Madhouse

  When the Great White mouth opened, liquid mud streamed from between the teeth and became a brown mist in the air as she roared. The smaller ones immediately echoed the roar, over and over again, until the air was full of the reek of the half-digested flesh of their last meal.

  “Guess what, Nik,” I muttered, squeezing the grip of my gun with whitened knuckles, “I’m now even less over boggles than I was before.”

  It was like before too, only this time the boggle wasn’t fighting simply for the sake of the adrenaline-pumping violence; this one was fighting for her children. Eyes as big as human fists focused on us, and a clawed foot came out of the mud and water to slam onto solid earth. The ground shook under my feet, and I brought my gun up. We had options, sure. We could run. But mama boggle could run too, and as quickly.

  We could stay and fight. Niko and Robin had been able to take one boggle. Niko and I could do the same. But there wasn’t just one—there were eight. Seven were only half the size of what had spawned them, but that didn’t change the fact that they were killers, or that from their stealthy sideways slither, they were already practiced ones.

  Run or fight.

  Live or die.

  Or we could just give them a present.

  I had to admit, I hadn’t thought of that. As choices went, it had sailed cleanly under my radar. The result was that I was almost as mesmerized as the boggles by the dripping cascade of diamonds and rubies that hung from Niko’s hand. The jewels blazed in the sun like rain-drenched poppies. My sunglasses dimmed the colors and sizzling glory by barely a fraction.

  “Pretty.” “Pretty.” “Shiny.” The boglets had stopped moving and were staring at the necklace with rounded eyes and unconsciously grasping claws. Mom wasn’t as easily impressed. Her other foot hit the ground and she thrust her head closer with brutal force. The gems were reflected in the cold sheen of her eyes and she gnashed her teeth repetitively. Finally, the lethal weapon that was her hand was held out.

  “Tiffany’s?” The question oozed out with splintered shards of bone and more remnants of mud.

  Niko stepped forward and deposited the necklace across her scaly palm. “Of course. We would not insult you with anything less.”

  She brought it closer to study it. Held it near to her eyes, up to the sun, let it dangle in the air, and then finally…she purred. Or maybe it was only the grinding of more bones caught in her throat. As sounds went, they were remarkably similar. “You have more?”

  “Many more. Anything you can imagine.” Nik looked up at her and added without hesitation, “You should be aware, however, that we did kill the other boggle here in the park.”

  There was no softening of the blow, no attempted explanation…no “He tried to kill us first. It was self-defense. Sorry for your loss and I’m positive he’s in a better place.” He simply gave her the information and waited to see what she would do with it. I think for every lie our mother had told in her fairly short life, Niko had racked up an equal number of truths…often in situations where deception would’ve been the easier and far safer choice. Considering how many years we’d spent on the run and literally living a lie, it was a peculiar dichotomy. Nik had done a lot of things to keep me alive that cut across the natural grain of who he was. He’d told the truth when he could. When he absolutely couldn’t, he’d used lessons Sophia had unwittingly taught us to keep me from the hands of the Auphe, and he’d not once hinted he’d regretted what he’d done for me.

  I did. I regretted the hell out of it, but right now? Wearing a fine spray of boggle mud on my jacket, smelling old blood and decomposing flesh, I honestly wished he’d picked this moment to lie like a fucking dog.

  “You.” Transparent lids blinked over her eyes as the head began to weave slowly. “You killed him. You.” Not a question, but a tasting of the words and the reality behind them. “My mate. Their sire.”

  I still had the .50 up and the trigger halfway home when she clacked her teeth again and said abruptly, “Opals. Black opals. Do you have black opals?”

  And that was that. Boggles might mate for life, but apparently they didn’t mourn for it.

  Although I’d been dispatched to extend the invitation, Nik did most of the talking. I’d say he’d planned for that the entire time. I had certain talents and skills, but negotiation of the nonviolent kind wasn’t one of them. So while the discussion of price went on, I played with the kiddies—which meant I hid in the trees while they tried to eat me. Fifteen minutes later, I was soaked with sweat, hanging in the lower limbs of an oak, and pistol-whipping two boglets who were about to take chunks out of my legs.

  “Cal, playtime is over. Let’s go.”

  The juvenile killers, who’d been shaking off what they considered love taps, moaned in disappointment and loped back toward the muck at their mother’s beckoning snarl. I dropped to the ground and did some snarling of my own as I holstered the gun.

  “You know, Cyrano, as a therapist, you suck out the ass.”

  “It’s a hit-or-miss process,” he responded solemnly as we wove through the trees. “Constantly changing and developing. Jung once wrote…”

  What I had to say about Jung wasn’t hit or miss at all. It was very precise, graphic, and involved Niko’s intestinal tract.

  “You didn’t enjoy yourself? Why not? Children are always enamored of you.”

  Yeah, kids loved me. Loved to eat me. Werecubs, boglets, I was walking milk and cookies for them all, but I wasn’t thinking about that, and I wasn’t concentrating on Niko’s dry teasing either. Seeing boggles again had brought up some buried emotions all right, but not the one my brother had planned on. No, that wasn’t true. It was the emotion…guilt…that he’d hoped to resolve, but this time the guilt was focused elsewhere. Niko and Robin hadn’t ended up the casualties as intended a year ago, but someone else had.

  “I miss Boggle,” I said quietly. And I did in a way. Not for who he’d been, but for what he’d been. He’d been our informant and like Robin’s tended to be, he was homicidal as hell, but he’d been a piece of our lives. When you lived life on the run you didn’t have many constants. Boggle had been one for two years and I’d gotten him killed. He’d deserved it, no doubt, but I didn’t have to like the fact it had been because of me.

  Nik, like Bog’s mate, didn’t waste any tears as he said without a trace of doubt, “He was a killer, Cal. Through and through, a killer.”

  I looked away, said, “Not the only one,” and kept walking.

  13

  Recruiting isn’t as easy without the glossy pamphlets and television ads. I’d been thrown out of so many wolf bars and social clubs that night I was beginning to lose count. I never would’ve thought the boggle would be the easy part. It was seven in the morning when we finally dragged ourselves to Robin’s place in Chelsea, choosing it only because it was closer than ours. I had a black eye, Robin was limping again, and Niko had a hair or two slightly out of place. Normally I would say it was because he was the better fighter, but the reality was it could well be a toss-up between him and Goodfellow. Niko’s abilities were nothing less than astounding, but Robin had had many more thousands of years of practice. It wasn’t a lack of skill that had Robin on the short end of the stick this time.

  Wolves had only scorn for humans. They were nothing but sheep…weak and existing only to be preyed upon. It wasn’t an attitude you wanted to be on the receiving end of. Then again, when it came to pucks and the Auphe-tainted, being a sheep was a step up.

  As Nik settled on the couch, long black-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, Goodfellow asked him acidly, “Could I get you a comb perhaps? At least until the paramedics arrive?”

  “I told you eight breasts in a sequined halter was not our top priority,” Niko offered mildly as he clasped hands across his abdomen, “did I not?”

  “Monogamous sex is rotting your brain.” Robin flicked both arms in a gesture that wasn’t quite obscene, but definitely full of outrage. “They were all on the same woman.
”

  “We were there to enlist wolves, not grope them. And offering to include her mate in on the exercise did not improve matters any.”

  I ignored them both and went to the freezer for ice. Applying a towelful of the crushed stuff to my eye, I leaned against the counter as the discussion continued. “Oh, don’t let him fool you. He was completely into it. He simply feared he’d be overshadowed by my prowess and endowments. Although, to be just, his seemed impressive behind the leather. Male wolves.” Green eyes gleamed. “They do love their leather.”

  Truthfully, the fight hadn’t had much to do with Robin hitting on two wolves, but it was easier on the stomach than discussing how our two kinds were so loathed. Not all wolves felt the same, about me at least, but enough did to make things uncomfortable. To be hated was one thing. To be considered a worthless, utterly detested thief or a mixed-breed abomination that inspired disgust and revulsion…it was less uncomfortable to talk about the results of gawking at wolf boobs.

  Then there was the fact that we’d killed a Kin Alpha.

  Yeah, none of us were too popular. Niko just happened to be a little less unpopular than Robin and me. So far we hadn’t found a single wolf willing to work with us, no matter what the pay. And Goodfellow trying to include himself as a bonus wasn’t helping. If he kept it up, he wouldn’t have to worry about a mysterious assassin ending his life; Niko would handle that himself.

  It was a good change of subject because the lingering image of eight lightly furred, seismically bouncing breasts was still making me mildly motion sick. “Anyone try to kill you in the past three days?”

  Robin draped himself over a chair and rubbed a calf that I assumed was just bruised. No blood showed through the expensive slacks. “Only that new restaurant on Columbus. The chef there is far deadlier than any Hameh bird.”

  “I thought we agreed you’d stay close to home until we discovered who’s behind this.” Niko didn’t move or change the tone of his voice, but the heavy weight of disapproval was evident nonetheless.

  Goodfellow gave him a brilliant smile in return. “Your concern warms.” He didn’t say specifically what or where it warmed. “I also have a pair of leather pants. I can go change right—”

  The door opened and Seraglio entered, saving either Goodfellow or Nik. I wasn’t at all sure who would come out ahead in that contest. At the sight of us, she shook her head and, touching a small hand to the immaculate piled hair, sighed in resignation. “If I feed you, will you leave? I can’t possibly work with your lazy bodies piled about.” She passed Robin and ruthlessly shoved his leg off the arm of the chair. “And you all are skinny as they come. Whoring and drinking will keep you that way. A man—a real man—should have flesh on his bones.”

  Standing, Robin—who had never been a human man, real or otherwise—shook his head. “Thank you, but no. Bed is what I need, unless you care to join…” Already in the kitchen on a step stool, Seraglio, at his words, traced a contemplative finger over the handle of a knife embedded in a butcher’s block. “Ah, that would be a no? Your inconsolable loss, then.”

  As he disappeared down the hall, his gait uneven, I asked politely, “Do you make pancakes, ma’am?”

  An hour later, my stomach was pleasantly full of peach waffles, and my eye ached somewhat less. Seraglio had given me a plastic bag full of ice and another towel to wrap around it. It had lasted until we made it to the subway before becoming nothing but an empty bag and a damp towel. I’d shoved the cloth in my pocket, and now I was leaning my head back against the window of the subway car, ready to take what I’d known was coming.

  “Ma’am? You called her ma’am?”

  “Like I told her, you taught me good manners.” I kept my eyes shut, on the verge of dozing to the rocking of the car. Then I flashed my left arm up to block the blow. There had been the faintest rustle of cloth to warn me, one that Niko wouldn’t have given anyone else. The training never stopped, and it never would. It was what had kept me alive this long.

  “I taught them, yes, but I had no idea you’d actually incorporated them into your daily life.” I felt his arm drop away. “I’ve seen you interact with humans and nonhumans, and I’ve not seen you show anyone the respect you show Madame Seraglio.”

  “She scares me,” I admitted frankly. “I’ve yet to see her more than three feet from a butcher’s knife. And I show you respect, Cyrano. I respect the hell out of you.”

  “For the same reason?”

  “Pretty much,” I confirmed, this time protecting my ribs with a quickly sheltering forearm. Opening my eyes, I added, “A healthy dose of humiliation doesn’t hurt. That you changed my diapers when I was a baby isn’t something I’ll ever get over.”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t that memorable.” He snorted as he penetrated my guard and slapped my abdomen with just enough stinging force to make the lesson stick. “I would bring up the size of the excessively large guns you carry, but that would be unnecessarily cruel.”

  “Ass,” I grumbled.

  After that, we rode in companionable silence until the train made a stop. When the doors closed again, I said, “I’m guessing it’s the four of us and the boggle in the tunnels, then. Flea-free.” Nobody liked the smell of wet dog anyway, and I personally thought the she-boggle was enough to worry about keeping track of.

  “We’re not there yet. We have one more avenue yet to try.” Niko leaned his head back as well, but he didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t take chances, big, small, or in between.

  “Yeah?” I asked. As far as I could tell, we were standing at the end of the road. It was time to cope with the lack of asphalt and grab the hiking boots. “What?”

  “Wait and see, little brother. Wait and see.”

  The wait and see turned out to be Delilah, and we met her at a strip club in Chelsea conveniently located a few subway stops from Robin’s condo. She was the bouncer. The dancers were all male, muscle-bound, and bored. I was relieved that Niko hadn’t told Robin that’s where we’d been heading. He was probably a regular, and it had been a long night. I wasn’t ready for a longer morning of dollar bill waving and more discussion of leather pants or the removal thereof.

  White-blond hair still in the high ponytail, Delilah was wearing leather herself. Pants and a scoop-necked top, both the amber of her eyes, clung to her lithe figure, but it was the type of snug fit meant for fighting, not for show. “Pretty boy,” she said with lazy recognition. “Twenty dollars.”

  “We’ve no interest in the show, Delilah,” Niko explained with a slight bow of his head. “We’re here to speak with you.”

  “Ah.” She nodded and held out an unrelenting palm. “Twenty dollars.”

  We paid the ten apiece and went in out of the morning light. Nine a.m. and some guy was already onstage. That early and normally I was still in bed, but this poor bastard was up there shaking…whatever you had to shake for ten bucks’ admission. The place was dark and small with red spotlights and a few glassy-eyed patrons. We sat at a table close to the door, but with a good view of the room as well. Delilah could keep watch for customers and trouble simultaneously.

  “Your chest? Doing well?” A finger with a natural, unpolished nail touched my shirt.

  “No problems.” Which was true. It wasn’t much to look at, from a human point of view, but it was healed and mostly painless. There was the occasional pull of skin that was tighter than it should be, but it would loosen up eventually—stretch like the majority of scar tissue came to do. If I did have a problem, it was drifting awake in the middle of the night with the distinct sensation of a soothing tongue rasping at my chest and a warm weight pinning me firmly to the bed. And that—well, that wasn’t really what I’d call a problem.

  “Good.” Satisfied, she propped a booted foot on the table. “You are healed. You are pretty. So why come here?”

  “Yeah, well, about that.” I shook my head at the shirtless waiter as did Nik. “We’re not too popular with wolves, and we need to do some hiring.”
r />   “Not popular.” She smiled with those perfect teeth. “Puck, Aupheling, human. Kin killer. Not wanted, not embraced. So misunderstood.” Throwing back her head, she laughed. The bar was dark and only a fourth full, but everyone turned at the sound to look at her with faint expressions of surprise. She caught them staring, pinned them with oval eyes, and the men hastily looked away, concentrating on their drinks or the stage. Dominance, humans picked up on it as quickly as dogs, whether they wanted to admit it or not. “Human sheep,” she said scornfully. “Barely prey.”

  Tilting her head, she leaned in and smelled Niko. She didn’t get close enough to touch, but sampled the air around him. “But not you. You are as they say. Warrior.” Then she was at his throat in a movement so fluid and quick that I doubted the identified sheep caught the shift in position. I know they didn’t see the edge of Niko’s knife between Delilah and him or her teeth click purposely against the metal.

  “Alpha,” she identified decisively as she settled back. “You lead your pack. Protect your pack.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Niko had been born an Alpha. If you screwed with him, screwed with his own, there wouldn’t be much left of you to regret that decision.

  Niko flipped the blade and made it vanish under his coat. He didn’t comment on her conclusions. Alphas had no need to brag. “We would like your help. Yours and anyone else you could convince to accept our pay.”

  She dropped her booted foot to the sticky floor and licked away the single drop of blood on her upper lip. “You come about Sawney Beane?” His presence in the city was evidently not a secret, not anymore. “He kills.” There was a shrug that said clearly, “Who doesn’t?” “He wastes.” That was entirely different from the haughty lift of her chin, a sin seen only with contempt. I remembered the body parts floating in the water, disgusting to us, squandered to Delilah. It reminded me. She had helped us, she might help us again, but she also was a wolf. Some wolves didn’t eat people, but she was also Kin. Kin ate whatever the hell they wanted. I wanted to like her, and I rarely wanted to like anyone, but liking involved trust and truth, things I’d only started to put into play in the past year. I wasn’t good at either one yet, and I didn’t know that Delilah even deserved either one.