by L. A. Graf
You’re stupid, Sikes, he told himself as his fingers fumbled through tying on his tennis shoes. This thing eats Newcomers for lunch—there ain’t nothing you can do to hurt it. Not without a gun, at least, or maybe a good, fast car. But he also couldn’t hide in here and let that thing have its way with Cathy. Even if he couldn’t save her, he could at least die buying her time.
It was on the bed when he eased open the door a second time. Cream-pink blood smeared the sheets and pillowcases, and the creature itself was burrowed as far under the covers on Cathy’s side as it could go. Sikes nearly cried out, thinking insanely that the blood must be Cathy’s. Then he remembered the gory dumbbell in Ann Arbor’s hand and realized she must have hurt the thing last night when she hit it. Grim satisfaction supplanted a little of his terror. It could be hurt—this was good. He was able to feel at least somewhat more steady as he edged across the foyer to pull the heavy peacoat he’d given to Cathy off its hanger.
The creature started at the sudden jangle. Its outline shuddered beneath the covers, then the blanket tore free from the end of the bed and its head burst forth to point toward Sikes. It was blind, completely eyeless, with its teeth askew from the broken bone protruding beneath its lower jaw. Sikes clutched the peacoat against his chest, clawing at the doorknob behind him, trying to get it open while still giving this horror a chance to catch Cathy’s scent on the coat. Follow me, you bastard, follow me, follow me . . . !
It exploded from the bedclothes just as Sikes turned the latch. Adrenaline sang like fire through his nerves, and he scraped out the door while it was only a fraction open, trying to haul it shut behind him on its stiff, sighing hydraulics. The beast helped him by slamming into the door from inside. It closed with a thunderous bang, and a crack as wide as his thumb shot from door frame to floor.
“Jordan! Golitko!” He caught the pillar by the concierge’s desk and spun himself into the sixteenth-floor reception area, hoping for at least one zoot suit with a gun. The place was empty. Sikes shouted a profanity and kicked one of the chairs across the lobby. Of course—they were downstairs with the Newcomers, protecting them against marauding humans, not protecting humans against marauding Tenctonese monsters. For one wild instant he thought about trying to get down there and explain in time to have Jordan or someone ready to blow the thing away. Then he thought about how fast it had come at him, and how strong it must be to tear a Newcomer’s arms from their sockets, and he knew that if it managed to reach Cathy before he made the FBI understand, no amount of shooting would save her. He had to get the monster out of the hotel.
He looked down the hallway at the fire door, and started to run.
Sikes burst outside to frozen rain and a blinding fog.
At first, he felt a sense of dizzying relief. The fog seemed to even the odds somehow, with both of them stumbling around unsure of what the other was doing. Then he remembered that the thing behind him was blind and tracking him with otherworldly senses he could only begin to guess at. He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention when the department gave those stupid lectures about how to work with bloodhounds while they followed a trail.
He struggled into the peacoat while he ran, not paying any attention to his direction since he didn’t know the city well enough to orient himself anyway. Somewhere distractingly nearby, he heard a chorus of dogs explode into howls so high and panicked his tongue went numb. He tried not to think about what had excited them or how distorted the fog must make the noise. He just kept his eyes on his feet, fighting to sort out the ground a few steps ahead of where he ran as he passed from concrete to asphalt to concrete again. He heard something crash into the bushes lining the sides of the hotel, then the slap-patter of bare feet on concrete and a wet, insistent snuffling. His feet hit snowy grass just then, and he put down his head and ran.
A waist-high obstacle crashed into his knees with a metallic rattle, and he was airborne only long enough to flip headfirst over himself into the snow. Clawing chain-link fingers caught at his coat hem and the cuffs of his pants as he twisted and struggled to regain his feet. His hands clenched uselessly on clots of icy snow, granting him no true leverage. Then, while something’s low growling rended the hedges to his left, Sikes jeans leg tore loose with a soft purring, dropping him free. He lunged down the snowdrift that had built up to hide the fence, rolled, and came up again running.
Traffic sounds grumbled dangerously close on all sides. What could only be a truck roared up and over him, riding some invisible overpass as Sikes pelted across a low footbridge over a decorative pond too filled with ice and dry leaves to be a drowning danger. He thought he must have hit some kind of public park, and hope twinged weakly inside him. God only knew if he could outrun this thing, but he at least had a chance as long as the way stayed flat and open. Hearing his pursuer scramble through the pond full of leaves a handful of yards behind him, Sikes allowed himself to think just briefly about reaching some kind of safety. Then he hit the end of the pier.
Arms pinwheeling, he tried to grip the edge of the dock with his toes. He didn’t even know how he’d come up on it—it was just grass, a brief expanse of smooth cobbles, and now the cold iron hitchings above the equally gray and cold roil of filthy river. Did the whole damn city end in rivers? Turning, he ran along the dock in search of a boat, or a policeman, or something he could use to put distance between himself and the monster. But the place was abandoned, just as he should have expected on a weekend with such foul weather. He couldn’t see a damned thing, and all he could hear were the cars somewhere above him and his own ragged panting. When the stone dock abruptly gave way to a concrete bridge piling, Sikes jumped for the lowest iron fitting without pause. If he could get to the traffic, he could at least hijack a car and try to run the damned thing over.
It caught up to him when he was less than thirty feet up. He didn’t hear it or see it, just felt an incredible weight on his shoulders as it leaped for the tail of the peacoat. He clutched the bridge hard with his right hand and tried to hang on while extending his left arm so the thing could drag away the coat. It pulled the sleeve free with little effort, but Sikes’s grip wasn’t strong enough to hold them both. He knew he was a dead man the minute his fingers lost their grip on the icy metal.
He hit the ground on top of the monster, but still felt the impact like a gunshot to the chest. Coughing with pain, he tried to scramble away on all fours; the thing beneath him twisted with lightning speed and was on him. Huge hands scissored closed on either arm, and a handlike foot ground into each thigh, pinning him. Gagging, Sikes turned his face away when it bent forward to snuffle him from eyes to crotch.
It smelled disgustingly like Cathy, like all Newcomers, with their musky carnivore breath and their sweatless, bone-dry bodies. It was their color, too—pink and hairless, with a delicate line of spots down its spine suggesting the tail it had never developed. But it smelled too strongly of the blood it had spilled so recently, and the nostrils that caressed Sikes’s face were so different from Newcomer anatomy that it was hard to reconcile them with the people he knew. They were flat and flexible, as big as its entire face. The sticky membranes felt like flies’ legs against his skin. Sikes bit his tongue to keep from crying out, but the smell of human blood just seemed to intrigue it all the more. It lingered at his mouth for a very long time before butting its head into the front of the peacoat like a dog in search of a treat.
The thumping of his heart nearly deafened him. Sikes thought about trying to hit it, then the horrid mess made of Ann Arbor’s shoulder flashed in front of his eyes, and he knew it was hopeless. The best he could hope for was that it would rip his head off first and render him insensate.
Instead, it jumped away from him to clench both hands in the heavy coat. It tumbled him out of the fabric with a savage rip, and Sikes rolled nearly into the water before he could catch himself. Shivering, he raised up into a crouch at the foot of the piling and thought invisible thoughts while the monster methodically shredded the peacoat t
o strips small enough to hide in one of his hands.
Oh, Cathy . . . ! he thought desperately, achingly. It thinks the coat is her—it thinks it’s killing her! He didn’t know if this would save her, but the thing’s apparent stupidity let him believe that saving the rest of the Newcomers wasn’t completely hopeless. He wondered where it would go—where it always went—after it finished its mission.
Its only answer was to gradually slow its movement until it was standing still and silent over the remnants of the rain-soaked coat. Then it cocked its head as if listening, huge nostrils stroking the breeze that poured from the river over Sikes’s left shoulder. The intensity with which it turned toward him was even more palpable than what he’d felt in the room. It had caught his smell, he realized with a silent shriek of terror. It knew who he was now, and it wasn’t finished in its work.
Sikes didn’t even pause to look down at the ice-clotted water. He just dashed to the edge of the river and jumped.
C H A P T E R 1 6
“GEORGE.” SUSAN SWIRLED a cup of lemon-pepper tea under his nose, pulling his attention away from the rain-streaked wall of windows across from the balcony. The subdued chatter of morning coffee break couldn’t hide the note of anxiety in her voice. “George, you do remember that you’re giving your talk later this morning, don’t you?”
“Mmm-hmm,” He straightened from the balustrade and took the paper cup from her, curling his fingers around its welcome warmth. As usual, the symposium ballroom had been much too cold during the morning session.
“Are you sure?” Susan eyed him over the top of her own cup. “You haven’t said one thing about it since you woke up.”
“I’ve been thinking.” George’s gaze swung back to the window and its view of Pittsburgh. Fog clung to the gray winter hills, slowly shredding and reforming as rain pelted through in visible waves. “There’s something bothering me about the connection between the thefts and the murders, Susan. I just can’t put my thumb on what it is . . .”
“Finger, George,” said his patient wife. “You can’t put your finger on it.”
“That’s what I said.” George shook his head, annoyed with the vague sense of urgency overwhelming him. “It feels like I’ve forgotten something important, something I shouldn’t have.”
Susan frowned at him. “Well, if you ask me, I think what you’ve forgotten is your talk.”
“Has anyone seen Matt?” Cathy paused beside them, looking chilly but elegant in teal silk. Her tea steamed forgotten in her hand while she scanned the crowd. “He said he would come down for the coffee break, but I haven’t seen him yet.”
“Neither have I.” The nagging feeling in George’s head intensified as he turned from the balustrade to face her. “I assumed he was sleeping in. We were up all night at the hospital.”
Cathy shook her head. “No, I called up to the room and no one answered.” A rueful smile glimmered on her face. “Matt always answers the phone, even if all he does is snarl and hang up.”
“True.” George frowned, considering where his wayward human partner could have gone. “He might have stopped to talk to David Jordan on his way down here or dropped in to see how well the Pittsburgh police have staked out Ann Arbor’s room.”
“Or gone out to get a doughnut,” added Susan brightly.
Cathy laughed, some of the color returning to her eyes. “Yes, why didn’t I think of that?” She sipped at her tea, looking grateful for the warmth. “Is it colder in here today, or is it just me?”
George opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, shouts of alarm exploded from the hotel’s main lobby below. Warned by some internal instinct, he swung around to look over the balustrade. Hot tea splattered the carpet as Cathy’s cup went flying, but it took George a moment longer to see the tall swaying figure trapped inside the revolving doors. Caught between front and back openings, Sikes leaned his forehead against the glass as if he didn’t have the strength to push further. As George watched, he slowly folded into a wet and awkward heap.
“Andarko!” George vaulted over the balustrade to the marble stairs below, reaching the main lobby just a few steps behind Cathy. As he got closer, he could see rivulets of water running down the glass door in spasmodic surges, pressed out of Sikes’s sodden clothes by the weight of his shaking body. Shoving past stunned bellboys, George grabbed at the brass handle and forced the revolving doors into motion despite Cathy’s cry of protest. The back panel caught Sikes and swept him forward until he toppled through the opening wedge toward them. He smelled like dead, wet weeds and blood.
“Matt!” Cathy dropped to her knees beside him, frantically tugging at his water-logged wool sweater to see where he was hurt. Fighting the instinctive panic that the smell of blood created, George forced himself to glance away from Sikes’s body to the water puddling on the marble floor around him. No trace of iron-dark red stained it anywhere. George grunted in relief and leaned over to pull Cathy’s hands away.
“He’s not bleeding,” he told her when she fought against him. “That’s Tenctonese blood you smell, not human.”
Cathy subsided in his grip, looking scared but much less frantic. “But he’s unconscious!”
“That’s hypothermia, from being so cold and wet. He must have fallen into the river.” George pushed her aside and swept Sikes’s shaking body into his arms. Icy wetness soaked through his sleeves, and he shuddered, guessing how it would feel to be soaked in water of that temperature. Even for a human, it must be achingly painful.
Dripping water patterned the carpet as he carried Sikes across the lobby. When he would have turned into the first-floor elevator alcove, Cathy caught his elbow and dragged him to a stop. “George, where are you going? We need an ambulance!”
“We’ll call one after we get him up to your room.” George freed himself and swung around the corner. “If human hypothermia is anything like ours, we need to get him dry and warm as soon as possible.” He scanned the row of elevators and sighed with relief when he saw Susan standing between the doors of the nearest one.
“I told the FBI to make our elevator come down here.” She held the door open as George ducked in. He turned sideways to fit Sikes’s long legs into one corner, leaving just enough room for Cathy to squeeze in beside him. She crowded close to Sikes, making a small, helpless sound as she felt the shudders that racked his unconscious body.
“Oh, Celine, he’s so cold!” She took his hands, tucking them beneath her arms to warm them as the elevator rose. Her teal silk dress dampened down the sides as water soaked out of his sweater sleeves, but Cathy didn’t seem to notice. Tears stroked mascara shadows down her cheeks. “If he were Tenctonese, he’d be dead by now.”
“Then be glad he’s human.” Susan leaned across George and pressed two fingers against Sikes’s neck, shivering as water ran down her wrist from his sodden hair. “His heartbeat is slow, but very strong. I don’t think he’s going to die.”
The elevator doors slid open onto an empty security desk and the sound of distant, worried voices. George swung Sikes out of the elevator, then started down the hall with both females close behind him. Halfway to the far end, he paused and frowned. “Cathy, isn’t that your room those policemen are coming out of?”
He could hear the startled breath she took behind him. “Yes. It looks like someone broke the door.”
“And the window,” George said grimly. Wet as he was, he could feel the cold skeletal fingers of wind combing the hall, even from this far away. “We’d better go back to our room before the police see us.” He caught the surprised glance Cathy threw him and smiled, just a little. “I know it seems illegal, but we can always answer their questions later. We have to take care of Matthew now.”
Susan rummaged in her purse for her key while they retraced their steps, then hurried ahead of them to unlock the door. Cathy stayed beside George, her green eyes pale with shock. “Our room,” she said numbly. “Purists broke into our room. And then they took Matt and threw him in
the river. Why would they do something like that?”
“Maybe because he was human. Maybe because they weren’t Purists.” George angled his partner’s long body through the hotel door and set him gently on the carpet. Susan had already turned up the thermostat and gone to gather towels from the bathroom. George matter-of-factly began stripping off Sikes’s water-logged clothes. “The only way we’re going to learn the answer is to thaw out Matthew and ask him.”
It wasn’t easy. The icy river water clung stubbornly to Sikes, even after they’d wrestled his clothes off and rubbed at his clammy skin, using George’s T-shirts and Susan’s flannel nightgowns when all the towels were wet. They gave up at last and stuffed him in bed under extra blankets, with Cathy on one side and George on the other for maximum body heat. It took a long time for his shivers to subside and for a tinge of pink to creep back into his pale skin. A police siren wailed in the distance while they waited and reminded George of the one thing they hadn’t done.
“Ambulance! We forgot to call an ambulance.” He sat up in bed, then saw Cathy and remembered how little he had on beneath the sheets. He slid down beside Sikes again, embarrassment tightening the skin around his eyes. “Umm—Susan, can you reach the phone?”
“Not from the end of the bed.” His wife looked up from where she sat rubbing Sikes’s feet through the blankets. “Can’t you get it?”
“Not without—” George broke off uncomfortably.
Cathy laughed, reaching across to give George’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “You really don’t need to be shy, George. After all, Susan’s seen most of Matt by now. But if you want, I’ll close my eyes while you call the ambulance.”
