Wrong Side Of Dead (26 page)

He clicked again, and a photo of that particular site blinked onto the wall. It was a four-story white-walled cement block building, at least a hundred yards long and
no telling how wide. It butted right up to the river, its visible wall dropping straight to the water below. A few remnants of the old pier remained. I mentally checked it off my list. Too stable; none of the rocking motion that Token had mentioned.

“Waylander’s size and location make it our most likely target,” Baylor continued. “It has a large parking lot around it, and no neighboring buildings currently in use. Second possibility, just north of Waylander’s, is Snyder’s Marina.” I perked up as he switched images. I knew that area, had hunted there a few times my first year in the Triads.

The Marina had been carved out of a natural curve in the river. It had eight piers, six slips each, and a boat-house anchoring it onshore. According to people who knew and cared about local history, it had been a busy place for locals who wanted to go out on the river to fish or simply putter around in their shiny new boats. Until about forty years ago, when pollution kept fish away from this length of the Black River and the Marina closed.

The current satellite image showed a boat boneyard—speedboats, small yachts, some pontoon boats, even a few fishing boats. Nothing seemed singularly large enough to house dozens of Halfies and a couple of kidnapped Therians.

“South of Waylander’s is the third possible target, the old Black River Ferry port.”

As soon as the photo appeared, a mental lightbulb went off in my mind. Until the Wharton Street Bridge was completed some sixty-odd years ago, the only way to cross the Black River from the north was via the ferry system. Three boats were in operation at its peak—two passenger and one freight. Each boat had three levels, excluding the upper deck and lower engine deck. The pier-level deck on the passenger boats held up to forty
vehicles and up to five hundred foot passengers, all interior except for the aft and stern balconies. The freight ferry ran for about a decade after the passenger lines shut down, but now all three boats were permanently anchored at the old port. Someone tried briefly to turn the port into a museum, but the project quickly fizzled. One boat had been refurbished into a seafood restaurant for a couple of years, but nothing ever stuck because it was in the middle of a mostly abandoned industrial portion of the city that just didn’t draw the traffic needed to sustain any real business.

It was absolutely perfect.

“Daytime isn’t ideal for recon, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch,” Astrid said. “We’ll get as close as we can with surveillance equipment on land, but meanwhile I have some volunteers from the Pinnia Clan reconning by river.”

I glanced around the room, and sure enough most of the human faces wore the same question mark mine had to display. Baylor coughed softly.

Astrid puckered her lips, not thrilled with letting another bit of information slip out. “Their true forms are seals. They should be able to move undetected.”

Were-seals. Okeydokey. One more of the fourteen Clans whose name I finally knew. For as much as the Assembly preached cooperation, they still liked to keep some things to themselves.

“I want four teams prepped and ready to go in thirty minutes,” she continued. “Three are tactical advance teams, one outfitted and briefed for each specific target. The fourth team is backup for whoever strikes gold. Marcus will remain and run Operations here. Myself, Phineas, and Baylor will lead the three advance teams. Kismet will lead the backup team.

“Volunteers?”

Except for Rufus, everyone in the room had a hand up.
A small niggle of pride warmed my chest to see humans and Therians coming together over this crisis—not something I ever expected to see just a few weeks ago.

Astrid’s mouth twitched. “Good. I’ll have team assignments in five minutes.”

I met Phin’s gaze from across the room, those bright blue eyes staring holes in my head. He mouthed the word “ferry.”

I nodded.

Time to get his family back.

The crowd broke up, most of them wandering out of Operations to wait in the hall. I cornered Baylor after the majority of them had left. “What did you get from the family lawyer?” I asked.

His intense frown soured even more. “Nothing Astrid wanted to share with everyone quite yet.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Zeigler’s estate was managed by Johnson and Crown, one of the oldest established law firms in the city. Only two partners, but they handle a lot of the wealthiest families, and their associates are hand-picked, usually with connections. Including the junior associate assigned upkeep on Zeigler’s house, who went over once a week to water the houseplants, monitor lawn care, and collect the mail. And apparently knew that seven teenage werewolves were living there, because that would be damned hard to miss.”

Wow. “Who is this guy?”

“Her name is Edwina Fair.”

“Seriously?” It was the most ridiculous name I’d ever heard. Okay, maybe not ever, but it definitely ranked.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t the reason why Baylor looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon, though. “And?”

He glanced at the few people lingering in the room,
then plucked a folder off the conference table. Took out a glossy photo. “Meet Edwina Fair.” Handed it to me.

The first thing I saw was the sparkling blue eyes. Past the eyes, thick spirals of sunset red hair. A beautiful, toothy smile. A chill danced down my spine; gooseflesh crawled across the backs of my legs and shoulders. I knew this woman. I’d spoken to her several times, always in the guise of another.

Edwina Fair was the human avatar of Amalie, Queen of the sprites and leader of the Fey Council. She’d given refuge to me and Wyatt once. She’d opened her home to us, told us secrets about First Break and the doorway her people protected. She helped create the Triads ten years ago. She gave werewolves to Walter Thackery.

She was once our ally, and now we had indisputable proof that she’d been working against us the whole fucking time.

Our team was ready to go in twenty minutes. Destination: Black River Ferry port. Phineas, myself, Tybalt, Kyle, Shelby, and Paul Ryan on the assault team. I wasn’t sure how I felt about working with Paul again, but he’d been an asset earlier in the day when we found Jenner’s body. He was, despite my best efforts, growing on me. I tried to get Jackson into our group so he’d be there to fight for his mate, but Astrid overruled the request. I guess she didn’t want everyone who was personally involved on the same team.

I’d been hunting at the ferry port twice in my career, Tybalt three times. All had been tips about goblin activity, rather than Halfies, and it occurred to me on the drive to the river that overall goblin activity had been negligible lately. We’d seen very little from them since the battle at Olsmill almost three months ago. I didn’t
want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it worried me a little. Goblins were not subtle creatures.

Each of us humans was loaded down with more weapons than I was used to carrying into a single fight. Two guns each, one primary and one backup. Four clips of bullets: two regular and two of a new variety tipped with an infusion of garlic and onion oil. The latter wouldn’t bother the Lupa much, but they’d be painful as hell on the Halfies—like shooting them up with poison. Our access to anticoagulant rounds was diminished after the destruction of the lab at Boot Camp. The oil-tips were our first collaboration with the vampires on an effective weapon against their kind.

The fact that Isleen suggested the bullet never failed to astonish me all over again.

We also had a variety of other weapons, depending on our comfort levels. Tybalt had a scary blade attachment on his prosthetic hand. I had three serrated hunting knives strapped to various parts of my body, as well as a pair of silver chopsticks in my ponytail. Paul favored brass knuckles and an aluminum baseball bat. He had apparently developed a fondness for whacking his victims with solid objects.

Kyle and Shelby had only a single gun each, which they’d likely pass off to one of us when they shifted into their true forms. I’d never seen Shelby shift, and knowing he was a polar bear made me a little eager to witness the Halfies’ reactions when they first saw him.

Phin, of course, had his Coni blade loosely belted to his waist.

We had a handful of photos to study, as well as Historical Society literature that came with a handy map of the port. The Terminal Station has a chain-link fence built around it to prevent vandalism (in theory), but no security measures were in place around the weed-strewn parking lot. A single cement and steel dock jutted out
from shore, directly in front of the Terminal Station, its aluminum roof with the same faded blue paint as the ferries themselves. All three were anchored in a row—one south of the dock, and two north.

Astrid’s orders to all assault teams were to get into position no closer than one block from our target, create a tentative plan of attack, and then wait. As soon as Marcus got word from the Pinnia scouts, he’d pass along anything of relevance and we’d go from there. Thackery could be at only one of the three potential targets, and we needed to be ready to move on all of them. Even though I’d wager my handy healing powers on him being at the ferry terminal.

Kyle was driving our SUV through the city. Paul rode shotgun, and Phin and I took over the middle two seats, with Tybalt and Shelby in the rear. Mercy’s Lot gave way to the industrial section that lined the east bank of the Black River. Cheap apartment buildings gave way to businesses and storage facilities. A block from our destination, Kyle found an alley between two crumbling brick structures, one of which had once been a fire company station, and parked.

“The ferries are almost completely enclosed except for the lower car deck,” I said. “Seal the windows on the upper levels and he’d have a lot of space to work with.”

“Agreed,” Phin said.

“Could he be on more than one ferry?” Tybalt asked.

“Unless he found a way to travel between them underwater, I’m doubtful. The Terminal is abandoned, but still within sight of a street and intersection.”

“What about this sheltered area?” I said, pointing at the covered pier between the ferry on the south and the two on the north. “If he’s in the boats on either side, he could use that awning as cover to move between them. Plus they have the most direct access to land.”

Phin nodded. “So they are our most likely targets.”

Paul shifted around in the front passenger seat. “You two are really convinced that Thackery’s got the Halfies here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Phin and I said in stereo.

“This isn’t you letting personal bullshit affect your judgment?”

Phin deferred that one to me, and I just shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe, but I learned a long time ago to trust my instincts on stuff like this.”

“Baylor thinks they’re at Waylander.”

“And it could be, if one of Thackery’s little science projects hadn’t told me he felt movement like water where he was held,” I said.

Paul frowned. “You didn’t share that?”

“Then we wouldn’t have been the first ones here.”

He opened his mouth as if about to object, then snapped it shut. His lips twitched into a half smile. “So if they’re on two boats, how do we go in?”

I glanced at Phin, sure that he was thinking the same thing as I was—we both wanted to hit the boat with the Therians first. As soon as Thackery realized he was being breached, he was likely to kill them all. The man had taken a nosedive off the crazy board weeks ago, and I wouldn’t put anything past him now.

“I can get onboard in my true form,” Phin said. “I’m small enough. Once I know which boat is holding my people, we’ll be better able to formulate a plan.”

“Thackery’s going to have scouts watching land and air,” I said. “And he’ll make sure they know what an osprey looks like.”

He gave me a slow, deliberate blink, then reached over the backseat for a duffel bag. Rummaged around inside until he produced a can of black spray paint. “They may not notice me if I don’t look like an osprey.”

Tybalt chuckled. “That’s fucking genius.”

“Spray paint?” I took the can from Phin like I’d never seen one before. “You want me to spray-paint you?”

“Yes,” Phin said.

“Black?”

“Yes.”

“Okeydokey.” A bizarre thought occurred to me. “If I spray-paint your feathers, will you still be painted when you shift back?”

He started to answer, then paused with his mouth open. Blinked. “I have no idea. But if it gets me onboard, I don’t care.”

“Good enough.”

“So we aren’t waiting for information from the Pinnia?” Tybalt asked.

“Why bother?” Kyle said, adding to the conversation for the first time. His lover was out there somewhere; I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind as he turned his intense gaze on Phin. “I trust your instincts.”

“I’m in,” Paul said.

“Okay, then,” I said. “Phin gets onboard, figures out where to find the Therians, comes back to tell us, and we go from there.”

“If we confirm this target before Astrid hears from the Pinnia scouts,” Phin said, “we’ll inform the other teams before we move in.”

“Right.” We’d need all the muscle we could get, depending on—“And try to get a rough estimate of how many Halfies we’re looking at.”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s do this.”

The fact that Phin reeked of fresh paint didn’t strike me as a concern until he was in the air and on his way toward the ferry terminal. Feathers glistening black, he was the only hooked-beak raven in existence, and I couldn’t rid myself of the ridiculous image of his human form with black paint streaks all over it. If nothing else, it was something to occupy myself with while we waited for him to return. Or for Astrid to officially declare a target.

Either one, as long as something happened soon.

Kyle twisted around in the front seat to face rear, his expression pinched. Someone he loved was out there, hoping for rescue, and I waited patiently for his accusations—that Lynn was targeted because of Kyle’s connection to me, and this was all my fault. Standard fare, really. Anyone in my orbit was fair game for inclusion in the violent insanity of my afterlife.