Night Shift

Chapter Twenty-three

Harp shook her head. "I don't believe it. It's not possible."

What's that Sherlock Holmes thing about the impossible? "It's only a theory." I gulped another mouthful of scorching amber alcohol. The smell of chicken frying wafted under the green oily curtain of rain and the ozone of lightning strikes. "You've got to admit, it fits better than anything else we've got. It also explains why Navoshtay's hot to trot out here and drag her home personally. I hear he's big into experimentation."

We were at the breakfast bar. Saul moved around the kitchen, each step graceful as a dance. He'd shed his coat, and I tried not to watch the movement of muscle under his black T-shirt.

Harp knocked back her glass of Jim Beam and frowned into the dregs. "Experimentation." She shuddered, mussed feathers quivering in her glossy hair. "Someone should kill that son of a bitch."

Yeah, someone should. But right now he's further down on my list than you'd think. "It's been tried. Several times. Not very successfully, I might add."

"Why is he experimenting? And for what? A hybrid? Assuming that's even possible, genetically speaking." Dominic set his beer down, stretched his hands out with fingers interlaced, stretching. His ponytail lay tame against his neck, raveling down his back now that it was free of the leather thongs.

"There's legends about Were females raped by 'breed." My mouth felt dry and clumsy, even mentioning it. "It could be Navoshtay's looking to find the truth of those legends."

"There is no truth to them." Harp moved, a sudden sharp twitch like an irritated cat. "Besides, we're human. They're not."

"Still…" Dominic drummed his fingers on the counter, thoughtfully. "Navoshtay's a sadist. Who knows what his real reason is for this… experiment? Assuming it is one, and we're not just going down the garden path."

"Who knows why hellbreed do anything?" I muttered, staring into my glass. My eyes weren't focusing properly. Exhaustion weighed down every limb.

"Hunters." Harp didn't sound mollified. If anything, she was sharper than ever.

If we knew that much, we wouldn't have people vanishing into the nightside. "Even the best hunter can only make an educated guess, Harp. Don't ride me." I reined in the flare of irritation. She didn't mean a word of it, she was just frustrated and probably as tired as me.

That got through to her. She sighed, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. I could smell the sharp iron-tang of dissatisfaction mixed with her peppery female musk. "I'm sorry. I just… we had him, and he slipped through our fingers. More people are going to die, and all I can do is sit around and wait. ?

"A rogue Were runs on instinct. He shouldn't be this hard to predict or catch." Saul set a plate in front of me, and another in front of Harp. "Eat, both of you. Don't sharpen your claws on each other, they'll wear down."

I stared at the wheel of food in front of me. Fried chicken, new potatoes with rosemary, a small mountain of greens, and actual biscuits. I could smell the iron in the greens, craving waking up behind my palate. I'd lost a lot of blood.

Dominic made a small sound of pleasure as Saul handed him a plate.

Everyone blessedly shut up, which gave me a moment to think. We've got a rogue who isn't behaving, really, like a rogue should. We have a hellbreed covering his tracks and trying like hell to keep him away from Navoshtay—not that I blame her. I wouldn't want my worst enemy trapped in one of Arkady's games.

Well, maybe Perry. That would be nice, and I would sleep a whole hell of a lot better. The colors on the plate blurred together as my eyes narrowed, both of them trying to pierce through time and matter to find the pattern, catch the rhythm and anticipate my opponent's next move.

Opponent? No. Prey.

Still, something was bothering me.

You're doing my father's dirty work… He's mine. Odd words for a hellbreed. Clarke swore she was pregnant, and swore he had it on good authority.

Pregnant with what? Another one of her father's experiments? Dark stories were whispered about Navoshtay, even darker than usual horror tales hunters like to swap. Most hunters are men, and love to bullshit endlessly over brewskis.

Stories about New York's oldest hellbreed were always whispered, though. Even Mikhail had referred to him as "one scary motherfucker, milaya." Nobody wanted to talk much about Navoshtay. I was frankly surprised Clarke had called me back so soon.

If there's something a hunter won't talk directly about, you know it's bad news. Something a hunter won't mention unless it's daylight and the doors are bolted is the worst news around.

Pregnant with what?

Do I really want to know?

And who lured me down to Galina's, and why? Why is Navoshtay here to pick up his bastard daughter himself? And last but certainly not least, why is she protecting the Were? That's what she's doing. It's the only way her actions make any shit-for-sense. The kaleidoscope of events shifted this way and that as I tried to figure out what the pattern was—or even where the blank parts in the pattern fell enough to give me a glimpse of the underlying cause of this whole huge mess.

Saul's voice broke my trance. "Jill? You don't like it?"

"Huh?" I surfaced, blinking irritably. My skin crawled with sweat, the residue of rain, and dried blood. I suddenly wanted a hot shower and a long uninterrupted thinking-session.

"I thought you'd probably like the chicken." He leaned on the counter, his dark eyes level with mine because he was bending down, hunching his broad shoulders. The silver bracelet lay tangled in one of his braids, winking wickedly at me, as if it knew a secret. "You look a little pale, kitten."

"Oh. No, I was just thinking."

The silver glittered, sharp darts of light. Why was he wearing it?

"About what?" he persisted.

Well, if you want to hear it out loud I might as well It might help me think. "About how this doesn't add up, any of it. All I have is one question after another, and the deeper I get the more weirdness crops up. By now I should be getting some answers, not more goddamn questions. Which can only mean one thing."

He nodded, took a hit off his beer. A Corona, and he'd even rubbed the mouth of the bottle with a slice of lime. He'd make someone a fine wife someday. "What's that?"

"It means I'm barking up the wrong trees. It also means someone's lying to me." I picked up my fork, took a mouthful of butter-drenched potatoes. My God Weres can usually cook, but this is really good.

"Do you know who?"

I wish. The pattern still refused to make sense. "No. But I know what about."

"What about, then?" Soft, logical, reasonable, as if he'd done this before, giving me the questions to help me shape everything inside my head out loud.

I began with the central question. "About what exactly is going on between Cenci and this Were. Who doesn't even have a name yet, and that's another thing that bothers me. His kin should be looking for him too. You said the first murder was out in Massachusetts, but I'm willing to bet it wasn't. Harp, I need you to get on the horn with your boss and get them tracking all the kills following a certain profile."

"You really think we've been off-base?" Harp took a gigantic bite of fried chicken. She must have been hungry, and Weres need more protein than the rest of us.

My brain settled into functioning again. It was going to be a short-lived burst of productivity—I needed some rest in the worst way. "I don't think you've been off-base. I think you've been misled. Navoshtay's capable of hushing some things up on the state level but might not have his pretty fingers inside the Martindale Squad. Though I wouldn't put it past him. If there's something he doesn't want us to find out, it's going to be in New York. Have them liaise with Clarke and see what they dig up, and for God's sake give the hunters out there some protection while they do it."

"It's a good idea." Dominic's tone said just the opposite. "How much of this is based on what that hellbreed told you?"

"Practically nothing," I admitted. It's what Perry didn't tell me that has me curious. "Which is why I'm probably on the right track." Thunder muttered softly behind my words, echoing in the warehouse's spaces. Windows vibrated a little, bouncing under the sound.

Harp finished chewing. "So what are you going to do next?"

The only thing I can. I braced myself. "Call on Perry to set up a meet for me. I'm going to do my best to drag something useful out of Navoshtay. Before then, though, I'm going to do something I haven't done since Mikhail was alive."

The feathers in her hair fluttered as she made a sharp restless movement. She visibly restrained herself from waving a denuded chicken bone at me by sheer force of will. "What, go out for a movie? You're killing me here, Jill."

I winced. I wish you wouldn't say things like that Picking up a chicken wing, I bit into it. Chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. Licked my fingers, and stared at the white meat under the crust of breading. "I'm going to go between."

No sound except rain dripping, splashing through the gutters, swirling on the roof. "You're going to what?" Saul said it very quietly, as if he didn't understand.

He probably didn't. Harp had gone still. I took another huge bite of chicken, stalling for time. Then indicated my blue eye with a quick sketch of a gesture, still dangling the chicken. "I came back from Hell with a sort-of-gift. I've got a dumb eye and a smart eye. One can see the normal world. The other sees below and between. If I need to, I can see more of the between. All it takes is blood." And since I've spilled so much already, I might as well. I let out a soft sigh. "I just need someone to hold the other end of the line for me while I go down. Mikhail's not here, and I doubt Perry can be trusted with that. Maybe Galina, or Avery."

"I'll do it." Saul's tone had stayed soft, but there was an edge to it. "If you're really determined to do something so risky."

I don't think I'll let you hold the other end of that line for me, Were. I don't know you enough. "Nobody involved in this is going to tell me the truth, and none of my guesses satisfy me." I laid my fork down. "The rogue's going to kill someone else. Or she is. Or Navoshtay. I want the killing to stop."

"But… between" Harp, out of all of them, sounded like she understood what I was talking about. "Jill, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

What about me facing down both Perry and Navoshtay? Between I can handle. Hellbreed who each want to take a bite out of me I might have a little trouble with. "Screw good idea. I want results" I stared at my plate some more, wondering how on earth I was going to get the food in me. "And I want 'em yesterday."

"You won't get anywhere on an empty stomach." Apparently Saul had decided to get all Jewish-mother on me. "It won't stay hot forever, either."

I picked up my fork again. If I go between I'll probably lose everything I ever felt like eating in my life. Not to mention dealing with Perry and what he's going to ask in return for setting up this meet. Might as well enjoy something while I can. "Guess not," I mumbled.

"You're not really intending on…" Dominic took a quick mouthful of potatoes when my eyes met his. He also shut up in a hurry.

The warehouse clattered with the sound of rain and the static of tense, unhappy Weres. I'm not exactly happy about this idea either, guys. "If I don't do it, who will? I'm the resident hunter."

"You should take better care of yourself." But Saul dropped his eyes, and the words didn't have the usual sting.

"Hard to do when I'm running from one goddamn thing to the next." I settled down and applied myself to my plate. "But I'll keep it in mind. Maybe I'll even learn how to cook."

For some reason, both Harper and Dominic laughed their fool furry Were asses off at that. Dom laughed so hard he almost choked on a potato. It's a damn good thing he didn't spit it across the kitchen.

Harp and Dom headed back to their hotel room, needing a change of clothes and some sleep. Even Weres get tired.

I had other plans.

I started dialing Perry's number three times, hanging up in the middle each time. I dialed four times before I could let it ring through without hanging up.

Getting braver all the time, eh, Jill?

I told that voice inside my head to go away. I didn't think it would, and I was right.

One ring. Two. Three. The shadows of rain reflected all through the room, ghostly dapples against the wall and my skin, a mottling like hellbreed contagion in an aura.

My aura. The scar turned hot and hurtful, straining in anticipation. My pulse thundered so loud I almost couldn't hear the ringtone, kept my breathing even only by sheer stubbornness.

No, that's not true. My throat had closed to a pinhole, that's why my breathing was shallow. I shouldn't have been doing this, I was too tired. I was going to make a mistake.

Mistakes are not allowed, Jill.

He picked up. "Hello." A silky, smooth, bland voice that raised both my hackles and gooseflesh the size of eggs on my arms.

My mouth was bone-dry. Dry as a chickenbone in the desert. Dry as my palms were slick and wet. Still, I sounded good. Steady, even. "Perry."

"Oh, my dear. I've waited ages for you to call me." His voice crackled through phone wires, diving underground to come up and bleed into my ear like snakes aiming for my brain. He chuckled, a warm pleased sound, and I felt condensation collecting on my skin again, the touch of a scaled, rough tongue too flexible to be human or animal.

"Can the sentiment, Pericles. I want you to set up a meet for me." The words came out hard and fast, just as if I wasn't scared out of my mind. "With Navoshtay Niv Arkady."

Silence, crackling like lightning. I got the idea he didn't think too much of the request.

Tough luck, hellbreed. "I've got questions that need answering. This is my town, after all. You'll set up the meet and keep my skin whole through it. It'll count toward the time I owe you. And you'll keep your nasty little maggot fingers off me the whole time, too."

More silence. When he spoke, it was the rasping of sharkskin against the palms of a drowning diver. "If I am to perform this miracle, it will not count toward what you owe me. That's ridiculous, my dear."

A hot jet of nasty satisfaction curled through me. He didn't say no outright. Thanh you, God. I tossed the dice. "Ridiculous or not, it's what's going to happen. You're not coming clean about something, Pericles. That violates our agreement. You can either be in violation, or you can set up the meet and have it count toward my balance."

More silence. I prayed I just hadn't opened up a can of worms, and I further prayed he wasn't thinking up a lovely way to get back at me for outwitting him this once.

I don't care. I'll put up with it The important thing is to stop the killing. My palms ran with fear-stink sweat, a trickle of ice sliding down my back. I couldn't tell if it was sweat or merely dread. I did not close my eyes—I didn't want to imagine him on the other end of the phone.

The shadows dappling my bare arms had all turned angular, though the water falling on the skylight hadn't changed its shape.

"Very well." Sharp and curt, the words were knives. "I shall arrange it, and go to some trouble to ensure your safety. I will further allow you some leeway on your repayment. Don't think you've avoided me, my dearest. I do this because it pleases me."

You do this because you think you can worm your way into my head a little more, and because you are in violation—you haven't come clean with me. I've won this round. "Go borrow a quarter and call someone who cares. Call me when you've got the meet set up. And Perry?"

A long exhalation of hot diseased air I could almost smell vibrated over the phone line. My skin flushed with heat, then chilled, pearly drops of sweat re-wetting my torn, dirty, bloodstained clothes.

"Yes?" Quiet, but with an edge.

I suppressed the urge to scream-laugh like a maniac. A terrified maniac with one hand on the trigger and the gun under her chin.

The laughter receded, and when I spoke I was steady. "The next time you lure me into a setup with a mad hellbreed I'll send you back home, and it won't be a pretty trip."

"I was watching over you, Jillian. Protecting my very dear investment." Each word frosted with black ice. Thunder boomed overhead, more lightning crackling. It was turning out to be a hell of a night.

Sure you were. "Yeah. Fine fucking job you did too, since a Sanctuary had to rescue me."

"You are still alive. Don't press your fine luck, hunter. I like this conversation less and less." His tone had dropped from a tenor to a baritone, the throbbing of Helletöng rubbing hurtfully underneath. The warning was clear.

He's already mad, you might as well. I couldn't help myself. "Poor little hellbreed. You can't possibly think I care." Then I slammed the phone down, before he could respond.

My legs trembled. I sat down hard on my bed, my knees spilling out to either side and my arms turning to wet noodles, every muscle shuddering and rubbery. My pulse beat high and thin in my throat. A sharp bloody noise trembled on my lips, burst free, and echoed like the voice of a bird battering at the side of a cage.

An iron cage, with horsehair cushions and old rusty stains crusting the elaborate scrollwork, while sick remembered pain roiled through my nerves and the scar puckered and prickled, tingling.

You did it. Good job. Very fine work, Jill. Now stop shaking. Stop it.

My room was dark except for the reflections of rippling water covering the walls, stippling my forearms. The shadows had relaxed, no longer full of sharp edges. Gooseflesh remained, hard and cold, swelling up through my flesh like a disease.

Are you listening, God? I was actually wringing my hands like some bargain-basement Lady Macbeth. It's me, Jill Kismet. I just pulled the tail of a huge sleeping dog. I'll be lucky to get out of this without losing a few more gallons of blood. Not to mention a few pounds of flesh.

There was a small sound, like an indrawn breath or a restless movement. My nerves were scraped so raw I almost flinched.

"How much did you hear?" At least my voice was still steady. I had to hold myself very still, denying the urge to reach for a gun.

A patch of wall near the door rippled. He laid aside the camouflage trick, the one Weres use to keep from being seen by ordinary humans. But I could see the blurring of the real world, with its strings of energy, underneath the mere refraction of light.

If I'd just kept to that little skill and told Perry to go fuck himself when he offered that bargain, would I still be alive? I'd certainly be a lot more cautious—and there were a lot of people who might be dead instead of just traumatized.

Was it worth it?

"I smelled fear." Saul's voice was quiet. "That was the hellbreed? The one you made a bargain with?"

My fingers knotted together. If he makes one snotty comment, I swear to God I'll… what? What will I do? Something I'll regret. Make him go away.

That was the goddamn trouble. I was unpredictable even to myself when Perry started playing with me. And just because I'd come away the winner in this round didn't mean anything. Next time would be just as uncertain.

I brushed my lips with a dry tongue, wished the spit in my mouth would come back. "Just leave it alone." Just leave me alone. All I want is to lie down and shiver for a bit. I'm getting a little sick of the merry-go-round.

He paced into the room, one slow step at a time. "You're shaking."

No shit, Sherlock. "Really? I hadn't noticed. Leave me alone. Go bake some cookies or something."

"Did he scare you like this before the bargain?" Saul sounded curious. The marred light slid over him, his eyes glinting a little as he sank down into an easy crouch, halfway between the door and the bed, not getting too close. For once, observing my personal space.

I shut my eyes. The darkness was not comforting. Go the fuck away. "Of course he did. But Mikhail…"

"Your teacher." Soft and easy, the same tone I suspected he'd use on a frightened animal.

Well, I was certainly one half that description, wasn't I. The other half… well, who knew? You had to be a little bit of an animal to work this job. "I loved him." My voice broke. My fingers ached, I tried to yank them apart and couldn't. "I still do. But he's gone. I wasn't strong enough or fast enough when it counted, even after the goddamn bargain. And now—" My voice rose. "Now I've got this mess on my hands and nothing's going right and I can't even keep my people from being killed in the streets and my God, there were two kids and the scene was a month old, they've been here for at least three weeks if not the whole goddamn month and I didn't know, I've been so busy but there were kids, for Christ's sake, just children, fucking children—" The words spiraled up into a gasp that wasn't a scream because I bit it back, swallowing it. Pushing it down, pushing it away.

It didn't want to go. It had been waiting a long time, this cheated howl. For six months at least, ever since I'd stood beside my teacher's pyre and felt the chill wind against my tear-slick cheeks, as the sobs I couldn't let go bolted down into my stomach and turned into a steady red flame of rage. Against hellbreed, against Sorrows, against Mikhail—yes, I committed that sin. I raged against my teacher for leaving me alone.

But most of all, I turned that blowtorch of agonized grief on myself. Because I had failed to save him.

And now, here I was.

"Shhhh." Saul was on the bed next to me. I flinched, throwing up an elbow—but he caught the strike with one broad hand, shoved it down without missing a beat. His arms circled me, a cage I wanted even as I leaned away from it. "Let it out. Let it go."

"I can't." Heat and water slicked my cheeks. A sob broke the second word halfway, and I went rigid, leaning away from him. "I've got w-work to d-do tonight—"

More hellbreed holes to torch. Because tonight's as good a night as any to do a little murder in the name of getting Perry's voice out of my head. I don't c-care if I'm too't-tired—

The thought trailed off into a hoarse gasp as he pulled me off-center, into the shelter of warmth and the sound of someone else's pulse. Were filled my nose, a musky boy scent mixed in with something that was one of a kind, his, unique. When had I started recognizing that smell?

An even bigger question—when had I started liking it? When had it become safe, as safe as Mikhail's long-gone odor of pepper, leather, vodka, cordite, and foreign skin?

That was what broke me, finally. The remembered smell of my teacher, a powerful sensory memory of the only man who had ever protected me. Gone forever now, buried with him, nothing of that ephemeral imprint of a soul remaining except in my faltering human recollection.

My cold, comfortless, pitiless memory of everything I would rather forget.

I clamped my jaw down over the sobs. Swallowed them one by one as they rose, juddering me like an earthquake. My own personal set of seizures, rocking me off the face of the earth. I made no sound. He was silent too, not even thrumming the deep hum Weres use for wounded animals. He stroked my hair, silver chiming and tinkling; slid his hand under the heavy weight and cupped my nape, his thumb moving soothingly just under my ear. He simply breathed, and held me.

The shakes quieted bit by bit. Thunder in the distance. There would be flash floods out in the desert, the gullies and channels cut through Santa Luz would be full for once, liquid pumping through the city's dry veins. The simple fact was, there was nothing I could do tonight, even if I wanted to. If I went between in this state I'd get lost, my focus gone. If I went down into a hellbreed hole I'd end up getting myself scorched. I was too tired, too nerve-strung, and too goddamn edgy.

I'd just hit the wall, bigtime.

Finally I rested against Saul, awkward, my upper body twisted and my cheek pressed against his shoulder. His hand had moved down from my nape, stroking my back evenly. Stopped, his fingers playing with the arch of a rib. Came back to my spine, tracing muscle definition through my T-shirt.

"I don't even like you," I whispered mournfully into his shoulder. Could have kicked myself, taking a deep breath of him. Then one more. Maybe just one more. You do much more of this, Jill, and you're not going to want to stop.

He didn't take offense. Maybe he even understood. "Give it time. I'm told I grow on people."

"Why are you doing this?" I squeezed my eyes shut until starbursts of red and gold burst, my blue eye still seeing the complicated strings of energy in his aura that shouted, Were.

A shrug, careful not to dislodge me. "Because you need it. Because I want to." A careful tone, giving nothing away. "Good enough for now?"

Not nearly good enough. I don't even know what it is you're doing. You're fucking up my head and I need to be clear for this. "You need to stop." I couldn't make the words louder than a whisper. "I can't afford this." I can't afford any of this.

"No strings, no payment, no bargains. I'm not hellbreed." Was that a new coolness in his tone?

I hoped so, and I didn't hope so. "I didn't—"

"Shut up." No anger, just flat finality. His pulse beat steady under my cheek.

I did. He held me, and for a while it was enough. Long enough for me to promise myself a hundred times that this next breath I took of him would be the last—and to break that promise, each and every time.