What a perfect end to this complete shit-wreck of a day. When I tried to curse, the beard tickled my mouth and I began to spit and sputter. Twitching uncontrollably, I found something to tie my hair back and used the knife to frantically saw at my face. After a couple of months of voluntary baldness, the prickling creep of hair against my skin was agonizing. I was coming out in hives, and all the hair was gray – all of it. Head, arms, body, crotch.
There was nothing to do after that but try to get comfortable and sleep off the tranquilizer fog. Several hours later, I woke up overheated and dry-mouthed. It took me several seconds to realize that I was still in my car, that the windows were foggy, and that everything smelled like cat shit. Someone was pounding angrily on my window. The attendant, or a security guard. Grimacing, I started the car and backed out, scattering him away from the door. When I was sure he wasn’t going to leap in front of the grille to stop me, I pulled the steering wheel around and turned the car with a screech, then accelerated off before he had the sense to take my license plate down.
God help me. I needed a haircut. And no matter how much I told myself I didn’t want it, I needed a drink.
When I was able to park again, I opened the windows and dumped the contents of Binah’s litterbox into a trashcan. Reeking, I stumbled into the nearest barbershop. I probably looked like a drunk hobo. We were third in line, and I struggled to stay anchored on my familiar instead of scratching frantically at my face.
When I got into the chair, the barber looked at me inquisitively. “So… what can I do for you today?”
“Off,” I grunted, trying not to look at my reflection. “The beard, off. Then talk.”
He gave me a watery smile and picked up a pair of shears.
I only regained my ability to properly human once the beard was down to half an inch or so, but I still couldn’t meet my own eyes. Once I could speak without pain, I had the barber give me my old hairstyle: hair cut short and slicked back down to a point at the nape of my neck. Combed and oiled, it looked like polished pewter.
“Hafta say I never had a man as young as you with hair like this,” the barber said once we started settling up at the register. “Let it get away from you, did you?”
“Something like that.” I still couldn’t bear to look at myself in any of the mirrors. I’d gotten used to going bald, and the gray hair made me look like a stranger to myself.
He groaned knowingly. “Jeez. I know how it is – last time I didn’t have a job, I gained, like, twenty pounds, yanno? You clean up good, though. Good luck, buddy.”
Oh, I had a job. I had to find an elusive, invisible Morphordian killer that had eluded the best efforts of the Vigiles and the city’s shapeshifters for three months, and bring him down within three days or face execution by the musora. Alternatively, I could pull a trigger in Ayashe’s face for getting me into this mess and skip town for as long as I could. The only thing - the only thing - that was keeping Ayashe alive right now was the fact that she had two young daughters.
I retraced my steps back over the Williamsburg Bridge, but slowed down in front of Strange Kitty as my eyes snagged on something out of place. The metal double doors that opened up into the bar were slashed with red spray paint, the image was of a crudely rendered horned skull. All the fluorescent tubes that advertised the different beers the dive served up had been smashed. Zane and three other men were standing outside, smoking and talking with lowered heads and folded arms. They all turned when they heard the crackle of my tires over the gravel, and when I stumbled out, Zane broke from the pack at a quick walk.
“Jesus, Rex... are you...? Is that a wig?” He stopped a few feet away, staring.
I let Binah out, then reached up and ran my hand back over my head. “No, it’s real hair. The short version is that I was kidnapped by the Vigiles last night and they wanted to make sure I had something to remember them by. What’s going on?”
Zane frowned. “The Nightbrothers gatecrashed Strange Kitty sometime last night. Broke the lights and upstairs windows, tagged the door, threw gas grenades in through the holes they made. Jenner’s about to go nuclear.”
“I can’t blame her.” I jerked my shoulders. “When are we going?”
“Huh?” Zane tilted his head.
“To trash them,” I said. “We aren’t going to let them fuck up the place and walk, are we?”
“Oh, right... well sure, if we knew where to find them, we’d be over there stomping the shit out of them.” Zane hung by my side as I wove toward the entry to Strange Kitty. “Problem is, we don’t know where they are. We’re working on it.”
“Kurva blyat.” I stomped up to the graffitied doors. “Has Angkor come back?”
Zane shook his head grimly. “No. You might not want to mention his name around Jenner, either.”
At least half the club was present and accounted for inside the empty bar: all of the Big Cat Crew, the inner core of shapeshifters, plus the plain old human tough guys. The air was hazy with smoke, the atmosphere oddly oppressive. By night, the bar was lively. During the day, without patrons or music, it looked like a cramped, dirty, brownstone hovel. The bar, central pillars, and walls were chewed up with bullet holes from when the TVS had raided the place. In the spirit of the establishment, the Tigers had filled the holes in with clear putty and varnished over them so they could still be seen.
“Well, look who just walked in out of the gutter.” Jenner planted her hands on her hips as I trudged in, her scarred face twisted in a scowl. “What the fuck is going on, Rex? We were about to launch a fucking search party for you and that Korean piece-of-shit thief.”
“Thief? What?” My stomach clenched unhappily. I was so hungry that I felt sick.
“The little fuck took money out of the strongbox,” Jenner said. “Picked the lock or something. We didn’t notice it was gone until today.”
“Couple of grand in cash right out of the gawldamn safe,” Ron said. “You know anythin’ about it, Rex?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re sure it was him?”
“You were wherever the fuck you went,” Jenner replied. “Angkor was the only one who spent enough time after we picked up the guns to get away with a job like that. AND he took a bunch of ammo, smokes, and all his shit out of the Barracks.”
Now I definitely felt sick. My mouth was dry, pulse throbbing under my tongue, and I found my gaze drawn to the bar against my will. “I went to meet him for dinner last night and got stood up. Ayashe went tattling to her boss about me refusing to work for her, so the Vigiles rolled me as soon as I left the restaurant. Shot me in the ass with a tranq, put me on ice, and threatened to kill me if I didn’t do what they want. They didn’t ask anything about the club, and I didn’t tell them.”
Abruptly, the room seemed to swell with the sort of energy that heralded a storm as the gang members exchanged glances, and then as one, to Jenner. Her expression was grave. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. The Agent in charge mentioned her by name a couple times,” I replied. “Said I’d ‘assaulted an FBI agent’. Could only have been Ayashe.”
“That fucking bitch.” Jenner’s eyes narrowed. “I’m calling a meeting with the Pathfinders tomorrow. Fuck her. What did the Vigiles want?”
“The same thing she did. For me to hit Soldier 557 and take the fall.” I sighed.
“You need to leave,” Ron said. “T’aint safe having you stay here anymore, Rex.”
“You shut your goddamned mouth, Ron.” Jenner snapped. “People don’t throw people to the fucking Templars.”
“Agreed,” Zane said. “Don’t want to hear that kind of talk from anyone, about anyone.”
Ron sniffed, glaring at me. “I don’t like it.”
“And you think I do?” The compulsion to drink something came over me, a sudden stab of impulse. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d stalked behind the bar and found myself sloshing gin into a glass. When I looked up, everyone was staring at me.
“What?” I narrowed m
y eyes.
“Rex, are you…?” Talya squinted back. “Are you okay?”
“As good as anyone who was shot in the ass and spent all night chained to a chair could be. Why?” The gin smelled like Pine Sol, and my hand shook for a moment before I resolutely threw the drink back. It hit my empty stomach like fire, and for a moment, I thought I was going to be sick... until the heat spread through my gut and up, all the way to my hands.
“You just…” she glanced at Jenner.
Jenner was staring at me in naked confusion as I poured a smaller second glass. She shook her head, as if clearing mental fog, and blinked a couple times. “Okay. Before we go any further, I want to acknowledge something. Everyone’s riled up. The Nightbrothers and the Vigiles both know we’re low on manpower. Don’t let these fucks divide and conquer us, alright? We fucking know better than to let ourselves be sliced and diced by the enemy.”
Big Ron grunted, looking at Talya. She hissed, like a cat, and he grimaced and turned away.
“Angkor’s another story,” Jenner continued. “He’s betrayed the trust of the club.”
The second shot of gin went down easier than the first. Waves of relief spread through me, so powerful that I thought I was going to lose my feet. I held onto the edge of the counter and leaned forward. The effect it had was... humiliating, mostly.
“Yeah. Something’s up with that guy,” Zane said. “You hung out with Angkor the most, Rex. What do you think?”
I gathered myself, pushing through the fog of liquor. My mouth tasted awful. “I thought I could trust him, until last night. He made contact with the club about a week after the children were abducted from Wolf Grove, correct?”
“Yeah.” Jenner frowned. “He said he was in New York to look into a human trafficking ring.”
Talya cleared her throat with a prim little ‘hem-hem’. “He told ‘John Spotted-Elk’ that he was searching for a missing person. They talked in private after that... I don’t know what was said.”
Frowning, I rinsed the glass under the tap, and belatedly realized that my gloves were still on. “Did he ever tell you what his affiliation was?”
Jenner shook her head, her expression darkening to a scowl. “No. He talked the talk, though... knew everything there was to know about our laws, terms, customs. Spotted-Elk vouched for him. So did Michael.”
“And that counts for fuck-all,” Big Ron added. “One wuz a liar, the other’s dead.”
“He convinced John to tell him where to find Lily and Dru’s changing ground,” Talya added. She sounded nervous speaking up, but the others were listening. “Then he went there, and disappeared.”
“That was when The Deacon must have captured him, tipped off by John,” I said. “Assuming that’s what even happened. Because I don’t know any more. You’re right, Jenner. He’s been avoiding questions.”
“It doesn’t make any sense to me.” Zane rocked back on his heels. “He pulled his weight right to the end. Healed people up, fought alongside us. Hell, he passed out when he was trying to keep Rex here alive.”
“Sure. But he still could have been spying for someone that whole time,” Jenner said.
Legions of small things - things I’d noticed in passing, but never connected - were coming together in an unpleasantly satisfying way. I didn’t even bother to conceal my growing bitterness. “Well, if you think about it... what better cover for a spy or a saboteur than a devoted healer?”
My words seemed to shut off the sound in the room. Glances were exchanged, arms crossed.
“His erratic behavior started with the blood rain,” I said, after a pregnant pause. “He’s talked to me in the past about having sustained frontal lobe damage from the torture the TVS inflicted on him, but he has been working magic to slowly heal that damage... so I doubt he had a physical problem that caused him to compulsively steal money and run.”
“Yeah. Fucked if I know what it is.” Jenner made a motion with her fingers, thumb and little finger extended, and gestured toward herself. Talya nodded, and went around me pour her a drink. “You ever get that feeling like someone or something is arranging pieces on a board? It looks like a puzzle from your side, but it’s a strategy on theirs.”
“It’s beyond a feeling. It’s a reality. I have three days to find a lead on Soldier 557.” The lapse of tension was beginning to fade into an even more powerful sensation of nausea.
“So what? You gonna work for the cops?” Ron snarled. “You a fuckin’ snitch, now?”
I didn’t give a shit if he shapeshifted into a lion. I was going to tear him a new asshole. Furious, I pushed back from the bar and nearly kept going, stumbling as my head reeled. “Now you listen to me, you fat-!”
Before it got any further than that, Zane materialized by my elbow and took my arm. The sudden shock of contact made me lose my train of thought, the old skin-crawling discomfort of unsolicited touch.
“You heard Jenner, Rex,” he said. “Ron, you need to cool the hell down.”
“Zane, go take Rex and put him to bed,” Jenner said. She sounded tired. “And Ron, you and me are gonna have a talk. Upstairs. Band-Aid, Cliff, I want a plan for the Nightbrothers by tomorrow night. Get a warband worked out and track those assholes down.”
“You got it, boss.” Band-Aid, one of the humans in the Tigers, saluted two fingers to his faded red mohawk.
Zane steered me to the hallway leading out to the back yard. As the smell of the toilets roiled over me, my stomach lurched. When we emerged from the darkness of Strange Kitty into the light outside, I stumbled blindly to the nearest wall and violently retched into the grass.
Zane shadowed me anxiously. “You know... Talya had a point in there. None of us have ever seen you drink, and you just chugged a whole lot of neat Bombay.”
“Revolting st-stuff,” I gasped. My head was pounding, spastic tension gathering in my hands and face. Fuck, not this again. “I have-HAVE-to s-s-sleep.”
“We need to get you inside.” Zane seemed to recognize the need to speak slowly and clearly. I gave him the ‘okay’ gesture with thumb and forefinger, swayed to my feet, and tried not to look at his face on the way into the clubhouse.
The Barracks was blessedly quiet, the air still, the light muted. I sat down heavily on the edge of my bed, flinching at the sound of the curtains being drawn. The raspy sound and the change in light set off a fresh round of twitching. “You... said he cleared... out? Did you... check the tr-tr-trash?”
“Huh. Good idea.” Zane stood, and I shuddered as the springs in the bed creaked under his bulk, the sound like an electric shock. “Let’s see... nothing here, really. Note with an address on it, a couple of menus… you know what’s at 21 W 52nd St?”
Club 21. My cheeks burned with a fresh wave of humiliation and anger. That piece of shit hadn’t even intended to meet me. He’d chucked the address. I was so pissed off that I forgot how to speak English. “Vin khuyzbyrav kompromat!”
“Huh?” Zane turned back to me.
I drew a deep breath, getting back into the right stream. “Compro…mizing… information. Angkor… gathered compromising information. Took notes. Won trust. Left.”
Zane didn’t say anything for a couple minutes – maybe he was frowning. I couldn’t tell. “You think he’s gone for good?”
I nodded, throat thick. That fucking asshole.
“You need sleep,” Zane said. “Rest up. Don’t worry about Ron either, alright? We’ll sort him out.”
Zane’s shadow fell across me, wavered, and then withdrew. I lifted my legs and heaved myself onto the bed properly, a hand over my eyes. Tiny thrills of spasming motion jerked through my limbs until the door closed and the room fell still.
Angkor had gotten himself mixed up in something bad - that was the only reason people acted this way. A small, dark voice told me the events of the night before had been awfully coincidental. Somehow, the Vigiles knew where I’d be, and were in a perfectly timed position to be able to take me out. The mugging had surely been sta
ged, meaning they probably also had a good psychological profile they’d been building for a while. But where had the input for the profile come from? And how had they known I’d been the one who killed Yegor, when I’d taken such pains to clean up after myself?
I wasn’t buying the ‘Phitonic matrix’ thing. Wards and other static enchantments had matrices, but once an act of magic was done, the energy left behind was diffuse and blobby. Places where certain kinds of magic was performed over and over again - churches, temples, oratories - or where particular kinds of acts took place accrued a magical thumbprint of sorts, but that egregore was also diffuse and fragile enough that it generally dissolved when neglected. Keen’s assertion that a mage could be profiled by the magic they left behind just didn’t hold up. The only time I could see it being true would be if they were profiling an enchanter, drawing patterns from permanent magical effects. That meant the Wardbreaker was a potential liability, but I hadn’t used the Wardbreaker to kill Yegor. The Organizatsiya had ratted me out to the cops, and the ‘magical evidence’ was a contrivance to get me to find and kill Soldier 557.
Soldier 557 had torn apart two Elder shapeshifters before they’d had time to react to his presence. He was possibly a Weeder, possibly a Feeder, maybe an evil summoned entity, like a DOG, maybe something else. All I knew is that he seemed to know something about me, that he had a flamboyant, proud streak and a flair for the theatrical, and that he didn’t recognize the value of technology. A HuMan couldn’t have taken Lily and Dru Ross out the way he had, and magic couldn’t directly affect Weeders - so that ruled out the Deacon’s time magic trick. He had to be someone very good, and very specialized.
And now, I had three days to find him. Just wonderful.
Chapter 10
I roused in the early evening, head pounding, mouth dry. The urge for alcohol was back, irritably dismissed in preference for food, even though my stomach felt punched full of holes. I didn’t have a whole lot left to go off: some kasha, bagels, some Russian-style chicken salad. There was leftover pizza in the fridge, as always. Weeders loved pizza. I don’t know if it was something all shapeshifters were into, but even Ayashe seemed to be uncommonly partial to it. Shifting burned a lot of calories, and there were few foods as palatable, convenient, and calorie-heavy as pizza.
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