Extinction Agenda

Chapter Seventeen

The tendrils wrapped around Cole’s insides changed the experience of teleportation into something that left him dizzy. Mystic natural forces tugged at his clothes, pulled at his skin, and drew him forward like a massive intake of breath. Not only did he feel like he was falling from one temple to another, but it seemed as if something was shoving him forward even faster than anything as commonplace as inertia. The sounds he heard didn’t just assault his ears. The pulsing rhythms invaded his skull, slid against the back of his tongue and extended probing fingers beneath his clothes and rib cage to stroke his heart until his next breaths welled up and finally exploded outward into . . .

“What in the hell was that?” Waggoner shouted.

He had to shout because that was the only way to be heard over the driving beats coming from no fewer than ten towers of speakers situated strategically around the perimeter of a cavernous room. Soon, Paige staggered through the curtain as well, to grab her ears and wince.

Theirs was one of a dozen curtains, each at the edge of a large stage teeming with dancers of all shapes, sizes, colors, and states of undress. When Cole looked around at them, all of the dancers’ bodies congealed into a writhing mass of smooth, glittering flesh. There were definitely several bodies on all the stages, and he knew they weren’t combined into a single entity, but between all the writhing arms, strutting legs, and twirling hair, his eyes simply didn’t know where to start.

“I think we got fried in transit,” he said to anyone within earshot. “Because if this isn’t heaven, then I don’t want to know what is.”

Normally, when Cole felt the Dryad influence tugging at every Y chromosome in his body, he looked to Paige for support or at least a swift knock upside his head. This time even she was speechless as they were approached by a group of four girls dressed in nothing but ankle bracelets and streaks of metallic paint applied expertly to make it seem as if their skin had flaked away to reveal solid gold chassis. These women may not have been robots, but they were anything but human.

One of the dancers, a thin Hispanic nymph with a narrow upper body and perfectly rounded hips, smiled and said, “Oh my. Looks like Taylor wasn’t kidding. The new guy’s cute. Think you can keep him under control?”

“To be honest,” Cole said, “I doubt if I’ll be able to keep myself under control.”

The other three dancers consisted of a taller woman with coffee-colored skin and a full, generous figure; a petite young blonde; and a more mature blonde who seemed to have stepped out of the pages of Playboy’s golden years. The floor beneath their feet pulsed in time to the music, and the patrons occupying seats around the stage gazed up intently to see what would happen next.

Cole followed the tallest nymph toward a corner at the back of the room. It was tough taking his eyes from the swaying perfection of the Hispanic nymph’s backside, but there was plenty more to catch his attention. Women climbed poles that stretched down from the heights of a cathedral ceiling, or they crawled along horizontal bars without the slightest lapse in balance. The entire latticework glowed with colors that shot through the structure to illuminate it like pipes filled with blue and green luminescent water. Three cocktail bars were worked by six tenders, all of whom were human women, still gorgeous despite the supernatural competition around them. They smiled at the Skinners who passed, not seeming to notice the weapons strapped to their bodies or the gear they carried.

“Where the hell are we?” Cole asked.

The tall Hispanic Dryad pivoted toward him, which did nothing to break the line of her stride. “Didn’t Taylor tell you?”

“She said something about a hub.”

“There you go,” she replied with a flourishing wave toward a sign hanging above a towering wine rack made of gnarled wood. The sign looked to have been pulled from a vein of ore and crudely bent into two words: THE HUB. It was spelled out in smooth, yet rugged letters accentuated by the curving glyphs Cole had come to know as Dryad script. Now that he’d seen those markings, more of the symbols could be found etched into the walls, floor, and pillars stretching up past the poles from which several nymphs swung or twirled. If he could see the ceiling through the bank of milling steam hanging like a smoky layer of clouds, he guessed there would be markings on it as well.

Now that the smaller Hispanic nymph was closer, Cole couldn’t tell if she might actually have a Middle Eastern background. The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to learn. Being an expert in every sort of worshipping stare, she took his hand, shook it and said, “I’m Marissa. I know you’re probably a little dizzy right now, so just keep your eyes on me and we’ll take you to somewhere you can think straight.”

Since his eyes were already glued to Marissa’s swaying hips, Waggoner said, “That ain’t a problem, sweet thing.” Three of the nymphs pretended to think that was funny, as the tallest of the group cut a path through the crowd. When Waggoner was distracted from where he was walking, the younger blond nymph placed a hand on his back and kept him from walking straight into a group of businessmen. “What should I call you, honey?” he asked.

“Alyssa,” the blonde said with a smile.

The Hub was massive. Even more impressive was the amount of business it was doing. As far as Cole could tell, nearly all of the seats were filled, every stage was working to capacity, and there was plenty going on in the VIP lounges alongside the main room. The place was even big enough to have more than one climate. As he and the others were led toward the back, the air became cooler and the thumping bass lines of the music gave way to softer jazz tracks played from speakers embedded in the walls and ceiling of an insulated room.

“This is one of our private suites,” the taller Hispanic nymph said as she turned around and extended both hands to encompass the space around her. Generous curves tested the limits of her flimsy outfit and a wide smile put the Skinners at ease. The room felt like a plush cave that was insulated well enough to keep all but the lowest bass lines from seeping in. Dark red velvet lined the walls, and tastefully subdued carpeting muffled all footsteps into soft, whispering impacts. There was barely enough space for the Skinners to stand without crowding each other or bumping their shins against low, sumptuously overstuffed couches along both sides of the room. Another door, outlined in dimly glowing green neon, was at the opposite wall.

“I’m Lexi,” the tall Hispanic beauty said. “If there’s anything you need, just ask for me.”

“What we need is to get to Hungary,” Paige said.

“It’s being arranged,” Lexi replied. “Wait here and make yourselves comfortable.”

“I thought the arrangements were already made. We’re on a schedule here.”

“You’re also on our ground, Skinner,” Lexi said. “Mind your manners or we’ll mind them for you.”

Temporarily stunned by the tone in her voice, Cole moved toward the group of nymphs. He was immediately cut short by armed men who’d swarmed into the room from behind the other three girls. Although dressed in windbreakers bearing the Hub’s logo, they carried assault rifles rivaling the ordnance carried by the IRD.

“What the hell?” Paige said. “When did this shit start?”

The other blonde moved forward to directly challenge Paige. A gold one-piece swimsuit wrapped around her as if painted on by a narrow roller that had been placed on one shoulder then moved across her large breasts and over her stomach to barely cover her below the waist. Despite the lack of clothing, her eyes gleamed even brighter than the necklace that spelled the word STARR in gold letters. “It started when you took advantage of our gratitude by corrupting one of our most beloved sisters!”

“You must have us mixed up with someone else,” Cole said.

“No,” said a woman who eased past the armed men as if they were just another pair of slack-jawed customers. “They know exactly who you are, but their anger may be somewhat misdirected.”

Then Tristan, one of the leading members of the Dryad sisterhood, stepped into the room. She moved gracefully on high heels and wore her flowing chestnut hair loose over both shoulders. A flawless body sculpted from skin that begged to be caressed was wrapped in a relatively modest purple dress that gleamed like water hugging her breasts and hips to flow freely across her torso and legs. Something about her wasn’t the same, however. Her usual shine was diminished and her presence didn’t radiate the same effortless exuberance. Cole was drawn immediately to her eyes, and when she moved closer, he could tell they were now the color of moss that had never been touched by daylight.

“What happened was my choice,” Tristan announced. Since the other nymphs weren’t backing down, she approached Lexi and placed a hand on her smooth shoulder. “A choice that couldn’t have been forced upon me no matter who was asking me to make it.”

“The Skinners never stop asking,” Lexi said. “They’re never satisfied with what they’re given, and now we’ve all been corrupted.”

Waggoner shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “In case you haven’t looked outside lately, there’s a whole lot of corruption going on. From where we stand, it seems you ladies are doing better than most.”

Cole hadn’t taken his eyes off of Tristan, which had nothing to do with the beauty that still made every other beautiful thing in the world pale by comparison. She was one of the first supernatural beings Cole had met who hadn’t tried to kill him. He didn’t exactly swap greeting cards with the Dryad, but there was a connection between them similar to the one between a boy and the experienced older woman who’d lovingly given him one hell of a first time. “What’s the matter?” he asked her earnestly.

His tone, more than the words themselves, had an effect on Tristan. Her exterior crumbled just enough for him to see how much work was required to keep it in place. “Everyone,” she said with supreme authority, “leave us.”

“Who stays?” one of the armed guards asked.

“Cole and Paige,” Tristan told him. “Everyone else can move into the next room. There’s food there,” she said to Waggoner in a less severe tone. “Help yourself. If you’re going as far as you say you are, you’ll need all the nutrition you can get.”

After several affirming nods were passed between those concerned, the nymphs escorted Waggoner through a door at the opposite side of the room.

“The one with the beard seems new to the game,” Tristan mused as they left.

“That’s Waggoner,” Paige said. “He’s still wet behind the ears but stood up for me and a whole lot of people when things went to hell in Atoka.” She waited for the other two to sit down before making herself comfortable next to Cole on one of the couches.

“I heard about your home in Chicago burning down,” Tristan said. “That’s terrible.”

“What were those other girls talking about when they said you were corrupted?” Cole asked. “That is, if they were talking about you.”

“They were,” Tristan said with a single nod. “I was glad to help you in Atoka when the Breaking Moon rose, but I told you there would be a cost. I had to tap into darker energies, such as fear, hate, and rage.” When she said those words, her eyes took on an accusatory glint that was aimed at both Skinners. “There’s a reason we don’t use those energies. They change us.”

“But you’ll get better, right?” Cole asked. “I mean, you can’t have been the first Dryad to do something like that.”

“Definitely not. The only problem is that this sort of corruption makes us into something that isn’t Dryad. Human legends are filled with my kind as well as theirs. We are known as muses, mermaids, and sprites, while those others are commonly known as hags, cannibals, and . . .”

“Witches,” Paige said.

Tristan nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. The sight of her purposely dimming her own light made Cole feel ashamed for asking her to go through the ordeal. It had been necessary, but that didn’t take anything away from the burden he now felt.

“The reason I detained you here isn’t to make you feel guilty,” Tristan explained. “And it’s not to show you what you’ve done to me. It’s to explain that your actions have consequences. Sometimes, I wonder if Skinners fully appreciate that.”

“Believe me,” Paige said, “we know plenty about consequences.”

“Can you know how the actions of every Skinner before you have impacted the world in which we live?”

Picking up on the new edge in her voice, Cole said, “I’ve only been doing this for a year or two . . . maybe more.” Images of his time as a Skinner rushed through his mind in a flash, leaving him feeling older than before they’d arrived. “I may not know a lot, but I know we’re not trying to leave anything worse than it was before we got there. It wasn’t even our choice for all of this crap to go public. Paige and I did our best to keep people thinking werewolves and vampires were just hoaxes and perverts trolling the Internet.”

“I know you mean well,” Tristan said as a patient smile eased across her face. “I also know you are trying to do good. That’s why I’ve agreed to help you as much as I have, even when it meant sacrificing a part of myself that I may never regain.” She shifted on the overstuffed cushions, drawing her legs in close. “I’m referring to all Skinner activity. The animals you kill have a place in our world. When too many of one species are lost, another takes its place. If one predator falls, another fills the gap. If no other predators fill the gap, more of the smaller creatures emerge.”

“Yeah, like Chupacabra,” Cole grunted. “I’ve still got the scars from those little bastards. The gargoyles seem to have gone back into hibernation for the winter, though.”

“You killed a Full Blood during the Breaking Moon,” Tristan continued. “Another will rise to take his place, just as one arose to fill the void left by Henry.”

“So what should we do?” Paige asked. “Just let them all go about their business so they can wipe us out?”

“It’s too late for that, I know,” Tristan said. “But you have to know that you cannot continue dealing with each individual fire that is started. You either need to commit yourselves to the larger struggle or step back and let the fires burn.”

Reflexively lowering her voice, Paige told her, “That’s why we’re going to Hungary. The Amriany are about to have the same problems we have here. For all we know, they may have already started.”

“Yes, things are just as bad there as they are here,” Tristan mused. “The Travelers have always been better at keeping things quiet. Why Hungary? Is that just where you intend on meeting the Amriany?”

“I thought Milosh and Nadya were based in the Czech Republic,” Paige said. “But they said they wanted to meet us in Hungary.”

“Do you know why?”

“Not yet,” Cole said, “but you do. Isn’t that right?” Seeing the guarded expression on Tristan’s face, he leaned toward her and ignored the tension he sensed from the armed guard that had remained posted near the door. “Does this have something to do with Chuna?”

Slowly, Tristan nodded.

“Chuna is one of the Mist Born,” Paige said. “That’s what Taylor told us. We don’t even know what that means. So far, a lot of this seems like just a bunch of disconnected pieces.”

“And yet you know well enough to leave the place where it seems you’re needed the most, so you can find the meaning to this particular piece?”

Knowing he was speaking for both of them, Cole said, “There’s really not a lot else for us to do.”

“Sure there is,” Tristan said. “You could keep chopping Half Breeds into pulp like the Army. You could follow the Nymar’s lead and sit in buildings purchased at a significant discount from frightened owners who are only thinking of surviving for one more day or are too enraptured to refuse the pittance they were given. You could even draw yourselves into a heavily armed cult with strongholds in three different cities like your fellow Skinners.”

“You mean the Vigilant?”

Tristan nodded.

Paige kept her voice level and quiet, so as not to further upset the guard, when she asked, “The Vigilant have strongholds in more than one city?”

“Yes,” Tristan replied, looking as if she was fully aware of the bomb she was dropping. “Three. At least, those are the ones I know about. The Vigilant have been trying to capture my sisters much like Jonah Lancroft did. As far as I can tell, it’s for the same reason. They want use of our temples as well as a fresh supply of Memory Water.”

Suddenly, Cole’s head snapped up and he drew in a quick breath.

“I’m sorry, Cole,” Tristan said. “But Memory Water won’t help rid you of the tendrils inside of you. Otherwise I would have offered you some when I helped get that spore out of you.”

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “It kept Jonah Lancroft alive for a couple hundred years, but it won’t help me? Why?” He’d already bared himself, he thought, so the least he could get was an answer to his question.

“Lancroft was a monster,” Tristan said. “Do you even know what’s involved in making Memory Water?”

“No, but it can’t be too bad or you’d never make it at all. Right?”

“We can collect it,” Tristan said. “I won’t get into the particulars, but it’s a process that has become a sacred ritual among my sisterhood. To speed up the ritual involves torturing my kind and wringing the very essence of our soul from the fabric of our bodies. If Memory Water could help you, I would have gladly given you what little I can spare. It restores the physical body to a point in the past when it was more vital. Youth can be granted. Mortal lives, as you already know, can be extended for centuries.” Focusing on Cole, she added, “You may think of it as bringing your body to its default setting.”

There was something undeniably sweet about hearing Tristan put things into geek terms for him.

“But,” she continued, “it only affects you, and that thing inside you isn’t actually a part of you. Memory Water could revitalize your body to a point before that spore was injected, but that doesn’t mean the tendrils would be erased. You’d be revitalized and the tendrils would remain, just like clothes or jewelry or any other foreign thing attached or wrapped around you.”

“Couldn’t we give it a shot?” Paige asked.

“If we had any Memory Water on hand, perhaps,” Tristan replied. “But most of our reserves were plundered by Jonah Lancroft, and the rest have been stolen from us by his followers.”

Cole sat bolt upright. “The Vigilant have attacked you?”

“Not me, personally, and I haven’t heard of any of my sisters that were taken. Lancroft must have passed on the location of our hidden stores, because those were looted within months after the Nymar rose to—” She blinked and looked around at the two Skinners. “Well . . . you know what happened.”

“No need to worry about manners,” Paige said. “A little salt in that wound really doesn’t matter anymore. As far as Cole goes, do you think there might be anything at all the Memory Water could do for him if you could make some changes?”

She shook her head. “It’s not a formula we can tweak. It is what it is. My sisters and I have been hunted by Nymar since they decided to dwell within human bodies. Obviously, we don’t have much cause to find ways to help ease their pain. Not that we wouldn’t if there was a way, but . . .”

“But you’d be dead the moment you got close enough to try,” Cole said. “I get it.”

“We could help your arm, though,” Tristan said to Paige. “Why didn’t you drink the Memory Water I gave you when you were hunting Lancroft before?”

“I needed it for other things,” Paige told her. “Besides, Skinners need to learn from their mistakes, and there’s not a lot to learn by just erasing them and starting clean.” Looking to Cole, she added, “We can deal with our wounds. Just because we’re hurt doesn’t mean we’re . . .” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “ . . . broken. Can Memory Water cure a Half Breed?”

Tristan’s expression clouded over, leaving no doubt in Cole’s mind that she’d witnessed a Breaking firsthand when she said, “No. Something about that change is deeper than anything I’ve ever seen. A human is no longer human after they become a Half Breed, and drinking the Water only brings them back to the earliest point in their life as a Half Breed. The only thing worse than seeing them broken once is watching a human live through it a second time. I will never subject another living thing to that kind of torture.”

“What about a Full Blood?” Cole asked. “They can go back and forth. Randolph and Liam talk as if they’ve been around forever and were never anything but Full Bloods.”

“Right,” Paige said. “Which means bringing them back to square one won’t make a lot of difference.”

Cole shrugged. “Could it bring them back to how they were before the Breaking Moon?”

For the first time since the conversation began, Tristan didn’t hold herself as if every part of her ached. There was a glimmer in her eyes again. Though it wasn’t quite the same as the nights when she’d been twirling on stage, that it was there at all brightened the atmosphere in the room. “I . . . don’t know. We’ve never had a reason to try anything like that.”

“The Full Bloods aren’t after you, are they?” Paige asked.

“Not as such, but they don’t hold us in high regard. Things were just never the same between our kind after I sent the Full Blood elder Gorren from a forest in Romania to our temple in Antarctica.” Seeing the expression on the Skinners’ faces, she waved it off and said, “Long story. If you want to try Memory Water on a Full Blood, you’ll have to capture one yourselves.”

“That may not be as tough as you think,” Cole said. “But what if there was a way to get that stuff to all of them at once?”

“You mean through the Torva’ox?” Tristan asked.

“Could Chuna help us with that?”

“I don’t know that either. These aren’t exactly the sort of things anyone has ever considered doing before.”

“But can they be done?” Cole asked as he scooted to the edge of his seat so he could use his hands while speaking. “We’ve got a Jekhibar, which can hold the Torva’ox. From what Taylor said back in Louisville, this Chuna guy or woman or whatever can help us do even more with it. What was she talking about?”

“Everything within the earth passes through Chuna,” Tristan said.

Paige winced. “That sounds kind of gross.”

“Chuna is a Mist Born,” she continued. “Their existence is real, but most of them don’t choose to interact with other beings. Some say they are the only true sentient forces of nature.” Since Cole looked like he was ready to start jumping in anticipation, she held him back with a single outstretched hand. “That doesn’t mean Chuna is the answer. The Amriany are thought to have more knowledge of Chuna, just like your Dr. Lancroft had knowledge of Kawosa. According to legend, the Torva’ox flows from Chuna’s veins. Like all legends, this may be exaggerated. But every legend connects Chuna to the Torva’ox. If any of the Mist Born would know about that power, be able to manipulate it or anything else along those lines, it is Chuna.”

“So,” Cole sighed, “we just need to find him . . . or her.”

“Finding Chuna may be next to impossible,” Tristan told him. “And you cannot just speak to a Mist Born. They are powerful creatures, dangerous beyond your comprehension. I believe they grew tired of dealing with humans simply because your minds were too flimsy to bear the weight of the meeting.”

“I met Clint Eastwood once at a press event back when I was with Digital Dreamers,” Cole said fondly. “It was kind of like that.”

Knowing when it was better to just ignore him, Paige said, “We’re meeting up with some Amriany friends of ours. They’ve worked with the Jekhibar and they’re on good terms with the rest of their clan, so we’ll see what they can tell us about Chuna. In the meantime, though, the Full Bloods are able to turn humans into Half Breeds with nothing more than a howl at some special frequency or . . . I don’t even know how they’re doing it.”

“They are reaching through the Torva’ox,” Tristan said. “Although humans only draw a small bit of that life force, it’s enough of a connection for the Full Bloods to reach through and break them.”

“This wasn’t the first Breaking Moon to rise,” Cole said. “Why didn’t this all happen before?”

“Because the Full Bloods didn’t have the help of a Mist Born. Kawosa created the first Half Breeds and now he strives to perfect the recipe. Perhaps it’s his way of making sure he has more soldiers on the field than anyone else. Heaven help us all if one of the Full Bloods is truly able to steer the wretches.”

“Memory Water is the only thing I know of that has a chance of taking that power away from the Full Bloods,” Paige said. “Maybe then Kawosa will be willing to go back to the way things were.”

“Or he could just back off and watch the fighting,” Cole said. “He seems to enjoy dealing with humans and shapeshifters, so at least we can take our chances with him. Either way, it’s dealing with one threat instead of . . . however many Full Bloods there are.”

Tristan sighed. “Even one Mist Born may be more than enough to make these days even darker, but at least it’s a course of action with some promise. Since you’re talking about a plan that requires Memory Water, I’ll be busy enough just collecting more than what it would take to fill a thimble. When I have more than that, I’ll let you know.”

“All right, then,” Paige said. “What about getting us to Hungary? Think you’ve got enough juice stored up in this place to pull that off?”

Tristan nodded and struggled to get off the couch. She seemed frailer than ever as she motioned toward the guards. “If you intend on manipulating the Torva’ox as well as tracking down a Mist Born, then I don’t doubt your intentions are still good.”

“About what happened to you,” Cole said, “all I can say is, I’m sorry. That seems so useless, but it’s all I’ve got.”

The Dryad touched his cheek and smiled. “It’s more than enough. I just needed to make sure you mean to take aggressive action to put an end to this madness instead of doing anything that might contribute to it.”

Paige smirked and helped the Dryad to her feet. “Aggressive action is what we’re all about. Any chance we can get something to eat before we leave?”

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Tristan said. “It may take some time to make contact with the other temple, so why don’t you all get some sleep in one of our executive suites?” She whispered a few short sentences to the guard. By the time she was through, the big, armed man looked more like a guide and less like an executioner. “You can walk through there to an elevator that will take you to the next floor.”

“Next floor?” Cole marveled. “Just how tall is this purple A-frame anyway?”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Tristan said in a voice that sounded every bit as tired as she looked, “there are many preparations to make.” The Dryad walked back to the door that opened into the main room. Along the way, she straightened up and pulled her shoulders back to give her more of a regal posture. That simple transition made her look like a goddess. The gray pallor was still in her skin, and there was a definite lack of energy in her stride, but it didn’t take away from the reaction she got when reintroducing herself to the room full of overeager mortals waving money at the rest of the nymphs.

“She’s still got it,” Cole said as he moved close to the door that was held open, so he could watch Tristan’s exit. Then, when Waggoner was escorted to the same spot, the trio of Skinners entered a room that was a smaller version of the VIP lounge, complete with a small wet bar in one corner, a pair of love seats upholstered in luxurious velvet, and a single pole extending from the ceiling like a perfectly symmetrical stalactite.

“What’s the plan?” Waggoner asked.

“She’s gonna help us,” Paige replied, “but it’s going to take some time to arrange for transport.”

“All the way to Hungary?”

“Yep.”

A soft ding drifted through the room, and part of a glyph-encrusted wall slid aside to reveal what looked to be a dimly illuminated space just a bit smaller than a car used to carry freight to the upper floors of a warehouse. “Step into the elevator,” one of the guards said. “It’ll take you to a private suite.”

One of the guards had already reached inside to push a button that was camouflaged by the swirling designs on the elevator walls. The glyphs were everywhere. Cole saw symbols flashing with subdued light that could easily be mistaken as a reflection off shiny paint, but he knew better. Every temple was made to harness and focus the energies drawn from human emotion, and the glyphs were the arteries that carried the flow to wherever it needed to go. He could feel the power thrumming beneath his feet and pressing against him like a ghostly dancer grinding against his body.

Waggoner and Paige were closest, so they were the first to pile in. Almost immediately they stopped, their backs blocking the door. Paige was a few steps ahead of him, but Cole was already close enough to see the cool glow coming from the interior of the elevator. Lights flashed and some blinked in quick succession as if to mesmerize the passengers within the elevator.

“Move it,” Cole grunted. “I’m hungry.”

The instant he stepped inside the elevator, his breath was dragged from his lungs.

The car was made of thick glass, inlaid with Dryad markings trapped between transparent layers like ripples frozen into ice. Beyond the glass, a magnificently discombobulated city lay sprawled beneath and around them. The Statue of Liberty and Eiffel Tower lay nestled between massive glittering buildings, mammoth fountains, and spotlights that exploded from a street bustling with cars and people. When Cole looked down, he saw the side of the building to which the elevator was attached. It was shimmering purple Plexiglas that sloped to a pinnacle several stories over his head.

“Been a while since I been to Vegas,” Waggoner said. “Never fails to impress.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Paige told him. “We won’t be staying long.”

“Aw come on,” Cole gasped. “This looks like the closest thing to business as usual that we’ve seen in months. There’s actually more than three people on that street!”

Waggoner laughed and shifted his weight. “It’d take a lot more than the werewolf apocalypse to shut Vegas down. Gotta love it.”