Wrong Side Of Dead (24 page)

Fuck no!

If Blackie got into the van, we’d lose them again. I pushed harder, desperate.

The Lupa in the back of the van shoved a large black-wrapped bundle onto the sidewalk—a bundle the size of a person. Blackie leapt over the bundle and into the van, which tore away from the curb before he was fully inside. Rubber squealed and exhaust plumed.

“Get the plate number!” I screamed as loudly as I could, given my severe lack of oxygen.

Paul raced past me. I fell to my hands and knees near the bundle, panting and sucking air into my starved lungs. Sweat dripped into my eyes and down my back, and I was mildly grateful I’d managed only a few bites of dry pancake at breakfast, or I’d probably be chucking it back up right about now.

The black sheet was bound with bungee cords. No damp spots indicated blood or wounds. Absolutely no movement—whoever was inside wasn’t breathing.

Still trying to control my own erratic lung functions, I chose the end of the bundle that looked most like a head and unsnapped the first bungee. Unwound it far enough to begin pulling back the sheet. Wide, empty eyes stared up at me from a too-pale, too-familiar face. I choked.

Something was tucked into his mouth. I pulled it out with trembling fingers and unfolded a handwritten note.

Rage coursed through me stronger and more bitter than any adrenaline rush. Tears stung my eyes and closed my throat.

“Stone?” Paul came up behind me, breathing hard. “Holy shit, is that—?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he dead?”

I nodded, numbly reaching for my phone. Fumbled it twice before I managed to speed dial. Didn’t even know who until someone picked up.

“Kismet.” When I didn’t speak right away, she asked, “Stone? You there?”

“We need a car on, uh …” I had no idea where we were.

“840 Palmer Drive,” Paul said.

“On the eight-hundred block of Palmer Drive, Uptown.”

“What happened?” Kismet asked.

“Thackery sent us a message. Michael Jenner is dead.”

Sitting on a well-manicured lawn behind a trio of ornamentally cut trees with the dead body of a friend baking in the summer sun served as the perfect reminder of why I resented my afterlife. Jenner was a tall guy. Paul and I were not. Between the two of us, we had barely managed to drag the black-wrapped bundle off the sidewalk and into the yard next door.

We didn’t speak. After my initial call to Kismet, I turned the phone on vibrate and ignored it. Help was on the way. All that was left to do was wait and grieve.

The first car nearly overshot our position. Paul stood up and waved, and the car came to a brake-burning halt. All four doors opened simultaneously. Astrid, Marcus, Tybalt, and Kyle climbed out. Marcus still wore the walking cast, but he showed no sign of a limp from his wound. A thundercloud of fury hung over him, shared equally by Astrid and Kyle. Jenner had been one of theirs.

“What about the lockdown?” I asked dumbly, curious
as to their appearance. I’d expected the Assembly to send someone outside the Watchtower to collect Jenner.

“Baylor and I overrode the decision,” Astrid said. “The Assembly is convening an emergency session in half an hour to discuss what’s to be done.”

Marcus crouched next to Jenner’s head and lifted the drape. He winced, then frowned.

“What’s to be done?” I parroted, confused now.

Astrid glared. “Yes, done. Kidnapping Clan members was bad enough, but the cold-blooded murder of the Assembly’s Speaker may be considered an act of war. If that determination is made, retribution will be required.”

Just like with the Sunset Terrace slaughter. For the deaths of his people, Phineas had asked the Assembly for the execution of former Handler Rufus St. James, who’d led the devastating raid. Only some complicated maneuvering had saved Rufus’s life all those months ago.

“Retribution from Thackery?” I said. “Get in line.”

“I don’t think you understand, Stone. Thackery may be acting alone, but he also acts in the supposed best interest of preserving his race. The human race. Murdering Michael Jenner was more than just a personal act of war against Therians. It was a human act against Therians.”

My heart thudded. I glanced at Tybalt, who looked as miserable as I felt. “So you’re saying that Walter Thackery might have just declared war for all humans against Therians?”

“According to our ancient traditions, yes.” Astrid looked less happy about it than Tybalt. “And if the Equi Elder demands immediate recompense, we must follow the wishes of the Assembly.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Tybalt asked.

“It means revenge,” Marcus said. He stood, letting the black sheet fall back over Jenner’s face. “It means Elder Dannu can make any request he likes, and if the
Assembly casts a majority vote, his people are obligated to carry it out and we cannot interfere.”

A chill danced up my spine. “So if the Assembly votes to let the Equi execute ten humans in retaliation for Jenner’s death?” I asked.

“Then ten humans will die by Equi hands.”

“Fuck.”

“Have you examined the body thoroughly?”

“No.”

“Judging by the skin tone and lack of settling, I’m guessing he died of massive blood loss.”

The Halfies. Shit
. “Did you see—?”

“There were no visible bite marks, but Dr. Vansis will have to examine him to be certain.”

“So Thackery’s pissed we killed a couple of his werewolves,” Tybalt said, “and he feeds the most valuable of his kidnapped Therians to his Halfies. That’s our working theory?”

There were so many things wrong with that scenario, I didn’t know where to start. It was as ludicrous as it was perfectly logical. We’d fucked with Thackery’s plan, and now he was fucking with us.

“That’s the theory,” Astrid said. “And it makes sense, given what we know of Walter Thackery. Such an act of aggression may, depending on what the Assembly decides, break the fragile alliance we have created between humans and Therians.”

“And with the vampires busy trying to fight this new illness,” Marcus said, “our Watch is effectively divided.”

“Not yet it isn’t,” I said with a sharp shake of my head. “How long does it usually take the Assembly to make a decision on something like this?”

“It depends on the situation and how the Elders are likely to view it. The Equi are greatly respected, and Elder Dannu’s words will hold great power among the others. Eight votes are a majority.”

“So are we talking days? Hours?”

“Given the fact that other Clan members disappeared at the same time as Jenner, hours is optimistic.”

Damn
. “We aren’t sure yet how Jenner died. The Assembly still has to rule on the Equi’s request, and we don’t even know what that will be, right?”

“Correct.”

“We also know the Lupa live around here somewhere, and considering what just happened, they’re probably not coming back. But if we get some noses out here, maybe we can find the house and some sort of lead.”

Kyle, who’d been completely silent until that moment, spoke up. “I’ll volunteer for that. My true form is a dingo. On first glance, most humans assume I’m some mixed mutt.”

Dingoes were beautiful animals, and I’d seen Kyle’s true form once. Thick golden fur with a dusting of white on the paws and chest, and an intelligent face. He did look a bit like a mix between a golden retriever and an Akita.

“Good,” Astrid said. “Check in every fifteen minutes.”

“Will do.” Kyle didn’t waste a beat. He started to strip.

“Marcus and I can assist on foot. I don’t think a pair of big cats will go unnoticed on these streets.”

I grunted. “What about—?”

Before I could voice my question, a utility van pulled up behind Astrid’s car. Two Therians I knew by sight, if not by name, got out.

“They’ll take Jenner back to the Watchtower,” Astrid said.

“I need to get across town to meet with the gremlins soon,” I said.

“Take the car. And them.” She pointed individually at Paul and Tybalt.

“Fine.”

Kyle trotted into the middle of the group and shook
himself, his golden coat gleaming in the morning sun, and then snorted. His way of saying he was ready to go. Astrid conferred with the newest pair of Therians. Afterward, she tossed me a set of car keys.

“Be careful,” she said.

“You, too,” I replied. “And I’m sorry about Jenner. He was a good man.”

She gave me a long, assessing look. “Yes, he was.”

Kyle whined softly. At first, I thought it was impatience—a theory laid to rest as soon as I looked at him, facing north, nose in the air. He sniffed with purpose, then turned his head and whined at Astrid, seeming to ask
Do you smell that?
I didn’t.

“Something’s burning,” Marcus said.

Oh hell
.

With my deadline looming to meet the gremlin, I got an update on the fire about fifteen minutes later via a phone call from Marcus. Tybalt was driving, and doing an impressive job in rush hour traffic with his prosthetic hand. I put the phone on speaker so I didn’t have to repeat the conversation.

“House was one block up, two over from that old lady you talked to earlier,” Marcus reported. The faint sounds of raised voices and sirens still hummed over the line. “The fire was going so hot and hard, it nearly took out a neighbor’s house. All the fire department can do is control its burn.”

“Do we have any information on who owns it?” I asked.

“Yes, and it wasn’t on your list. You’ll never guess, so I won’t even ask you to try.”

Thank God for small favors. I wasn’t in the mood for guessing games; I doubted anyone else was, either.

“Winston Zeigler,” he said.

The name seemed familiar, yet I couldn’t place it. Paul saved me from looking like an idiot by asking, “Who’s that?”

“Former head of the biology department at the university.”

Of course he was. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “He was there at the same time as Thackery.”

“Bingo.”

“How the hell did Reilly miss that connection?”

“He didn’t. Zeigler’s name wasn’t on the deed. It was his late wife’s family home and under her maiden name, so unless Reilly dug extra deep on all the homes, he wouldn’t have found it.”

Good. It saved me having to rip him a new one for the oversight. “How’d you find it?”

Marcus made a huffing sound that might have been laughter. “Reilly’s a PI, but he’s only been in the city a few months. My sources are still better.”

“So Winston Zeigler is our only lead?” Tybalt asked.

“At the moment, yes, but it isn’t a great one.”

“How’s that?”

“Astrid already called the university. Mr. Zeigler quit his position—”

“Three and a half years ago?” I said.

“Yes. He was diagnosed with a rare kind of cancer, and even with treatment he was given just a few years to live. He told colleagues he inherited a bit of money from a recently deceased relative”—

“I just bet.”

—“and wanted to travel the world before he died.”

“So Zeigler is living out his last days on a cruise ship somewhere, while an old pal uses his house to raise werewolves.”

“It seems so.”

“Which means Zeigler is a dead end?”

“Not entirely. Someone was likely put in charge of maintaining the home while Zeigler’s out of the country. Astrid and I are going to pay a visit to the family lawyer and see what they have to say.”

It was something—way better than the big fat nothing
we’d had just a few minutes ago. “Hey,” I said, “any news on Autumn and Sandburg?”

The pause made my heart sink. “Sandburg will be fine. Autumn’s hanging on. Dr. Vansis has done all he can.”

“They’re not infected?”

“By the Lupa? No. Their bite has never been known to affect other Therians.”

I expelled a deep breath, glad for that bit of clarification. “Okay, thanks.”

We arrived at the old factory site a few minutes later. Police tape hung in tattered shreds across the main parking lot. The rubble was mostly gone. Only a blackened steel skeleton remained. Tybalt parked a few yards from the side entrance and idled there. He glanced at me, one eyebrow arched high.

I mirrored his expression, remembering the last time we’d both been at this particular location and the explosion that had decimated the structure.

“Okay,” Paul said from the back, “what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” we said in stereo.

“Wait here,” I added.

The air reeked of char and oil. I navigated an archipelago of water-filled potholes, reasonably sure I wasn’t being watched. Hunters often gain an overdeveloped sense of paranoia, and mine was quiet. Thackery had been one step ahead of us all night long. Maybe luck was on our side this time.

Reasonably sure that the two steel pillars I stood near had once been the side entrance, I turned in a slow circle. The lot was quiet, with no immediate sign of the gremlin that I was here to meet.

So I was mildly startled when it emerged from the other side of a support beam clutching some folded paper in its hand. It crawled on all fours, body slunk low to the ground. Gremlins didn’t much like daylight, and it probably
felt exposed coming out like this. I allowed it to approach me.

It dropped the folded paper at my feet, then inched backward until it found a shadow to melt into. I snatched the paper. Unfolded a drawing of a squiggly Y with a couple of dots here and there. No, not a Y … the rivers. Three red dots littered the area that was probably Mercy’s Lot. A single black dot was very, very close to our current position.

I turned the drawing around. “Explain?”

The gremlin pointed a gnarled, clawed finger at the paper. “Red. Many infected. Black. Animal men.”

“Animal men?”
What the holy hell did—?

“Prisoners.”

My heart slammed against my chest. “Shape-shifters? Therians? There are Therian prisoners at the black dot?”

It took a moment to process my words. “Yes.”