On the contrary, I still felt like I was on the verge of being sick.
“You might feel better if you had a little soup. Sit down and catch your breath,” he said. “You can hang out here for as long as you want. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I laughed, a short, anxiety-ridden burst. If he hurt me, I probably wouldn’t even notice at this point. He couldn’t kill me, unless he happened to have a stash of silver bullets or bombs, neither of which seemed likely.
Pulling myself as straight as I could, I hobbled to the corner living space with as much dignity as I could manage. Which wasn’t much, as it turned out. My face was stiff, locked in a grimace of pain. My right leg took some weight but throbbed with every step. My whole body was sore from bracing against the injury. But I could walk, slowly.
The stranger reached to help me; I shrugged away.
“Seriously, what happened to you?” he said.
“I fell.”
“In a butcher shop or something?”
“Yeah,” I said.
In the light, I got a better look at him. He was Chinese, built like Bruce Lee—lean, powerful, nothing but muscle. He probably had the training and reflexes to go with them. His expression was wry.
“You want to wash up? Here.” He found a washcloth in the cupboard and ran it under the faucet in the basin. “Sorry I don’t have a regular bathroom. I usually use the one in the dim sum place next door, but it’s closed right now. I don’t spend too much time here. Just a couple of nights a week, you know? I think I might have an extra T-shirt for you.”
He found it after some more digging in the cupboard. It was black, just like the one he was wearing, and only a size or so too big. He politely turned his back on me while I took off my gore-soaked shirt and tried to scrub off some of the blood. Taking off the grubby, scratchy shirt and putting on the clean one felt pretty good. It made me feel just a little more human. But wearing it made me smell wrong.
In the meantime, the guy had begun cooking, gathering implements—pot, cutting board, knife. A minifridge sat next to the cupboard, and he retrieved a stack of ingredients from it. In a few moments, a broth was boiling on a hot plate, giving off a fresh, warm scent. Green onions, ginger, and noodles.
I found a trash can to throw the bloody washcloth and shirt into and went to the table, which had a couple of chairs next to it. I leaned on one of them and sighed; I wasn’t ready to sit.
In a surprisingly short amount of time, he had produced two large bowls of a wonderful-smelling soup. The hot, domestic scent of it helped my muscles finally unclench. He set the two bowls, along with two wide ceramic spoons on the table.
“Go ahead, sit down,” he insisted.
Finally, I sat. If I leaned back and kept my right leg out straight, it didn’t even hurt too much.
This was all so strange. It could all be some kind of trick. “Is this safe?” I asked.
“Of course it is,” he said. He was already eating, spooning up mouthfuls of the soup. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
I tried to explain as simply as I could, searching for words for concepts I wasn’t entirely clear on. “There are stories about … I don’t know. Other places. Like Persephone in Hades. Like the fairies under the hill. That if you eat anything while you’re there, you’ll be trapped for seven years. Or trapped forever.”
He chuckled. Had he ever stopped smiling? “It’s just a building. It’s just soup. You saw me make it.” And the phone worked. I wasn’t trapped anymore, I had to keep reminding myself. The guy scarfed down his own meal.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve had a very strange day.”
“I believe it. Oh—I’m Sun, by the way. Does that help?”
He had a name, now. So technically, we weren’t strangers anymore, right?
“I’m Kitty,” I said.
His smile widened. “A werewolf named Kitty? Really?”
“That was an accident,” I said, and he chuckled.
Carefully I leaned forward, shifting my weight to keep it off my right hip. I took up a spoonful of the soup and smelled it. It was spicy but subtle, warm ginger and tangy green onions. Steam curled up from the surface. My stomach growled with hunger, which was the last thing I expected after the previous couple of hours. A half an hour ago I’d been in so much pain I’d wanted to vomit.
I sipped a tiny bit of the soup. Which tasted exactly like soup—a standard vegetable broth, a little salty, with a blend of spices. It was warm and comforting, just like soup ought to be.
After a few bites, I looked at my cell phone again, as if I could have missed it ringing and needed to check for messages. No one had called.
“You expecting a call?” he said.
“I don’t know. I keep hoping my friends will get in touch.”
“Because you’re lost.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I can help—point you in the right direction if you tell me where you need to get to.”
I didn’t even know where I needed to get to. I needed to get to wherever Ben and Cormac were. And where was that? If all else failed, maybe it was time to start over.
I asked, “Do you know someone named Grace Chen? She works at the Great Wall Video Store on—” I didn’t know what street the shop was on.
Wonder of wonders, the guy nodded. “Yeah, I know her.”
The relief was a warm wash of sunshine in my blood.
“The video store,” I said. “I need to get there.”
Chapter 11
“ARE YOU SURE you don’t need any help?” Sun asked for the third time.
I was hobbling, but I was sure I was hobbling faster than I had been when I first pulled myself out of the hole in the floor. The monster trap. Who the hell puts a pit in a room specifically to trap monsters? This guy, obviously—so who was he again?
Before we left his—apartment? shop?—I limped to the edge and looked down, hoping for some clue about where I’d come from and how I’d gotten turned around. The stairs I’d pulled myself up looked like a normal, rickety set of cellar stairs, and they descended through what seemed to be a trapdoor cut in the floor, leading to a musty basement room. The whole thing, from the doorway to the stairs to the room itself, looked a lot smaller than it had before.
I wasn’t sure I could trust any of my perceptions from the moment I stumbled over the edge and fell.
Sun led me out the door of his kitchen onto a narrow alley. The building we’d left was brick, eighty or so years old, decorated with fire escapes and signage with Chinese characters. The alley had a canyonlike quality. A set of trash cans had been put out, and a nondescript car was parked a block away. It was full night, dark and chilly—midnight, according to the phone. The sky above seemed hazy. The air still smelled like San Francisco’s air.
We walked down the street, turned a corner, then another. I looked for street signs and tried to keep track of where I was. We were still in Chinatown—a lamppost across the street had a dragon sculpture climbing up it. Everything was locked up, steel doors and grilles pulled over the fronts. We were the only ones out.
I walked as fast as I could, even when Sun tried to slow down for my benefit. “I can keep up,” I said.
“I thought it’d be a little easier on you if we took it slow.”
“Time’s an issue here. I’m fine.”
“What’s really going on? How’s Grace wrapped up in this?”
“How well do you know her?” I said.
“It’s not like we’re best friends or anything. I just know her. Is she in trouble?” He sounded curious rather than concerned.
I couldn’t explain it all. It was too complicated, and I didn’t understand much of it myself. “It’s nothing, never mind.”
“You seem pretty worried.”
I almost snapped at him, a wolfish gesture. Maybe I’d feel better if I Changed. Maybe it would help my leg. Yeah, Change and do what? Go where? Track Ben by scent? Run down and maul Sun while I was at it? He didn’t deserve that.
&n
bsp; “I’m fine,” I muttered yet again.
When we arrived on the street with the video store, I didn’t recognize it—I’d only seen the place from the back. A big yellow sign over the front said Video, along with some Chinese characters; faded posters hung in the windows.
“Here we are,” Sun said. “Is Grace supposed to be here?”
“There’s a back door in an alley,” I said. “Do you know how to get around to the back?” I could probably find it. We had to be near where we met Anastasia in the first place.
“If you told me what was wrong, I might be able to help you.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“If it’s a secret—”
“No. I just don’t think I’m capable of explaining the last five hours to anyone.”
When I drew the next breath, I caught a scent, a familiar flavor at odds with the city smells around me. Wild, fur—werewolf. Turning around, I tipped my nose up to find where it was coming from and how far away it was.
The scent was strong, getting close fast, and it wasn’t another attack. My Wolf leaped in response. Warm, familiar, perfect—the smell was Ben. His wolf—a sleek shape of gray and tawny fur, narrow snout and long, rangy legs, tail out like a rudder, ears pinned back—raced up the street, taking huge strides, claws clacking on pavement. It should have been incongruous, seeing a large wolf running through the middle of a street in San Francisco. I should have been worried that Ben had shifted alone in the city, but I was too happy to see him. I stepped into his path.
Instead of coming to me, he angled toward Sun. His lips pulled back in a snarl, a challenge. He thought Sun was an enemy.
“No, Ben, it’s okay!” I ran to intercept him, diving at him because what else could I do. He was too fast; I didn’t tackle him like I wanted to, but managed to grab his leg and gave a good hard yank. And I yelped as another wave of pain racked my hip.
Whirling, he snapped at me, then dipped his head and tail and snuggled close. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in his ruff. He was so warm, and he smelled so much like home, I could have breathed in his scent all night.
“It’s okay, he’s not hurting me, he’s helping. Shh, I’m okay, I’m okay.” I wasn’t, because I’d wrenched my hip again, landing hard on the street and acquiring more bruises, and I was worried and tired and confused. But Ben was here, no matter what form he was in. For now, I was okay.
Deep in his throat, he whined. Nuzzling toward me, he pushed my face away from him so he could start licking, warm, soft swipes of his tongue up my chin and cheeks. He cleaned away the tears that were falling.
He leaned against me and I wrapped my arms around him. It was as close as we could get to a hug. His mouth was open, panting worried breaths, but his hackles had flattened.
Sun watched us. I expected him to run screaming at the sight of the big slavering wolf. Most people would have. But he didn’t flinch. Maybe he wasn’t even surprised.
“That’s a pretty big dog,” Sun said.
“It’s not a dog, it’s my husband!”
“Huh. That’s progressive.”
“Shut up, he’s a werewolf, too.”
“Yeah? Hi there.” Sun waved.
Ben glared at him over my shoulder—his eyes were amber, challenging. I had to take care of him, get him someplace safe where he could go to sleep and shift back to human. Where he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He was probably thinking he had to take care of me, protect me. We were deep in unknown territory here, and all we had was each other.
I rubbed him hard, burying my hands in his thick fur, wrapping myself around him to take in that warmth. “What are you doing, Ben? What happened? You shouldn’t be like this.”
But of course he couldn’t answer. Not in words. His emotions poured off him, though, in wolfish body language. He was anxious, relieved to find me. He wouldn’t stop pressing himself against me, and I didn’t want him to stop. I’d disappeared, so of course he’d come to find me. We were in trouble, we had to protect each other—everything else was secondary.
Ben had found a way out of the tunnels—or his wolf had, animal instincts cutting through the magic. Had the others been able to follow? I didn’t sense any sign of Cormac, Anastasia, or Grace. But Ben was here.
“You okay now?” Sun said.
“Yeah, I am,” I said.
“You want some advice?”
“I’m not really in the mood for advice,” I said.
“You ought to get out of here, go home, and stop messing with things you don’t understand,” he said.
Ben licked my face, as if agreeing with the sentiment.
“I’ll consider it,” I said.
“Well, good luck then.” Sun waved as he walked away.
Ben curled his lip, his hackles rising again, and his muscles going rigid.
“Shh,” I murmured at him. He started to lunge after Sun, and I held him, bracing my weight against him to keep him from attacking. Ben made an uncertain noise—part growl, part whine—in his throat.
I only glanced away a moment while trying to settle Ben. When I turned back to the street, to take one more look at Sun, he was already gone, ducked around some corner or into some shadow. I couldn’t even smell him on the air anymore, except for his scent lingering on my borrowed T-shirt.
As soon as we found Grace I was going to have to ask her about that guy. Now, about finding Grace …
Ben was still acting like we were surrounded by enemies—watchful, nervous, braced. Part of me wanted to join him—turn Wolf so the two of us could run, just get out of here and find safety wherever we could. Golden Gate Park had to be around here somewhere, didn’t it? At any rate, I was done with Anastasia and done with the Dragon’s Pearl, Roman, and whatever weird magic was operating around them. It wasn’t worth killing ourselves over.
I scratched his ear and kissed his furry check. “We have to find Cormac and get out of here. Where is he? Where’d you leave him?”
He pulled away from me and trotted back the way he’d come. At the end of the block, he stopped and waited. Sighing, I hauled myself to my feet. I had to be healing because it was easier than the first time I’d tried it, after climbing out of the pit. But I’d never been so sore, all the way to the bone. However much I wanted to run, I could only manage to shuffle, wincing with every step.
When Ben saw me limping, he loped back and nudged me, whining, worried. His nose tracked all over me, searching for what was wrong, poking at the hem of the shirt until he found skin. His nose was cold and wet. I rested on him, lacing my hand into the fur of his neck. He came up to my hip and made a perfect crutch.
“I’m okay,” I said with another sigh. Together, slowly, we made our way to the end of the block and around the corner.
The alley ended ahead, and I recognized Grant Avenue. Ben put his nose down and sniffed, looking for a trail. I tried to imagine what had happened. Even through all the fighting we’d done, he hadn’t shifted. He’d kept it together. This time he’d either made a conscious decision to shift, or something had finally pushed him over the edge, and he’d lost control. I wanted to get him someplace safe and quiet, convince him to sleep instead of protecting me, and ask him what had happened.
But first, we had to find Cormac.
All the trails I sensed were old. My nose was pretty good, but Ben’s wolf’s nose would be better at this, and he was crossing back and forth, aimless, trackless. Ben had been back this way recently, but Cormac and Anastasia hadn’t, not since we first came here right after dusk. No sign of Grace, either. He trotted on to the end of the alley, made another pass, back and forth a couple of times—still no trail to follow.
I tried calling Cormac on my cell phone and wasn’t surprised when I got voice mail. I left a message. “Hey, we’re trying to find you. Ben’s here, we’re both okay. Call me as soon as you can.” Not that leaving a message would do any good, but it couldn’t hurt.
The street was empty; no one was around, not a car, not a t
raffic light, nothing. Seemed odd for a big city, even in the middle of the night.
When I tipped my nose to the air again, a cold thread of scent touched me. A familiar chill, it stabbed through the city’s background mist of cool air coming in off the water. A vampire—cold, undead. Not Anastasia. My imaginary hackles rose, my shoulders stiffening.
I looked behind me, down the alley we’d just left. A figure stood there, part of the shadows, visible only because he was backlit by some distant light diffused through the mist. He was male, with close-cropped hair and an angular shape to his features. He stood with his arm crooked, as if he rested his hand on the hilt of a sword hanging on his belt. But the stance was an illusion. He wore an overcoat. From a block away, he looked like a statue.
I knew him, I recognized him, that smell, that posture, the way I could feel him staring at me even when I couldn’t see his eyes. I stepped toward him, until my vision resolved his features and I was sure.
The vampire turned and walked away.
Ben whined. Back at the curb, he was looking back and forth, pacing, agitated. I went to him. “Ben?”
Roman—the figure I thought had been Roman—was out of sight now, but I still smelled the chill of vampire on the air. Ben loped to my side, brushing his flank along my thigh. I gripped his fur. He looked up at me with amber eyes, full of energy and determination. Run? he seemed to say.
Two vampires—different vampires—approached us along Grant from either direction. We’d be cornered in moments.
“I can’t,” I said, despairing. I squeezed my right hip, feeling the still-deep bruising. I wasn’t about to try to hobble away and get caught from behind. I’d rather face them.
Ben flattened his ears and tensed for battle.
The two newcomers strolled on the sidewalk as if they were average ordinary pedestrians. One of them even wore jeans. I tried to remember—had I ever seen a vampire wear jeans? He wore an embroidered Havana shirt with the jeans, and looked like he should have been drinking something out of a pineapple. The other wore a black turtleneck and gray slacks. They looked like a couple of young twenty-something hipsters. But they were still vampires, and they were coming after us. Ben and I stood side by side, our backs to the brick of the building behind us, and stared our challenges.