“Where are you right now?” That doesn’t sound like me. That sounds like a man with something dry and hard stuck in his voice. A man who’s just had the wind taken out of him. It took every iota of control he still possessed to keep the phone to his ear. This must be what it feels like to have a heart attack.
“We’re on Middleston Boulevard. Willie’s got a net up—”
“I’m going in,” Josiah heard himself say.
“Wait for us.” Hassan’s tone was soft and hoarse. “Come on, Wolfe. Just ten minutes.”
Oh, no. I am not going to be that reasonable. They have Anna. “No. She’s in there now, I’m going in. When you get here, just follow the screaming.” He hit the end-call button and Hassan’s protest was cut off.
Josiah hurled the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a sound too small to be satisfying. The nocs dropped from his hand, and he scooped up the messenger bag, settling it so the strap lay diagonally across his body. The plastic explosive wasn’t very heavy, but he had plenty of ammo. There were more clips on the belt he buckled on, shrugging his jacket over both bag and belt. He tested the clips of the first two guns, and opened the window. Cold air smashed his face. The back of his neck crawled, and he found he was sweating.
Anna.
God alone knew what they were going to do to her. To his connection to the real world. The only thing that had ever made Josiah feel alive, as if he mattered.
As if he was real, himself.
Go do it, Josiah. Do what you were made for. Do what you have to.
Whatever happened, he was going to make them pay. Afterward…
Worry about afterward when you’re clear of this mess. Now get in there and kill someone, Josiah. Put them down quick and hard.
It was time to do some damage.
* * *
The guard perimeter was laughably amateur. Josiah simply came out of the shadows and took both of them, one with a quick twist to break the neck and the other with a knife to the kidneys, pulling back on the man’s hair to expose a pale slice of throat. The blade went in with little resistance and came out just as easily. He stepped free of arterial spray and glided up the steps, the terrain map standing out clear and sharp inside his head.
It was like every other liquidation. Except this one had an extraction at its center, a beating heart.
Anna.
His brain jagged to the side, came back. Can’t afford to lose focus. The back door didn’t have just outside guards. If he was running security, he’d have plenty of them inside, covering the hall and fire angles.
Just how amateurish are they? He glanced up, and decided there might be a better way to get in.
“Wait,” someone breathed in his ear, and Josiah spun aside, the knife coming up in a sweet solid arc, sinking in with a sound like an axe splitting soft wood.
Kit eyed him for a moment, his eyes half-lidded and carrion breath exhaling in Josiah’s face. The bite on Josiah’s throat gave a hot agonized pulse.
The knife had passed right through Kit’s mutilated left hand, stopped only by the crossguard. Josiah braced himself.
Kit smiled broadly, exposing all his teeth. His canines were long and deadly sharp, touching his bruise-colored lower lip, dyed dark purple by the dim gleam of the lone streetlight standing sentry on Bremont, the street running parallel to Morris. The band of scarring on his throat and the track marks on his bare fish-belly arms—the sleeves had been torn off his T-shirt—writhed madly, flush and fat.
Those dark eyes lit with hellfire, a sickly greenish glow building in the pupils. Every hair on Josiah’s body stood straight up. He recognized the creature.
This thing…It’s a predator.
Not only did Josiah recognize it, but he also found out something that made his entire body into a block of ice.
He understood the creature, too. They were, in some mad way, completely identical.
Kit’s right hand reached down, the index finger and thumb squirming in ways no human finger was designed for, curving into Josiah’s hip pocket. He fished out the ring, its heavy black cabochon glittering with the same greenish foxfire as the thing’s eyes. The high curved claws holding the gem—an onyx, or some other black glassy stone—were of no creature that existed on earth.
The ring had been in Eric’s apartment, the best find of the day. In the very first place Anna had listed in her careful schoolgirl handwriting—all Josiah’d had to do was drag a chair under the tinkling antique chandelier in the living room and reach up, sensitive fingertips finding a circle of bitter metal ice.
“This,” Kit said softly, his mouth having small trouble with the sibilants, “is mine, canny one.”
The ring clicked against the knife’s hilt as he wrapped the ruined stubs of his right hand around Josiah’s. One sharp movement and the knife slid free, black blood painting its blade. More blood welled before the hole in his hand closed itself, the hurt healing over.
A painless, hot pang of nausea bolted through Josiah, passed away. He stared. I am just standing here on the steps. The door’s right there. If there’s more of a security net I’m in deep fucking trouble.
Kit’s grin widened. The bite had turned hard, a knob of infection under the skin. “There were six others. You would have killed them soon enough. Inside, there are more.” He let go of Josiah and lifted his left hand. Slid the ring onto his second finger and let out a sigh of consummation, a very human sound made terrifying by the utter inhumanity of his ruined face topped with long greasy-black dreadlocks.
“Anna’s in there.” Josiah’s voice didn’t come out quite right. It was a harsh croak. The only thing more frightening than understanding the predator was the fact that he didn’t see much wrong with standing here and talking to it. “They have her.”
“Then we shall retrieve her. She does seem to wander, this fair Anne of yours.” Kit’s face flushed, a sparkle creeping into his gaze. He was looking better every second. “Perhaps you should keep a closer watch.”
Shut the fuck up. She’s been in there too long. “I have enough plastique to blow this place sky-high. Let’s go.”
“I shall go first. Their bullets cannot harm me.” Kit blinked, a quick reptilian movement, and the cold grin spreading over his flushing face as felt familiar as Josiah’s own. “Come, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
She actually saw stars, bright speckles in the flood of sterile whiteness. The slap rocked her head back, her wounded cheek burning with fresh scalding pain. Handcuffs jingled against the back of the chair, and the harsh light from the lamp glared in her eyes.
“You’ll talk.” The stocky, dark-haired one they called Denton sounded like oil poured onto freezing concrete. The name sounded familiar, from Eric’s files, but he didn’t seem like anyone Anna wanted to know. “Stubborn little bitch, you will.”
Her mouth held a thin scrim of blood, the blood that had led them to her. If she tried, could she taste Eric in the coppery salt? The gaunt, feverish man Willie had seen outside in the parking lot had somehow tracked Anna, somehow smelled her, and she shuddered whenever she’d brushed against him on the bumpy van ride back to the city. They thought it was funny, especially Denton, laughing at her flinching whenever he twitched—and whenever he made that mewling little noise in the back of his throat, like a kitten crying to be fed.
His eyes, dusty darkness twitching in their sockets, reminded her of Kit’s. And all the laughter didn’t help.
A long van ride back to the city, her arms aching because her wrists were tied behind her back; Willie’s eyes closed as her lips moved silently, Hassan working his hands against each other to try to get free. Each time one of their captors found him doing so, they hit him, and each time they hit him Anna shut her eyes. They kept saying nasty things about Willie, too, just like douchebags catcalling on a city street.
They had no doubt killed Hassan and Willie by now. It was her fault, for calling Josiah and getting them involved.
These men had brought her
here, to East Morris Street, and that meant she was going to die as well. She wasn’t naïve enough to think they’d dragged her here just to beat her up a little bit.
Not anymore.
Josiah. He’s out there somewhere. Going to get himself killed, too. I shouldn’t have called him.
Another slap smashed against her face, and someone made a small avid sound. Pounding her wasn’t working, despite the fact that her face was on fire and her stomach hurt, runnels of nausea working up her esophagus, burning. How soon would it be before they came up with something worse?
She could think of much worse.
Your imagination just works too goddamn well, Annie. Her brother’s voice, tight with pain inside her head, like the time he’d broken his arm and she’d read Winnie the Pooh to him all through long rainy afternoons while he was in bed because Mom was afraid if he moved he’d break something else.…
Eric wouldn’t talk, so these men—or their flunkies—had killed him. They kept asking her questions, and hitting her.
She kept her mouth tightly shut.
“Is this necessary?” Another anonymous male voice. With the light shining in her eyes, she couldn’t tell where it came from. The light bored into her, smashed past her eyelids, laid her bare. Her wrists ached, and her swollen ankle pressed heavily against the inside of her boot; both boots were handcuffed to the chair legs. Her back cramped so hard she gasped.
“She knows where it is. This is necessary. Unless you want to end up like Johnson.” Fingers slid into her hair, pulled painfully, her head tipping back. A trickle of liquid slid down her upper lip, matching the hot blood painting one side of her face. Her stomach gurgled with molten lead. The oily-sounding man had punched her more than twice, right in the gut. Hard.
Knows where what is? The files, or Kit?
Don’t tell them a damn thing, Anna. Eric wouldn’t, so you won’t either.
The thought was like flotsam to a shipwreck victim. She clung to it. Her teeth had cut the inside of her mouth. Blood slid hot and slick down the back of her throat, full of copper.
The atmosphere inside the small room tensed, cold and strained. Anna knew there was a bed in here, with a high iron headboard; she’d glimpsed it when they dragged her in. With the hot light in her eyes, she couldn’t tell how many men there were.
Oh, God.
The bed’s head and footboard both had straps dangling from them. Some of the restraints looked ragged, as if the tough leather had been chewed.
Had Eric somehow snuck into this cellar, and freed Kit? Her wrists rubbed together, yet more blood painting the handcuffs as they jangled.
“Did you hear that?” Yet another man. He sounded worried. “Gunfire. This isn’t what I signed up for.”
“Fucking pussy.” The oily man’s hot fingers cupped her face, one hand still tangled in her hair. “You wanted to live forever, you stinking son of a bitch, it takes a little work. Make yourself useful, and come take a turn. The troops will handle it.”
“So far the troops have done jackshit, Denton.” This voice Anna knew. It was Mayor Marshall, his rich baritone strained and worn raw, not smooth as a campaign ad. “You didn’t tell us they turned to dust when you hit ’em. They couldn’t even bring this bitch in without getting the whole goddamn city in an uproar. What else haven’t you told us?”
“You should have come to us when it escaped.” A whining, sawtooth voice. “You should have come right out and told us.”
“What would have happened if I did? You’d have all turned into goddamn candyass pansies sooner, and we never would have gotten any work done. We can handle this. We’re in control here, goddammit.”
You don’t sound like you’re too in control to me. Gunfire? She strained her ears. I don’t hear anything.
Her heart leapt inside her chest. Josiah. Oh, God.
The oily man yanked up on her hair, and a small betraying sound wrung its way out of her. “Just like your fucking brother,” Denton whispered in her ear. “He begged, bitch. He broke down and begged once the boys started working on him.”
Fury filled her, a hot flood of stinging anguish mixing with the rage.
Anna’s teeth ground together. Her wrists worked fruitlessly at the slicing-tight handcuffs. She pitched to one side, hoping to throw him off balance, do something, but he yanked her hair again and cupped her throat, his fingers sinking in. The chair didn’t move.
Pressure mounted behind her eyeballs, her throat almost blocked, breath whistling past the obstruction. Not enough air.
“I think she needs softening up.” The only thing worse than the menace in his tone was the cheerfulness. “Do you like the sound of that, little bitch? The bed’s right there.”
More silence, and Anna heard a faint chattering sound. It wasn’t her teeth. It was bullets in the distance. Everything inside her contracted, leaving her body behind.
Please. Oh, God, please. Not that.
“You are fucking crazy,” another man said, in a wondering, thoughtful tone. “You are absolutely fucking insane.”
“I’m not insane. I’m a visionary.” Denton laughed. The sound was a madman’s cackle. “And I think she just needs a little time to get to know us. Then she’ll tell us where the goddamn thing is.”
“Uh, Denton? The noise is getting closer.” This voice was from farther away, and Anna could sense them drawing back.
All except for the man with his hand digging into her neck. It was hard to breathe, and it only got harder when his other hand slid out of her hair and clasped around her throat as well, tensing. “It doesn’t matter. The door’s locked both inside and out. I’ve got the only key. The troops will handle it.”
The pressure behind her eyeballs got worse. So did the burning need to breathe. Oh, Jesus. The thought wasn’t even a prayer, more an inarticulate moan. The chair was bolted to the floor; there was no way she could move it. Still, she had to do something. Anything.
Bite him? Maybe I could. Can’t kick, my feet are strapped down. Think. Do something.
“I’ll tell you,” she whispered, her cracked lips framing the words with difficulty. “He’s hiding. I’ll tell you where.”
Silence reigned for a full twenty seconds, ticking through the room as gunfire echoed in sharp spatters. She clung to consciousness by a thread.
The hands around her throat eased. “You’d better make it quick.” Denton’s tone was almost intimate.
Blessed, scorching-cold air hit her raw throat. “I’m not stupid.” She licked her lips, wished she couldn’t taste fresh blood every time she swallowed. “If I tell you now you’ll kill me. I’ll take you there. In a car.” Keep him talking, Anna. It’s your only chance.
“You think I’m stupid, you nosy little cunt?” He pulled her hair again, sharply. “Where is it? The thing. The creature.”
I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a person. But if he’s a murdering psycho right now I wonder how much you have to do with it. “So neither of us is stupid.” Mexican standoff? No, they have me tied to a chair and any moment they’re going to hit me again. The light glared in her eyes, even when she shut them. If she lived, would she be blind?
The sound of gunfire abruptly ceased. Somebody gasped, another let out a whispered curse.
“That’s enough, Denton.” Mayor Marshall spoke up. “This has gone too far.”
There was a click behind her—a metallic sound, one she’d heard too many times recently.
Someone was messing with a gun.
“I say when it’s gone too far, Ed.” Denton’s tone was utterly calm, ruthless, and so flat it could give Kit’s sibilant whisper a run for its money in scariness.
Sweat trickled down Anna’s back, soaking into her shirt. He’s going to shoot me. He’s behind me with a gun. Fruitless thrashing was getting her nowhere; there was nothing she could do. The handcuffs jingled as she hunched her shoulders instinctively, the body’s dumb need to get away, understanding it was in danger.
A massive impact thudded ag
ainst the door, as if a bulldozer had rammed it at full speed. Anna screamed, and someone else did, too, their voices harmonizing with freakish beauty for a brief moment. Another huge sound, metal tearing and screeching, and impossibly quickly, a third. Clatters. Falling scraps of metal. Anna blinked against the light in her face, hunching as far as she could, straining her ears, the back of her head alive with a crawling sensation. Where was the gun?
The voice that spoke out of the sterile white light was slightly off, as if he spoke with something in his mouth. Something long, and sharp, and deadly. “Did you hear me knocking? Knocking at your chamber door?” An edge of mad glee rode the words. “Did you?”
Denton yelled. The lamp hit the floor, glass tinkling into shivering bits, and died. Anna’s breath came hard and harsh as her wrists rubbed, slick with blood, trying to slip her hands out of the cuffs. Metal bit mercilessly, fresh hot liquid welling from her wrists as a chorus of screaming bounced off the concrete walls. The ghost of the lamp spread false blue and gold fireworks in the pitch darkness, and she heard wet ripping sounds interspersed with the screams. Other sounds crashed into the darkness. Gulps, like someone taking long drafts of soda on a long hot summer day. A sizzling sound, like bacon frying. The sharp bangs of a gun, its muzzle flashing in the absolute dark. The stink of bullets. A chip of something flicked past her face, stinging her unwounded cheek.
She struggled and kicked, the rattling of handcuffs against the metal chair adding to the cacophony. Someone was screaming, hoarse and broken, and she hoped it wasn’t her.
Then the screaming stopped. More silence, the blackness absolute as the bottom of a well. Except for Anna’s breathing, deep sobbing breaths as she thrashed against the bonds. Please, no. Please no, turn the lights on please, please God no—
Something touched her arms. Anna screamed again, hoarsely. A quick movement and her hands were suddenly free, the bracelets of the cuffs sliding down her forearms. Almost immediately after, her ankles were torn free, metal squealing as it snapped. Vise-grips at her shoulders, hauling her up.