming and, just for a heartbeat, it simply hung in the air, connected at neither end.
Then we were on the other side. The bridge had become nothing but earth again, and Dmitri was striding toward us. Like Jackson, he didn’t exactly fit the classic image of a fae—at least as described in literature and common myths. The earth was a solid element, and that very much described the fae who controlled it. Dmitri—like most of them—was about five foot nine and had a very stocky build, with rich brown skin and hair. The only way you could really tell any of them apart was via their facial shape and eyes. Dmitri’s features were a little sharp, and his eyes the color of burned earth.
“Ah, it’s the lovely Emberly,” he said, ignoring Jackson completely as he caught my hand and kissed it. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
I grinned. All fae were outrageous flirts, even if fire fae were the ones who had the reputation for corrupting the innocent. Not that there was a chance of that in my case.
“It’s lovely to see you, too, Dmitri. Thanks for coming to our rescue again.”
“It was a pleasure, my dear, and an excuse to once more gaze upon your lovely countenance.”
I laughed and gently pulled my fingers from his. Most fae didn’t need a whole lot of encouragement to start a pursuit, and one fae was more than enough for me.
“If you’ve quite finished,” Jackson said, his voice dry, “we need to get away from this area before the patrols return. Did you bring the scooter?”
“Scooter?” I looked from one man to the other. “You expect me to get on the back of a scooter with you two?”
“While I could think of nothing more pleasurable than having you behind me,” Dmitri said, “I’m afraid it is a pleasure that is not for me. I, sadly, have a car.”
I smiled. “Maybe some other time.”
“I might just hold you to that.”
Jackson groaned. “Now you’ve done it. Don’t you know those of dirt and stone are akin to lava—slow moving but relentless?”
Dmitri grinned. “And those of fire are quick to ignite and just as quick to wither away.”
My smile grew. “So why do we have a Vespa rather than a car?”
“Because Dmitri cannot be seen with us, and because no one in their right mind would choose it for a getaway,” Jackson said. “Therefore, it is unlikely to attract much attention.”
“So if you would follow me, I will show you to your new chariot.” He paused. “Although I really would rather be following you.”
“That pleasure,” Jackson said, “is all mine.”
I shook my head at their banter and followed Dmitri through the long grass. We crossed a small creek bed, then made our way across a major road toward a very familiar and—if the sudden rumblings from the general direction of my stomach were anything to go by—most welcome sign.
“Jackson said you might be hungry,” Dmitri said, making me wonder if he’d heard my stomach. It really was that loud. “And it was safer for me to park here. Less obvious.”
He led us through the parking area and stopped at a beautifully restored F100.
“Lovely car,” I said as he opened the rear door and carefully removed the Vespa.
“Thanks. It took me years to restore it.” He placed the Vespa down, then handed Jackson the keys. “I’ve borrowed it, so please return it in one piece.”
Jackson grinned. “Always do.”
“Yeah.” Dmitri’s droll tone suggested otherwise. He blew me a kiss, then nodded at Jackson and climbed back into his car. Seconds later, he was gone, though the pleasant rumble of his car’s engine seemed to echo across the darkness for a while.
Jackson wheeled the Vespa closer to the main entrance. “Let’s grab something to eat and decide our next step.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought our next step was already decided? Or have your little swimmers gone into a state of hibernation?”
“I resent any use of the word ‘little’ when it comes to my working parts.” He flicked the scooter’s stand down and pressed a hand against my spine, guiding me forward. “However, not even I could concentrate on the business of loving with the noise your stomach is making.”
“It isn’t that bad.”
“Trust me, it is.”
He opened the door and ushered me through. Once we’d received our burgers, fries, and drinks, I said, “Table or booth? Or would you rather leave and find somewhere close to satisfy those other urges?”
“As much as I’d love the latter, I can’t ride a Vespa and eat at the same time.”
“And here I was thinking you were multitalented.” I started unwrapping my burger. “Besides, I have two hands. I’m quite capable of holding several bags of food until we get to whatever hotel we decide on.”
“It’d be our luck I’d take a corner too fast and the hot drinks would go everywhere, scalding all sorts of important bits. No thanks.” His smile flashed. “Besides, remaining close to the trench might actually be safer than moving away from it right now. Normal people would run, not remain in the danger zone.”
“And we’re about as far from normal as you could get.” I scooped up several fries, munching on them as I added, “I need to get back to Rory by dawn, and it’s going to take us a while on that fucking scooter.”
“Never fear, I actually do have a car arranged.”
“From who?”
“Makani. Who is,” he said, before I could ask, “a friend. One of her current lovers runs a car dealership.”
“That’s rather handy.”
“Indeed. I did have to promise her a weekend at some posh spa resort in return for said car, but I decided the sacrifice was worth it.”
“Oh yeah.” My tone was dry. “A weekend spent in a hot tub with a hot woman will be so tough.”
“You have no idea.” He glanced at his watch. “We have to meet her in an hour.”
“Where?”
“At the yard in—”
He stopped as my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and glanced at the number. “It’s an office call being rerouted—do you want me to answer it?”
He hesitated. “No, but I’ve got a feeling we’d better.”
“Your little feelings are becoming as inconvenient as mine.” I hit the ANSWER button.
“Emberly?” a gruff and all-too-familiar voice said. “Radcliffe.”
Or, to give him his full title, Marcus Radcliffe III. He not only owned a string of secondhand stores that were little more than a front for a roaring trade in black market goods and information, but he also ha
ppened to be the man who ran the underground gambling operations for the rat shifters—operations that Rinaldo had recently attacked.
“What can I do for you, Radcliffe?”
“You wanted a meet?” he snapped. “We do it. Right now.”
My stomach clenched, and my gaze rose to Jackson’s. He’s here. The bastard’s here.
Yes, but it’s not like he can do anything—not with all the security cams around this place. Jackson paused. Actually, that’s probably why he’s ringing. We did beat him up the last time we met him, remember.
It was hardly a beating. More a little singeing. I returned my attention to the phone and Radcliffe. “How did you know we were here?”
He chuckled. It was a cold, somewhat smug sound. “Rats are everywhere. There isn’t much we don’t see or know.”
“Which makes it even odder you didn’t stop Rinaldo’s attacks on your gaming venues before they actually happened.”
“That is the only reason I’m talking to you now, when all I really want to do is wipe the stain of your existence from this earth.”
My smile held very little in the way of humor. “Try it, and I’ll return the favor.”
“You won’t catch me out like that again—”
“Radcliffe,” Jackson cut in, “enough with the bluster. If you want to talk, come in and talk. I’ll even buy you and your goons a coffee.”
“Be there in five minutes,” he said.
I hung up and shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Meaning he’s close.”
Jackson nodded. “He’s obviously got a lair somewhere near here and was undoubtedly keeping an eye on events in Brooklyn.”
Which was probably the only reason he—or his men—spotted us. “PIT isn’t going to be happy if we give him any sort of useful information.”
Jackson shrugged. “It’s not like we have a whole lot of useful information, at least when it comes to Rinaldo.”
That was true enough—and part of the reason we’d asked for a meet with Radcliffe in the first place. I quickly finished my burgers, then gazed out the window, watching for the rat’s appearance and wondering if he’d come in a car or walk. It was a question soon answered when three figures appeared out of the gloom and strode toward the main door. Two of them I didn’t recognize, but the third was Radcliffe. He was a thickset, muscular man with thin, pockmarked features and an arrogant set to his mouth. His eyes were typically ratlike—small and beady—but he moved like a man who owned the world. Which meant Jackson was probably right—his lair was very close to this area.
