Winter Halo

  I silently—carefully—pulled off my boots and attached them to the spare hooks on my pants, then padded forward lightly. The stone floor was cold, but better that than the guard hearing my combat-heavy footsteps. Both the corps and the rangers might have learned the art of walking with little sound, but it wasn’t something I’d ever needed.

  As I neared the guard, his gaze narrowed and his gun swung toward me. I held still, not daring to breathe. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deeper breath and I knew in that instant he’d sensed me.

  I fired. There was nothing else I could do—not when his finger was curling around the trigger. As the bullet tore through his brain, I darted forward, grabbing his rifle first, then a fistful of shirt to ease him gently to the floor.

  I had a couple of minutes, if that, before his men realized something was wrong and returned.

  I slipped through the open doorway and into the next room. The light here was sun-bright and I quickly drew it around me to strengthen the shield. The room held little more than a series of light panels and a couple of chairs. Two heavily armed guards stood near the barred exit; there was a security panel next to the guy on the right—one that was both a fingerprint and an iris scanner. The two guards had their weapons drawn, though neither showed any awareness of my presence or the fact that someone now lay dead in the room beyond.

  My gaze went back to the scanner. My only way out of here was to get past both it and the guards. And finesse wasn’t an option—not when every instinct I had was warning that time was fast running out. I flipped the rifle so that I was holding it by the barrel rather than the butt, then stepped closer and swung it as hard as I could. As the first guard went down I spun and kicked the other in the nuts. He doubled over instantly, clutching himself. I swung the rifle again, and he went down like a sack of potatoes.

  I hooked the weapon around my shoulders, then grabbed the smaller of the two men and hauled him toward the scanner. I slapped his right hand against the screen and then, once it had registered, shoved his face against the iris scanner and forced a lid open. The scanner did its work and the gate opened.

  But I didn’t go through it. Instead, I wrapped my fingers around the guard’s wrist and opened the floodgates on my seeking skills. The question that needed answering was simple—how the hell did I get out of this place?

  Images flooded my mind and one thing quickly became apparent—leaving wasn’t going to be easy. The whole place was locked down with scanners. Short of cutting off the guard’s hand and stealing his eyeball, I was stuck. I frowned and dug deeper; learned that there were two emergency exits—one on this side of the building, and one on the other. Thankfully, both were ordinary exits, unfettered by security apparatus.

  Sound whispered across the stillness. I glanced at the other room. I couldn’t see anyone, but they were close, so very close.

  I rose and ran through the gate. But as I did, blue light flashed and an alarm went off, the sound strident. The damn thing had been equipped with a body mass scanner, and because I hadn’t matched the guard’s registered details, the alarm had gone off.

  There was nothing I could do now but run. I pounded down the bright hall, heading for the stairs I’d seen in the guard’s mind, the slap of my feet against the flooring echoing softly. There was little point in being quiet now—the corps knew I was out here.

  More guards appeared at the far end of the corridor. Between them and me was the exit I was looking for. I increased my pace, giving it everything I had. The guards stopped and raised their weapons. They might not be able to see me, but they could hear me.

  I swore and lunged for the door. There was a sharp blast of noise, and a heartbeat later bullets rained all around me, pinging off the floors, the walls, and into my skin. I thrust the door open and all but dove through it. But I wasn’t safe yet—far from it. I rolled to my feet and ran up the stairs. There was no other choice; I was already at basement level. But I wasn’t aiming for the ground floor, as I had no doubt there’d now be a whole lot more than body scanners awaiting in the main exits out of this place now. My only hope of escape was the roof.

  Blood began dripping from the wounds on my arms and legs—wounds I couldn’t even feel thanks to the adrenaline coursing through my body—leaving a trail behind me that would be too easy to follow. It didn’t matter; nothing did but getting to the very top of this building.

  I raced up the steps, my gaze on the levels high above me. One level down, then two, then three; at least five more to go . . .

  Down at the basement, the exit door crashed back against the wall and men flowed into the stairwell. Time was rapidly running out.

  I reached for everything I had and raced on. The stairwell became a blur of concrete and light, the level indicators unreadable.

  Two more floors down, then three, four, and finally five . . . the exit door was locked. I slid to a stop, skinning my feet on the hard concrete, and pulled the rifle free. Two shots took the lock out. I raised a bloody foot and kicked the door open. UV light flooded into the stairwell, its touch warm, welcoming.

  But I had no time to enjoy it. The guards were only a few floors below me now.

  I raced out. The rooftop was filled with lights and photovoltaic cells, a metal forest that wouldn’t do much to hide me in my current condition. I swung left, heading for the building’s parapet, and saw the green of trees beyond it. And knew, without a doubt, where I was.

  Government House.

  The place where the ruling council met and where most of them had offices.

  And Sal’s partners had a direct line into it.

  That was information Nuri wasn’t going to be pleased to hear—not that she would hear it if I didn’t get off this building and lose both the corps and the guards.

  I wove through the forest of equipment, taking an indirect route to the edge of the building in the vague hope that such a path would at least gain me some time. But I didn’t leap over the edge—even I couldn’t survive an eight-level drop. Not in this form and there was no way I could change to the other. Not when my strength was draining as fast as the blood down my limbs.

  I stopped, yanked my boots free, and slapped them on. The only chance I had was not leaving a bloody trail for everyone to follow.

  My pursuers had reached the roof; even now they were fanning across it, some following the bloody trail, others ensuring that I could not slip past them.

  It was tempting to immediately run—every part of me was quivering to do just that—but it would be pointless given the amount of blood I was losing. I tore open the medipac, pulled out the sealant, and sprayed the worst of the wounds—the ones responsible for leaving the trail. It hurt like a bitch and the nerve endings that had been dormant until now sprang joyously to life. I gritted my teeth against the pain, slapped a bloody hand against the parapet to ensure I left a print, then tossed the empty sealant container over the side. As it tumbled toward the pavement, I walked on, following the parapet around to the left edge. While I wasn’t overly familiar with this part of Central, I knew the buildings along this section of Victory had even tougher height restrictions than those enforced on Second Street. Which meant both Government House and the long white buildings on either side of it were all the same height.

  There was a walkway between the next roof and me—a canyon that might be only three meters wide but one that seemed a whole lot more right now in my weakened state. I edged back a couple of steps, then took a deep breath and ran. My leap was high but not quite long enough, and I barely caught the edge of the other building. For several seconds I simply hung there by my fingertips, my body screaming in pain, my lungs burning, and a red mist beginning to form in front of my eyes.

  A whisper of sound—a soft footstep—from the other building got me moving again. I somehow hauled myself over the edge and rolled onto the other side, where I wasted several more minutes sucking in air and trying
to ignore the pain.

  “See anything?” a somewhat metallic voice said.

  “No, Captain,” a woman replied. “No indication of blood on this side, either.”

  “You and Vince stay there, but watch your back. Whatever magic this woman is using to disappear can’t last much longer. Especially given the blood loss.”

  “Righto.”

  So they thought I was using magic rather than a light shield to remain invisible, which was at least something, though it was unlikely Sal’s partners would be fooled. And that would undoubtedly mean they’d intensify the security both here and at Winter Halo.

  I released the shield, then rolled onto my hands and knees and crawled away. The parapet was giving me cover and I needed to conserve every scrap of energy I could. This roof, like the rest of them in the city, was a metal forest of equipment. The heat and electricity rolling off them quickly dried the blood on my skin and clothes, but even so, there was no way I could enter either Victory or First Street as broken and bloody as I was. I had to find somewhere safe to heal as well as clothes to steal, and I wasn’t going to achieve either of those aims here.

  I followed the edge of the building around until I reached the next one. A huge sat dish now prevented the two guards who’d been stationed on this side of Government House from sighting me, and a quick glance over at the next roof told me it was empty.

  I gathered the ragged ends of my strength together and formed another sun shield. This time the motes of light were slower in responding, but they did at least respond. I slid over the dividing wall and ran—hobbled—toward the stair entrance. It was locked. I cursed and moved on to the next building—the stairwell door there was also locked.

  But the next one wasn’t.

  I entered it gratefully and limped down the stairs as carefully as I was able. I had no idea where I was, but if I didn’t find somewhere to recover soon I’d be in trouble. Two flights down I found an entrance into the building. I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and twisted it. Relief flooded through me when the damn thing opened.

  The corridor beyond was filled with a harsh white light and people moving back and forth. There were far too many to risk entering; the sun shield might stop them seeing me, but it wouldn’t stop them feeling me if they ran into me—and with so many people about, that was a distinct possibility.

  I carefully closed the door and continued down, but the story was the same on the following three floors. The next one was the lobby level according to the sign. Hoping like hell Rhea gave me a break, I cracked open the door and looked out. There were plenty of people in the foyer beyond, but it was also a vast space, leaving me lots of room to move. Unfortunately, the exits were monitored not only by guards, but by body scanners—not surprising given this place, whatever it was, was still close to Government House.

  But I had no choice now. It was either go out there or risk repairing myself in this stairwell—and even if I did, I’d still be left with the problem of getting out.

  I sucked the sun shield as close to my body as I dared, then slipped out and tucked in behind a silver-suited, dark-skinned gentleman striding toward the exit scanners. The guards nodded as he approached, suggesting he was well-known to them. He stopped, placed his briefcase in a tub, and then stepped through the scanner. I was one step behind him. The scanners—predictably—went off.

  The guard stepped forward and politely wrapped a hand around the stranger’s arm. “Sorry about this, my lord, but I’m going to have to ask you to step this way so I can do a personal scan.”

  My lord? Even in this part of Central, there were very few people who could claim such a title. Both the royal family and most of the ruling families had been wiped out during the war. As far as I knew, there were only three families left who could still use the lord moniker, though I couldn’t actually name them. This man had to belong to one of them, though, even if he was a shifter rather than human.

  I hesitated, glancing at the door, knowing I had to escape while I still could. But the part of me that was a seeker stirred, and the need to see his face rose. I moved around. His hair was close cropped, his eyes as dark as his skin, and his nose rather reminded me of a bird’s beak. It certainly dominated his otherwise unremarkable features. He wasn’t someone I knew, but that wasn’t surprising. Nuri probably would, though.

  I spun and followed a cluster of people out the door. No more alarms went off. I was free.

  The relief that swept me was so intense my knees threatened to buckle. But while I was free of the building, I wasn’t entirely out of trouble. I needed to find fresh clothes and I needed to heal myself, and I had to do both before my energy ran out and the shield dissipated.

  Up the street, the blue-suited corps officers were running toward the buildings on either side of Government House. They’d obviously figured out what I’d done.

  I spun and headed left, but the sudden movement left me feeling light-headed. It was a warning I dared not ignore. I limped down Victory Street, heading toward the curtain wall. While I didn’t know much about this section of the city, I knew there’d more than likely be upmarket clothing stores near where First and Second Streets intersected Victory. I might not have enough money to purchase items in such places, but I could certainly steal them.

  Which was exactly what I did in the first place I came across.

  With that done, I paused and once again looked around. Several doors down was a small, rather ornate-looking apartment building. The gentry were moving in and out of it at a dignified pace, making it easy for me to tuck in behind one of them. Although there were both hand and iris scanners, the doors themselves weren’t equipped with sensors, so no alarms went off. I hesitated again inside the foyer but soon found the perfect target—a young man who seemed to have had a few too many drinks. I followed his stumbling steps into the lift and then into his apartment, and watched as he stripped and all but fell to bed. He was out of it in minutes flat.

  I heaved a sigh of relief and released the light shield. The combination of fatigue, pain, and blood loss had reached a point where my body was ready to give out. But I couldn’t let go yet. I staggered through the combined living and bedroom area to what appeared to be the only separate room in the place—the bathroom. By the time I’d stripped off what remained of my clothes and tossed them down the laundry chute, I was on the point of collapse. I stepped into the shower pod and let the combination of hot air and water wash the blood and dirt from my body. It didn’t make me feel any better, but at least I was cleaner. I peeked out the door to check on my unknowing host; his snores were deep and loud, giving every indication he wouldn’t wake up for several hours, at least.

  I settled onto the warm tiles and began the deep-breathing exercises that would sink me into the healing state. Thanks to my sheer exhaustion, it took a while, but it eventually happened.

  I have no idea how long it took, but when I eventually climbed back to full consciousness, there was still a cacophony of noise coming from the other room. I stood and scanned my body in the mirror opposite. My skin was free of wounds; only the one on my wrist—an old wound caused by the vampires ripping through my body when I’d been shadowed—remained. Obviously, the atoms that had been torn away couldn’t fully be replaced. I guessed I had to be thankful they hadn’t hit somewhere more obvious.

  I hadn’t really taken much notice of the clothes I’d stolen—size and shape hardly mattered when I could change either at will—and they turned out to be a larger fit than my natural size. I shifted shape so it matched what was on my RFID chip, changed my scent to a softer, sweeter one, then slipped on the silvery blue, corsetlike top and the soft, swirly skirt. Charles, I thought, with an amused glance at the mirror, would certainly approve—especially the corset portion of the outfit, given it revealed an impressive amount of breast.

  I slipped on the sandals, then carefully opened the door again. My host was still sle
eping, but the snores had eased off—probably because he was now sleeping on his side rather than his back. I padded across the room and hit the button to open the door. He stirred, but I was out in the corridor and heading for the lift long before he woke. If he was waking, that is.

  I strode back out into the street and then hesitated. High above, the night skies were giving way to flags of pink and gold, which meant the drawbridge would still be locked down for the night. There was an inordinate number of people about given the early hour, and many of the shops were open. The corps and the guards were also still out, and they appeared to be checking everyone’s IDs.

  It was tempting to swing right and head down the nearest cross street, but that might not be the best move right now. I had no doubt the corps were active throughout the city, and while it was unlikely they’d check the ID of every single person living in this place, they really didn’t have to. Not when they had hound shifters within the corps.

  I scanned the street a final time, spotted an open café a few doors down, and walked over. A silver-clad, silver-haired woman greeted me serenely and showed me to a table near the window, then handed me a menu once I was seated. The prices, I noted wryly, were a tad higher than those on Twelfth Street. But then, I was undoubtedly paying for location as much as for the plush and comfortable surrounds.

  I ordered bacon and eggs on toast, as well as black coffee, then leaned on my arms and watched the proceedings up the street. The corps had reached the retail sector and were moving from building to building; in each case, two men remained outside while two others went in. It didn’t take them long to reach the café. Tension wound through me as they stepped inside, but I forced myself to ignore them and relax, and smiled up at the hostess as she brought my meal over.

  The two corps officers moved to the back of the café, one of them stepping into the kitchen, the other remaining outside. His gaze swept the room and his nostrils flared. Hound, I thought, momentarily meeting his gaze and giving him a brief smile. He didn’t return it.