Talya dug her nails into the doorframe. “I know, but we can talk with the Tigers and work something out. Jenner holds her own against the other factions here. Please don’t go.”
“If Ayashe’s serious, she will turn up at the clubhouse with a SWAT team. Jenner cannot prevent that.” I pressed my lips together. “I have spent my life outside of a cell. I want my freedom.”
Talya’s nostrils flared, an odd moment of body language for a woman as small and prim as she was. “You know, John and Michael have been trying to recruit me ever since I started working here. This is my first time inside of the Cycle, my first lifetime as a shapeshifter. Someone like John or Ayashe, they might have had twenty, thirty lifetimes that they can remember, and they still act like children. If that’s all they have to offer, that’s not the person I want to be.”
I regarded her in silence, unblinking.
“My point is… I believe you. Whatever it is you and the Tigers found, I believe it. We won’t let them arrest you. You’re the only one besides us that cares about something other than themselves.” Talya smiled a grim, bitter little smile, withdrew back into the stairwell, and closed the door.
Altruistic? Me? Perhaps I had stepped into a paradoxical other world, a world where I was something more than a bullet in Sergei’s gun. Perhaps she was full of shit, and I needed to leave before I was locked up for trying to impose truth on their unreality.
I stared at the side of the building for a moment, ruminating on my decision, and then turned and walked away.
Chapter 19
I found the Tigers clustered around their motorcycles. Jenner was clearly furious, but physically no worse for wear. Mason was clearly as angry as his wife, though he was nominally less explosive. He was also far larger, and I didn’t know just how much control he held over his temper.
When we arrived back at the clubhouse, a few of the other Tigers were playing pool and shooting the shit in the garage common room. They looked up as Jenner slammed the door behind us and stormed off across the floor, clinking on every step. Duke was at the bar, talking with a tall, ascetic-looking man who seemed to be equal parts bartender and mechanic.
“Come on, Duke,” Jenner snapped. “We need to sort out a plan.”
“Roger that, boss.” Duke pushed back, and fell into line as we passed through the red door and into the house. “What happened back there?”
“The usual fucking bullshit. Due process, rule of the law, blah blah blah. Ayashe threatened to raid us. Good fucking luck.” Jenner went to the same sitting room where I’d first met the Weeders. “I’ve been heading up warriors since the Fall of Rome. And besides that, Strange Kitty is a hundred and ten percent legal.”
“Talya says she will be here in the evening,” I said, taking the armchair that Spotted Elk had used. “She is not impressed by the actions of her Elders, and implied that she intends to seek admission to your club.”
“About time. She’s made for this place. I’ll train her right up into a demon-fighting death machine.” Jenner flopped down onto the sofa, joined by Mason. She kicked a booted leg up into his lap as the rest of us found our places.
Mason made a thick sound of agreement. “There’s a lot more to that girl than meets the eye, I can tell you that. I’m glad she finally realized that John is a limp-dick do-nothing. And then there’s Michael. Fat lot of use he is.”
“You’d think someone as smart as John would be more useful,” Zane said.
“If by ‘smart’ you mean ‘weak’. He should be the one sticking his neck out, not us.” Jenner made a face, leaning forward to shuck her heavy jacket. She lay it back over the arm of the sofa. “Wolf Grove is his fucking responsibility.”
Zane quirked his mouth to one side. “Ayashe, Michael and John have a different way of seeing things.”
Duke looked at me. “By that he means they’re prey animals that run the fuck away from everything.”
“I see.” Ayashe did not strike me as being a prey animal, though Michael and John could pass. I eased back, aching with fatigue. “What are you intending to do now? If I understand correctly, Spotted Elk and Ayashe have withdrawn from the convention arrangement.”
“The short version is that they refuse to accept that anything you and Jen saw, heard or found at your place is real, because it means that Lily and Dru weren’t the innocent lambs everyone thought they were,” Mason rasped. His heavy face was oddly reptilian, cold and dangerous. “They won’t accept the word of another Elder, let alone me, you, Duke or Zane, and they won’t accept the evidence we gave them.”
“They want a scapegoat,” I said. “She tried to make an arrest. I doubt I can help you more than I already have.”
“By herself?” Zane blinked. “Did you tell her to piss off?”
“Jenner and Mason helped me, for which I am grateful.” I inclined my head to them.
“So what now?” Duke asked. He had plopped down onto one of the bean-bags, his lean face drawn and sober.
“John and Michael can have their circle-jerk. We’re taking this on whether they like it or not.” Mason shook his head.
“Exactly,” Jenner said. “If we want to get to the bottom of everything, we’re going to have to do it ourselves. We’ve got something to go on, now. We know the Russian Mob is involved. We know Lily and Dru might have been up to shit involving them, so there’s a good chance that the Mob has the kids. You got other people you think we could wring for info, Rex?”
“Absolutely,” I replied. “In addition to that, I remember that Lily and Dru have a retreat in the forest. Do you know what that was used for?”
“It’s a changing ground. Territory staked out for hunting away from civilization. A place to teach the kids to change without people hanging around,” Jenner said.
“That’s where they said the first spook disappeared,” Zane said. “Maybe whoever hit Wolf Grove was camping in the cabin when he went there.”
“Maybe.” Mason rubbed his jaw, thick with graying stubble. “First things first. I want to talk to the Pathrunners alone, Jen. They need to know what we found. Michael looked like he was willing to listen to it if it comes from either of us.”
“Did Lily or Dru answer to him?” I asked.
“Sort of. The Pathrunners are pretty secretive. Loners, you know.” Jenner jerked her shoulders, relaxing under Mason’s hand. “Michael is the ‘leader’ of the New York assembly, but he’s more like a spiritual leader than a leader-leader. Anyone who carries the Pathrunner name has to pass all these trials and tests, have a pretty rote understanding of the Laws and Weeder history, and be able to rule by them.”
“I see. And how do the Twin Tigers relate?”
Jenner thoughtfully chewed her nail, which was already bitten down to the quick. “We’re really a totally separate group. Traditionalists, funnily enough. In every century but this one, Weeders formed like-minded packs and small militias under the Ib-Int, with Elders and lawkeepers passing on the basic traditions and laws. All of the groups get together in a type of tribal council once a year to exchange news and business. This whole factional thing is pretty new. I think John has a Batman complex.”
“Nah, man. X-men,” Duke said. “He totally thinks he’s Professor X.”
“I see. He and Michael articulated the origins of shapeshifters somewhat,” I said. “And your purpose.”
“I’m sure he missed the most important part: the part where the preds have been doing the fighting and the dying for years, while the prey animals try to integrate themselves with a sick society. Every city in this country is full of pedos, demons, psychos, freaks.” Jenner leaned forwards, wiry and intense in her t-shirt and jeans. “The Four Fires fancy themselves to be like army officers, you know – all learned and tactical. I can tell you now, it doesn’t mean shit to the Big Black Nothing. You dig it out as you find it and you fucking kill it. That’s the only thing that works.”
“We’re neck deep in the Third War,” Mason added. “John says he used to be in the N
avy way back when, around about the time that me and Jen were in ‘Nam. He’s planning a Naval battle… he sees a board with a bunch of positions written on it. I see a jungle full of mines and foxholes. The Third War is a guerilla war, and he doesn’t get that you can’t just wait for the Devil to show itself.”
“‘Says’ he used to be in the Navy? You sound skeptical.” I cocked my head.
“I was in the Marines: Combat Assault Battalion. He claims he was in Operation Game Warden, but none of my old Navy buddies remember him,” Mason said, shrugging. “Far as I know, me and Jenner were one of maybe five or six Weeders in that war. Doesn’t mean I don’t believe him, because he’s got the medals to show for it. Still don’t mean shit to me unless someone remembers you sticking your neck out for them.”
That made plenty of sense to me. Backing up your people in a crisis was something I understood. I spread my hands. “You came out for me back there, and I’m willing to help you find your children. I can keep looking into the occult angle, but I have a couple of things I want to chase up. Pastor Aaron is of the same denomination as Lily and Dru, correct?”
“Yeah,” Mason grunted.
“If he could arrange a meeting with the local leader of their church, I’d be interested to talk to him,” I said. “Given how much the Vigiles have already missed, I might learn something from him that they didn’t.”
“We can do that,” Jenner said. “He doesn’t have to know that Ayashe’s on the warpath. I think we should go check out the forest cabin. Aaron probably knows where to find it.”
“Did the Vidge go through the place?” Zane’s brow furrowed in thought.
“Don’t think so,” Mason said. “Michael won’t tell anyone except that one guy. He disappeared, so now it’s even more secret Pathrunner business.”
“The other thing I want to do is talk to some of my contacts… one in particular may be able to turn up some useful information.” I let Binah down to the floor. “He costs money, but now that I have money, I’m willing to front.”
“If he knows something, we’ll pay half.” Mason didn’t even bat an eye. Instead, he clapped his hands on his knees and stood. “We’ll handle the phone calls. You guys get some rest and some chow. We’ll deal with this later in the day.”
***
I hadn’t realized just how tired I was until I was in the bedroom and away from other people. I didn’t even undress: just sunk down onto the thin mattress, rolled onto my side, and passed out.
Shouting broke through the fugue of sleep after what felt like minutes, shaking me from a vague dream where I was looking into a pit at the upturned faces of tens of children… children missing their eyes, faces blank and bloody. I rolled to the side and clapped my hand down on my knife, bringing it up as I swung my stiff legs around and got to my feet. For several thick moments, there was no sound other than my constricted heartbeat rattling against my ribs. Then I heard something again… the dull rapport of a slamming door.
“- so many better things to do than be arguing about some boxes, okay? I don’t care what you think. Throw them out on the damn street, and I’ll pick them up. Look… no… I’m getting my shit back and there’s nothing you do about it. Yeah, no, you don’t get to say who I do and don’t bring. I don’t care. I stopped caring when you threw me out of your fucking apartment after screwing around on me while I was fighting for my life in the goddamn desert…”
Zane on the phone again. Groggy and mealy mouthed, I lay back down and listened in the dark as his one-sided conversation trailed down the hallway away from me.
The lack of external stimulation in the dark made me unpleasantly aware of the parasite wrapped around and through my chest. I had to lift my legs to the floor, and then heave myself upright, leaden, to reach the bathroom and shower. Binah followed me like a ghost, napped on my towel while I cleaned up, and was disgruntled when I turfed her to the floor.
I found Zane banging around in the kitchen, angrily washing up while eggs and steak sizzled on the stove. When he turned and saw me, a ripple of something I didn’t recognize passed behind his eyes. Fear? Embarrassment? It was as brief as it was elusive.
“Mason says he’s made a time for you with Aaron first thing tomorrow morning,” he muttered. “He’ll come and pick you up, take you to the Voicer building in Manhattan for a meeting with some bigshot Pastor.”
“Wonderful.” I shuffled onto a chair at the table, rubbing my eyes. “Coffee. Please.”
“Coffee’s cold,” Zane said. “How do you like your steak?”
“Blue. Sear it until it stops bleeding, and serve it up.” I said. “Runny eggs.”
“Good man,” he replied.
The promise of caffeine was enough to spur me to new heights. I dragged myself to the coffee maker, added some water to the cold coffee, and poured it back through the machine.
“What… are you doing?”
I looked back to find him with food dished up on a plate, staring at me in consternation.
“What?” I dumped half a cup of ground coffee into the filter and set it to brew.
“You just…” Zane sighed, and slammed the plate down on the table before turning to get his own food. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s like those master stocks they keep in Chinese restaurants,” I said. “You know how they keep the same soup boiling for ten years or so? It’s the same thing.”
“No, Alexi. It’s not the same at all.”
“Life is just too short for weak coffee.” I hadn’t had steak in a long time, and I intended to try and enjoy this one. Under normal circumstances, I didn’t eat a lot of red meat. It reminded me too much of work.
“When you put a spoon in it and the spoon melts, it’s not coffee anymore.” Zane slumped into the chair across from me and set into his food like a hungry dog. Or lion… or leopard. Whatever he was. We ate for a while, him in sullen silence, me with what I hoped was a polite level of enthusiasm.
“So…” I said. “Someone giving you trouble?”
“Mm?” Zane swallowed, brow furrowed, and cut himself a piece of steak.
“You were arguing with someone on the phone before,” I replied. “You need me to help sort something out for you?”
He barked a harsh, derisive, bitter laugh. “Sort him out? What, Russian Mafia-style?”
I stared at him until he stopped trying to shrug me off. The light in his eyes and his smile faded over seconds.
“Wait. You’re serious?”
“I am always serious,” I replied. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s, uh…” Zane licked his lips, for once at a loss for words. “It’s just my ex, you know. Girlfriend. She has some of my stuff at her place, and her new guy isn’t letting me go over and pick it up.”
Vassily had a word to describe people when they were like this: ‘cagey’. I wasn’t sure why ‘cagey’ was the term used to describe that weird mixture of hesitation, anger and fear of being caught out, but I could accept it descriptively.
“So we go over and beat the shit out of him, get your stuff, and leave.” I shrugged.
“I can’t.” He shook his head, stuffing steak into his mouth. “It’s… complicated. Nothing I can solve with getting physical.”
“So shoot the lock out of the door as a warning and then go call them again on a payphone. Ne vopros.”
“Look, Alexi… you can’t fucking shoot all of your problems away, okay?” He threw his knife and fork at the plate and stood, too agitated to stay at the table. “That’s not how the real world works.”
“You don’t shoot anyone during an intimidation. It’s supposed to be bloodless,” I replied, sawing off some meat. I was confused, but not so put out that it turned me off my food. “But if you don’t want to stand up for yourself, I won’t push.”
“That’s generous of you.”
Coming from someone who’d apparently forgotten what his 1% patch meant. “I’m going to handle some chores today, and after we visit the church tomorro
w, I’ll go and see my contact.”
“Whatever. I’ve got a fight to train for.” Zane was too large of a man to properly sulk, but he was unmistakably petulant as he gathered his dishes and scraped the leftovers into a foil and paper takeout container, washed his hands, and stormed off into the house.
Chapter 20
I was no cop, but I knew that every day that went by without recovering the children was a bad day. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to be much good if we couldn’t get the dirt on where to find them, and that required money.
The first thing I did was to go and check my accounts. To my surprise, my savings accounts were untapped. My credit cards had been maxed out – no shock there – but the banks could send angry letters to the bombed out shell of Kostya’s home for as long as they pleased.
Second stop was a pet store. I returned with a litter box, litter, and black nylon harness and leash for Binah. My familiar was asleep on our bed. I pulled her into my lap, drowsy and pliable, and sized it for her. She yawned, and rolled onto her back as I fed her legs through the holes.
“Here you go, Binah.” I attached the leash and put her on the ground, standing up behind her. “Now we can go for walks together.”
Binah wobbled forwards in consternation, picking up her feet as if she’d forgotten how to walk. When she reached the end of the leash and jerked back, she flopped onto her side on the ground, glaring up at me. As if to drive home the point, she lashed her tail, thumping it against the floor.
I toed her with a shoe, trying to get her to her feet. She slid across the floorboards, as limp as the head of a mop. “You are quite literally the most ungrateful creature I have ever met.”
The tail thumping increased in frequency and velocity.
“Honestly.” I unclipped the leash and rolled it up, but left the harness on. “Get used to it.”
Aaron was early, as promised. It was still dark when I heard the wheels of a car crackle on the gravel outside. The sound stirred a vague concern about the FBI and SWAT vans, so I set down my notebook and picked myself up, the Wardbreaker in hand. I heard a door slam, and then feet on the ground outside. One pair of feet.
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