The Endangered

by S. L. Eaves

  “Yes, so it seems.”

  “Adrian was interested in this virus. If there’s a connection to be made…”

  “I’m on it.” He is already out the door.

  They are silent for a moment, then Marcus speaks softly. I have to press my ear to the comm to hear him.

  “Catch, did Adrian ever give a reason why he recruited Lori? Aside from our brief encounter, you and Lori were the last to speak with him before his decline. I assume he wasn’t just playing matchmaker.”

  Catch scratches his head, looks embarrassed by the last comment.

  “Vague as always. He was helping our cause, finding a recruit that would complement our team, a good fit. Her circumstances made for a relatively easy extraction. No family…”

  My ear burns against the comm.

  “He told me she had a brain tumor and not long to live. He sensed power. That she could be a see’er.”

  Marcus and Crina raise their eyebrows at that remark.

  “He wasn’t sure how it would present itself—whether as visions of some sort , maybe premonitions, mind reading—or that it even would, but he felt that she had this potential. Which could certainly give us a big advantage in the war. But one I’ve yet to see for myself.”

  “And you didn’t think it relevant enough to tell us before now?”

  “I was waiting to see evidence.”

  “Does she know?”

  No, I think. She most certainly did not know.

  “No. I doubt she has a clue. And I’d prefer to keep it that way. It puts a very large and unnecessary burden on her if she thinks she’s supposed to have these abilities and she doesn’t. And as I said, so far I’ve seen no signs to indicate Adrian was right.”

  Marcus nods. “I’ve heard of see’ers, of vampires that see into the future or practice telepathy, but I can’t say I put much merit in these claims. Mostly folklore.”

  “It is typical of Adrian to claim someone has psychic abilities,” Crina sighs.

  “Adrian is of a different breed. I respect him immensely, but I need to see proof to believe. Abilities or not, she can help us and that’s all that matters. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. I'll check on Xan’s progress.” Catch leaves the gym.

  Crina and Marcus watch him exit.

  “You think he’s telling us everything?” Crina inquires.

  “Catch? Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Maybe he’s protecting Lori?”

  “From what?” Marcus shakes his head. “No, I don’t sense any deception in his words. Too many uncertainties as it is. We cannot start turning suspicions inward. We need to focus all our energy on finding any validity to this virus claim.”

  They leave. I switch off the comm and the light, and stand motionless in the dark, silent room.

  Is it true?

  Can’t be. My health was fine. I hadn’t set foot in a doctor’s office in years. How would Adrian know such a thing?

  I recall the occasional headaches, nose bleeds, dizzy spells. Rare, but they happened.

  And then I caught an arrow because I saw it fired into Quinn’s chest before it happened…

  So there is that.

  The hotel extends roughly twelve stories and overlooks a private beach and cerulean ocean. Adrian stands pensively on the balcony of the top floor penthouse, facing eastward. Despite the 90 degree night, he’s dressed to the hilt in a double-breasted velvet suit fit for a king. He sips an amber cocktail of the single malt variety. Dawn is fast approaching and he squints into the first rays of daylight.

  Eventually he retreats into the suite, consisting of two opulently decorated, high-ceiling rooms. The long, flowing curtains designed to cover the double doors to the balcony are pulled back. Adrian sets his glass on the bar and crosses to the stereo. At the push of a button Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto commences.

  The sun climbs higher above the horizon and reaches through the open balcony doors. Suddenly Adrian crosses the room at full speed. He bursts into flames as he reaches the balcony and leaps over the rail. He plummets, disintegrating as he descends.

  Chapter 21

  Raindrops glisten under a full moon. Lori is perched on the landing of a fire escape. She crouches down and raps her knuckle on the window pane. A man opens the window, seemingly happy to see her. Lori stands, motions for him to follow.

  Suddenly the city evaporates before them and they are walking through a wooded landscape. They reach a clearing and stare out into a rocky ravine. Lori gestures to push forward and he follows as they approach the edge of a cliff. The wind whips around them. Lori points down into the gaping valley. Water is rushing in, flooding the river below. The waves crash violently into the mountainside. On the other side of the river, dense forests give way to a small clearing at the riverbanks. A couple with two small children stands in the clearing. Terrified expressions on their faces, they slowly inch backward into the darkness of the trees as the water rises.

  The trees offer no protection. Wolves pace the tree line, fiercely eyeing their prey.

  The man turns to Lori, startled and confused. They meet eyes for an instant, then Lori dives into the water beneath. The man drops to his knees, calling out after her, balancing on the cliff’s edge, the wind blowing him back.

  Lori emerges from the dive unscathed and treads confidently across the river bank where the people are huddled and motions for them to join her. One by one she carries them, leaping clear of the impossibly rough water. She scales the cliff wall with ease and hands each person up to the man on the ledge.

  Hungry yellow eyes disappear as the wolves retreat further into the woods every time Lori arrives on their side of the raging river, fangs bared. Winds gust with immense force. Lori claws at the dirt and roots as she makes her way up the cliff to bring the last person to safety. The water has risen considerably and slaps at her feet.

  When Lori reaches the top of the cliff, her companion helps the last family member over the ledge and turns back to Lori. He extends his arm, a look of relief on his face. Lori grasps his wrist gratefully.

  Without warning, Lori’s eyes flash yellow. Terrified, the man jumps back with a start and releases his grip on her arm. Lori tumbles backward, limbs flailing, into the menacing black water below.

  ***

  I awake with a start and instinctively gasp for breath.

  My skin sweaty and damp.

  It takes a good minute for me to remember where I am.

  “Nightmare?”

  Catch is lying at my side, his hands folded behind his head. He stares solemnly at the ceiling.

  “Yeah… What’s your excuse?”

  “Haven’t been able to sleep. It’s Adrian.” He turns to me. “Do you feel it?”

  There is a pang in my gut. A void. A feverish chill uns through my body.

  “Yes, I do. I thought it was aftermath from the dream.”

  “’Fraid not.”

  I sit up and shake my head in disbelief.

  “Oh Adrian. Why?”

  Catch rubs my back.

  “I feel so weak…so hollow.”

  “There will be a meeting.”

  “A meeting?” I look into sullen eyes. He offers a simple nod and returns his gaze to the ceiling. I get up and make my way to the bathroom.

  Adrian, what are you telling us? Is the end coming?

  Showered and dressed, I emerge from the bedroom and discover Marcus standing by the window in the living room. He’s never visited my suite unannounced.

  “Uh hi, Marcus, make yourself at home.”

  Marcus smiles weakly.

  “Good evening, Lori. Forgive my intrusion, but it's rather urgent.”

  “Adrian?”

  Marcus reacts with mild surprise.

  “Yes. Then you know.”

  I nod. “Catch sensed it. His connection to him is much stronger than mine.”

  Catch enters, fresh out of the shower, a towel around his waist.

  “Hey, Marcus, thought I heard you. Are we assembling?”


  “Yes, some couriers arrived with a letter from Adrian. Meet us in the study as soon as possible.”

  “Sure. Give me a minute.” Catch disappears back into the bedroom.

  “Do we know how it happened?”

  Marcus sighs, looking back to the window.

  “The sun took him.”

  An image of Adrian, the porcelain monk, consumed in flames flashes through my mind. In the image he is almost smiling.

  “He dove right off his balcony. A penthouse in Barbados. Just after sunrise. There were witnesses. The news reports claim a man set himself on fire and leapt to his death, a suicide, and a dramatic one at that.”

  “Wow.”

  I take some breakfast from the fridge. He declines my offer for a glass.

  “Yes, I was surprised myself. He sent two vampires with a letter, they arrived just after sundown. He summoned them just before his…departure. They were as baffled by his recent behavior as we were, but he paid them handsomely to act as couriers.”

  “And they are here…already? With a letter?”

  “Yes, Adrian appears to have made arrangements prior to his passing. Why he didn’t just give me the letter when we met a few days ago I cannot explain.”

  Marcus’s tone is a mix of anger and sadness. The death of a Pureblood means loss of a great power. But that isn’t Marcus’ chief concern at the moment. He’d reached out to Adrian and come away empty-handed. He’d failed to help him.

  “The letter. It has your name on it.” Marcus eyes me, then heads for the door. “I’ll see you in the study.”

  “Wait. What? My name? But I barely knew him.”

  Marcus turns back from the doorway, meeting my eyes. “He was the one who ordered you turned. And you are one of the last ones to speak with him—before he lost his grasp on sanity, that is.”

  I nod. But it’s not like he turned me himself. Gave me his power.

  “I’m aware. Does that mean something that I’m missing?”

  “It may mean a great deal. We don’t know yet…”

  He exits.

  Catch reappears, dressed and ready. “Okay, let’s go.”

  One look at me and my baffled expression.

  “What’s up?”

  ***

  The two messengers are introduced to us as Jacob and Malik. They are awaiting our arrival in a large meeting room off the main foyer. Drinks have been poured for them and sit ignored on the center table. Crina is leaning on the far wall, arms folded. She straightens up upon Marcus’s entrance with us in toe. Dade, who’d held the door, closes it and flanks Marcus. Jacob’s eyes immediately go to mine.

  Jacob stands like a soldier, arms clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, perfectly rigid posture. Maybe he is just trying to hold his own next to the 6'5", 300 pound linebacker standing next to him. Malik carries the air of an African warrior. His massive presence looms over all of us, even Dade; arms folded, his muscles bulge through his suit jacket. He’d be a perfect candidate for our little army.

  The large room has plenty of seats to accommodate us, but no one pays them any interest. The vibe is tense and impatient.

  Questions flood my mind. The main one being what the hell is going on. Jacob hands me a manila envelope, my name scrawled across the front in calligraphy with thick, black ink. I regard it for a moment, then take it obligingly from Jacob’s outstretched hand.

  They watch me with anxious eyes as I break the paper around the wax seal with an imprinted ‘A.’

  I ease out the paper. Written on it is a series of numbers.

  131 12 02 36.

  I flip the paper. Blank. Nothing but a series of numbers.

  “Well?” Marcus cannot hide the eagerness in his tone.

  I look up to meet his eyes; they are sad, almost desperate.

  “Numbers. A code or something.”

  I hold the paper out for all to view.

  “Why would he leave this for me, leave anything for me?” I think aloud.

  Marcus turns to Jacob. “Was there anything else recovered from his penthouse?”

  Jacob tries hard not to look offended. “If there was anything to find, we would provide you with a full account. All we received were a simple set of instructions. Nothing more, I assure you.”

  “The numbers don’t mean anything to you?” Catch asks me.

  “Should they?”

  “How well did you know Adrian?” Jacob inquires.

  “Not well. Not at all, really.”

  Catch goes to a desk and pulls out some paper and a pen. He starts jotting down the alphabet. We all watch for a moment. Jacob finds his neglected drink and takes a long swig.

  “Look, I don’t know what you guys want from me. I didn’t ask for this.”

  I hand the paper to Catch who pauses to eye the numbers, then returns to writing out various letter combinations.

  “Think hard on it.” Marcus is uncharacteristically agitated. “This is just like Adrian. Never was one for frankness…or clarity. Everything was a riddle, a puzzle to be solved.”

  No one seems to want to move. We stand for a while, listening to the sound of Catch's pen scribbling feverishly. I debate raising the question of why Adrian chose to leap into the light, but any answer would be speculation. Adrian’s motives were known only to him. His very existence was shrouded in mystery. Why would his death be any different? Do we even call it death?

  I try to recall the details of our conversation, but it is his striking appearance that burns sharpest in my memory: hypnotic coal eyes, shallow creases in his shellacked, pallid skin.

  Then that good ol’ light bulb goes on.

  “It’s not a code. It’s a combination!”

  Wide eyes turn to me.

  Catch chimes in, “To what?”

  “Well, you see, when I saw Adrian last it was in a gym. He mentioned that he used to be a regular there. I don’t mean treadmills and such; it was a boxing gym. He said he kept up his martial arts studies there. He joked that he even had a locker. The spaces between the series of numbers could indicate a locker number, followed by a three-digit padlock combination.”

  “To his locker,” Catch muses.

  “Sounds like a long shot.” Malik is unimpressed.

  "Hmm…” Marcus fingers his goatee, eyes distant. “I suppose it seems like a reasonable connection. I mean why would Adrian have met you in a gym of all places?"

  Catch shoots me a knowing glance. “It’s where he found me.”

  “Several connections then. Perhaps he’d been planning this all along…I mean to travel to New York and then to the Caribbean in the short time since we left him in Argentina…It’s possible for him I suppose, but if you’re right, this letter points to information he wanted you to know, information he didn’t trust me with in Argentina,” Marcus continues.

  “Well he wasn’t himself. Who knows what was going through his head in his final days,” Catch offers, “It’s a good place to start looking.” “

  My excitement comes to an abrupt halt.

  If this revelation means I have to go back to New York…I am suddenly overcome with grave feelings of terror.

  It is too soon.

  I grunt in defiance, “Don’t look at me. I’m not going back to the States. You can follow it up yourselves.”

  Crina, who has yet to say a word, suddenly grabs me by my arm and wrenches me into the other room. When the door slams shut and we are out of view, her grip switched from my arm to my throat as she throws me up against the wall.

  “I won’t stand for this disrespect. You will not speak to Marcus and the others so dismissively. You’re lucky they tolerate your cavalier attitude. This is not the time to play the whole ‘This is not my war’ card.”

  Her nails dig into my flesh as she crushes my throat, bares her fangs.

  “This is your fight. Whether you want it or not does not concern me. It does not concern us. You messed up at Hanson’s club. This is another chance to prove your worth. You will follow Ma
rcus’s request and anyone else’s for that matter and be grateful for the honor bestowed upon you. Understood?”

  She releases me.

  “Understood,” my voice crackles. I bite my tongue to keep from provoking any further rage. I understand where she is coming from, but I don’t give a damn about the rest. New York City holds my past and it isn’t going to invite me back with open arms. Nonetheless, message received.

  Crina steps back.

  “I’m sorry. I’m upset over Adrian’s departure. I’m looking for any excuse to vent my frustrations.” She brushes off my shoulder.

  “Not that you weren’t speaking the truth,” I offer.

  “The truth…”

  “Adrian’s gone. I will try to find out why.”

  Satisfied, she turns toward the door. Once her back is to me, I reach up to check my sore neck. The scratches from her nails have healed. But the message they sent runs deep.

  We are greeted by anxious faces.

  “I’ve had a change of heart. I’ll go to New York.” I pick up the letter. “Hopefully we’ll be able to make sense of this.”

  Marcus nods expectantly. “I’ll get the jet ready. You’ll leave shortly.”

  “I can join her,” adds Catch.

  “There is no need. You have more pressing matters.”

  Catch looks from me to Marcus but does not protest. This is in no way a dangerous mission.

  ***

  Back in my room, I throw a few items into a small backpack. Catch grumbles and busies himself cleaning the gun parts he’d laid across the counter.

  “I don’t understand why I can’t join you.”

  “I don’t understand why those two glorified messengers can’t make themselves useful. If they are truly allies, they should jump at the chance to help us.”

  “Because they aren’t allies, not really. They’re the ‘don’t lift a finger unless there’s something in it for them’ type…though I suppose if we paid them enough…”

  “There is so much I still don’t understand about this world.”

  “Right now I’m more concerned about sending you overseas by yourself.”

  “Doesn’t Xan need your help following up the leads on Hanson’s phone?”