The biggest problem, though, was not what he might have become, but rather the connection he now had with the other two who had survived.
Because Sal knew exactly what I was.
And that meant, somewhere out there in Central, two other people were also aware of it.
Or did it?
Because if the slate really had been all but wiped clean when they’d been caught in that alien darkness, then maybe he actually couldn’t remember much more than my name and the fact I’d been a lure—just like him.
Which in itself was telling, because the grays had never been designed as lures, and it certainly wasn’t a position Sal had ever been placed in. They were assassins, pure and simple, even if they sometimes used seduction to get closer to their targets. And while they could shape-shift in much the same manner as us, it was simply a means of making escape easier once they’d completed their assignment.
I really hoped the theory was true, because I didn’t need those other beings fully aware of my capabilities.
Sal rolled off me, then propped his head on one hand and studied me for several minutes. I returned his gaze evenly, even as I sensed the shift in his mood—the need for pleasure and release moving subtly to the need for answers.
It was a need that wasn’t coming from him, but rather from those who were now forever connected with him.
Sal might be inclined to trust me, but the other two were not. Which meant I could never, ever wear my true form. Not when I was with Sal, anyway. He might remember my scent, but there’d been no indication in the reading that he actually remembered what my true form was. And even though he knew I was a tiger shifter, he obviously thought my coloring was the more standard orange tiger. It did, at least, give me some leeway if I ever did have to resort to my own form here in Central.
“So when did you actually arrive here?” he asked eventually.
I waved the arm containing the chip and smiled. “According to my newly jigged chip, five days ago.”
“Retouching chip information is expensive—I thought you didn’t have any credits.”
My eyebrow rose. “Since when were credits the only form of payment?”
He grunted. “Where were you before Central?”
“Officially and unofficially, in Newport.” I paused, feigning a trace of confusion. “Why all the questions, Sal?”
He shrugged. “Just curious as to why I hadn’t come across you before now.”
A question I wanted answered in regard to him, as well. I mean, how could we have spent so many years sharing the same city and not come across each other before now? I might mostly be a recluse, but I still had to make regular runs into the city. And it wasn’t just for supplies, but to cater for those occasions when the desire for sexual contact overwhelmed the need for safety—something that happened every few months. What were the odds of both of us being in this city for so long, and never coming into contact? Or even catching the slightest scent clue?
Little to zero, I thought grimly.
But with suspicion so evident in his aura and his eyes, I dared not open the gates again to my deeper seeker skills. I just had to run with instinct—and ignore the fact that instinct was telling me to get the hell out of Hedone and away from Sal. To return to the safety of my bunker and my ghosts, before my life irrevocably changed.
Not wanting to think about the reasons behind that warning when I could do so little about it without further raising Sal’s suspicions, I leaned forward and kissed him. If there was one thing that obviously hadn’t changed, it was his high sexual appetite. And in this situation, I had no qualms about using it, just as I’d used it countless other times when an assigned target had begun to ask difficult questions. There was little talk for the rest of the night, just exploration and pleasure, until we were both fully satiated and our bodies weak with exhaustion. Then we slept.
Or at least he did. I spent the night staring up at a ceiling lit by the never-ending brightness of the UV towers outside the building, wondering what the hell my next move was going to be.
Chapter 10
The sharp ring of Sal’s com unit broke the silence. I closed my eyes, pretending sleep as he grunted and rose from the bed. His gaze swept me, a cool caress that sent prickles of unease down my spine even as he moved away.
I remained still and listened to his retreating footsteps. After a moment, he said, “Sal Casimir.”
A deeper, darker voice—also male—said, “Pick up.”
Sal did, basically ending any chance I had of overhearing the conversation. I might have the genes of a tiger, but they weren’t helping in this instance. Sal was speaking so softly I could barely even hear him, let alone the man at the other end of the com unit.
With no reason to pretend I was still sleeping, I yawned, stretched, then got up and headed for the bathroom. Sal had the latest in air showers, which actually used small amounts of water mixed with air—a rarity these days, as water conservation had been a priority since before the war had begun. I wasn’t entirely sure why, given it seemed to rain regularly lately, but maybe it was simply a hangover from the many years of drought this area apparently once faced.
The call had ended by the time I padded out to the living room to find my tunic and get dressed. Sal’s expression was forbidding, and his gaze, when it met mine, was hooded and angry.
I paused and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
He waved a hand, the movement short, sharp. “Nothing. There’s just been a problem at another business I own. I’m afraid I’m going to have to bundle you out sooner than I’d expected or wanted.”
He was lying. I was certain of it, though there was nothing in his voice or actions to give that impression. “I hope it’s nothing major.”
“So do I.”
He strode toward me, all dark and dangerous energy, and it took every ounce of will to remain where I was. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me fiercely, but it was a desperate thing, absent of hunger or true passion. Then he released me with a suddenness that had me staggering back a couple of steps.
“I’d like to see you again.” He swung around and stalked across to the kitchen. “Shall we say tomorrow night?”
I frowned, unsettled by his abrupt change of mood and the lack of passion. That call, I was suddenly sure, had been something to do with me. Something he hadn’t wanted to hear.
I shivered and rubbed my arms. Of course, it was more than possible the certainty was nothing more than paranoia, but even so, I wasn’t about to ignore it. Similar such insights had saved my life more than once during the war.
“Sure,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “But you can leave a message at Old Stan’s if you can’t make it. I’ll understand.”
“I will. Until tomorrow night, then.”
He didn’t turn around, didn’t offer to see me out. After staring at his back for several moments, I headed for the lift and left.
Once I reached the street, I paused and breathed deep. The air was crisp and cool, and it chased the scent of dark silk and wrongness from my nostrils. I wished it could do the same to the scent that lingered—however lightly—on my skin. There was something about it that just rubbed me the wrong way.
Or maybe it was simply the knowledge that the Sal I’d known—the Sal I’d once trusted with all that I was, and all that I’d dreamed of—was no more.
I took another breath and discovered the teasing, electric aroma of a summer storm. Jonas was near. As I looked to the right, he stepped out from the entrance of the next building. He shook his head minutely, his gaze flickering briefly past me before he turned and walked away.
I yawned, then waited for a gap in the traffic and crossed the street, my gaze sweeping the glass fronts of the building opposite. I couldn’t see the threat Jonas indicated, but then, maybe I wouldn’t. If there was someone following me, it was a fair bet they’d be more practiced at concealing their presence than I was.
I paused as I reached the other side of the road a
nd glanced up. Sal stood near the window, watching me. I gave him a smile and a wave, but couldn’t escape the notion that something was very wrong, that I needed to find out what he was involved in, and fast.
I silently called Cat and Bear, then turned and walked away, keeping Jonas in sight but staying half a block behind. My two little ghosts appeared within five minutes, happily dancing around me for several seconds before calming down. I asked them to keep an eye on Sal without getting too close, and to report back to the bunker by sunset. They immediately dashed off, excited to be doing something new and interesting—another sentiment I wished I shared.
Jonas turned right onto a walkway heading toward Second Street but, as he did so, flicked a hand to his left, seeming to indicate I should keep going straight. I did, only turning right when I reached the next one. There was no one else in the walkway, and my footsteps echoed in the vast, empty canyon between the two streets. When I reached the end of the walkway, I turned left onto Second Street and casually glanced over my shoulder. There was no one there . . . and yet my skin crawled with awareness.
I wasn’t the only one who could wrap myself in sunlight in this city. Whoever followed me was also capable of it.
Tension wound through my body. I flexed my fingers and fought to keep my pace even. Running would be the worst thing I could do right now; it would only further raise the suspicions of whoever was behind me.
“Head to Old Stan’s,” Jonas said behind me. “It’s close to the market on Twelfth, between the main gate and the first walkway. I’ll meet you there.”
I didn’t acknowledge him, just immediately headed across the road and into the next walkway. The crawling sense of awareness never went away, but it never drew any nearer, either. I wondered if the person following me was one of the two people Sal had merged with, or if it was someone else entirely. Sun shielding was an extremely rare talent, and while I had no idea if it could be found in anyone outside those created in the déchet labs, it wasn’t hard to imagine that if someone did possess the ability, they’d be shuffled into either the public or private army.
I continued moving through the various walkways until I reached Twelfth, then paused, looking left and right to get my bearings. I knew the market section well enough—it was where I pilfered my supplies of fresh fruit and veg—but I’d always come at it from outside the city rather than inside. After a moment, I caught the sound of stallholders promoting their prices and goods, and headed left again. The market soon came into sight. It was a riot of color, sounds, and mouthwatering aromas. A sea of tents and temporary stalls stretched across the entire street, blocking the road and forcing all those needing to get farther down Twelfth through the many higgledy-piggledy rows. I resisted the instinctive urge to snag some fruit and knobs of crusty bread as I wove my way through the market, and walked on.
The curtain wall stretched high above me now, a rusting silver monolith that under normal conditions would have cast this whole area into deep shadows. Old Stan’s was a four-story timber building that was barely more than two windows wide. The myriad of antennas and satellite dishes that lined its roof gleamed warmly in the bright light of the nearby UV tower, and the small lane between it and the next building was filled with overflowing bins and old men in even older chairs. I gave them a nod as they glanced my way. I had no idea who they were or why they’d sit in a refuse-filled lane, but for as long as I’d been coming to Central to steal food, there’d been old men sitting in that lane, smoking and drinking and talking.
I opened the inn’s somewhat battered blue metal door and stepped into slightly shadowed coolness. A wrinkled, gray-haired old man looked over the edge of the tablet he was reading and gave me a grin that was missing a few teeth.
“You’d be Ti Zindela, then,” he said, voice gravelly and warm.
“And you’d be Old Stan, I’m guessing,” I said, with a smile.
“I am, lass, I am.” He waved a hand toward a somewhat rickety-looking set of stairs at the back of the small entrance hall. “Your room is ready—it’s on the top floor, number 4C.”
“Thanks.”
He tossed me a key, then got back to his reading. I took the stairs two at a time; room 4C was at the rear of the building and one of two on the top floor. I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was small, consisting of little more than a bed, a washbasin and tap, and probably the smallest autocook that ever existed. I couldn’t imagine there’d be too much in the way of food options within it, but I guessed it was better than nothing. And it wasn’t like I was going to stay here very long, anyway.
Jonas leaned a shoulder against the window that looked down into the small alley, but turned as I closed the door. “Did she follow you here?”
I raised my eyebrows. “She?”
He nodded. “There was a slight feminine overtone, though her scent was extremely tenuous. You never saw her?”
I shook my head. “I did sense a presence behind me, but I never actually spotted her. Whoever it is, she’s damn good.”
Mentioning the fact my follower was probably using a sun shield certainly wasn’t an option, given very few people alive today would even know what it was.
“She was so damn good she wasn’t even visible.” His voice was flat. Suspicious, though whether it was aimed at me or not I couldn’t say. “I’d suspect magic, except for the fact I couldn’t smell it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You can smell magic?”
“Some.” His nostrils flared slightly and a slight trace of distaste briefly crossed his otherwise enigmatic expression. “Just as I can smell your friend. He has a very odd scent.”
“Sorry, but there’s not a lot I can do about that right now.” I walked across to the autocook and studied the menu. As I suspected, there wasn’t much. I opted for a cheese-and-vegetable omelet, hoping that at least with the market being so close it would be fresh, then turned to face Jonas. “Odd in what way?”
He hesitated. “He’s no vampire, and yet there are undertones of night and death in his aroma that speak of those creatures. But there’s also something else, something I can’t really place—it reminds me a little of the scent of the Others, but it’s wrapped in humanity. Which makes no sense at all.”
No, it didn’t, although it did make me wonder if perhaps the fourth figure I’d seen in Sal’s memories had been one of the Others. But if it had been, surely he and his two companions would not now be alive, not when there’d been reports of just one of the creatures taking out entire units after the war.
I thrust the question away and said, “How long were you following me last night?”
Jonas’s expression gave little away. “From the moment you and he walked out of Hedone to the moment you returned. Why?”
“Were you in the restaurant at all?”
“Yes.”
And I hadn’t even seen him, let alone sensed him. He was living up to everything I’d ever heard about the rangers—which made me even more thankful my job during the war had generally kept me away from them. “And did you sense another in that room who smelled the same as Sal?”
He frowned. “No two people can have the same scent. There are always differences, even in close-knit family units.”
Well, while that was true enough, those of us created to be lures certainly could both change our scents and match them to others’. But it was never an ability given to the grays, and I really hoped it was one of those facts Sal didn’t remember.
“I thought that, too, until last night,” I said. “I couldn’t pinpoint who the second scent belonged to because of the air-conditioning, but he or she was watching me and Sal from the moment we arrived until the moment we left.”
“Meaning someone suspects you are not who you say you are.”
“Or they suspect I might be behind the break-ins at both Deseo and that military base.”
Jonas frowned. “Why would they suspect that? You’re not even wearing the same form, and the olfactory senses of a vampire are, as far
as I’m aware, even duller than a human’s. They smell life and blood but little else. Even if that weren’t so, there is no way they could have reported your scent to anyone here in Central.”
“Except for the fact that they’re obviously working with someone here in Central.”
His gaze narrowed. “What makes you so certain of that?”
I hesitated. I needed to be very careful about what I said and what I didn’t. He was already suspicious that I was keeping information back; I didn’t need it exploding into full-blown certainty. “The fact that, when I appeared in the military bunker, one of the vamps called me ‘mistress’ and asked if I needed any help. He obviously mistook me for someone else—someone who looks very similar to the form I was wearing last night. I suspect it was the only reason they didn’t immediately attack.”
He swore softly. “You should have mentioned this to Nuri earlier.”
“I didn’t remember earlier,” I snapped back. “And what does it matter anyway? You can simply telepath the information across to her now, anyway.”
“That I can.” His smile was grim. Cold. “What else have you failed to mention?”
“Ranger, it might be wise to remember I’m not working for you and Nuri.” My voice was surprisingly soft given the anger surging within me. “I’m only doing this because I want to help those children, so don’t take that tone with me or, by Rhea, I’ll walk away and leave you milling around in uselessness.”
“And the mouse will rise, and woe betide those who oppose her,” he murmured.
I blinked. “What?”
He shrugged. “It’s a line from an old fairy tale. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before.”
“Mom was human and didn’t do shifter fairy tales.” And our handlers and educators certainly hadn’t. It had proven problematic more than once.
He gave me another of those cool smiles. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, finding whoever is interacting with the vampires won’t be easy, as I suspect they might be a shifter of some kind.”
“My type of shifter, or yours? And why would you suspect that? The vampires certainly couldn’t have told you.”