Taken

Chapter 19

If I have to sit in another seedy bar, I’m going to tell him to take his shaman job and shove it right up his—Sophie shook the water out of her hair. If she had to put up with more Sophie shook the water out of her hair. If she had to put up with more cigarette fug, the smell of stale beer, sticky floors, or filthy bathrooms, she was going to say to hell with this.

But she couldn’t very well say that, could she. Her home was burned down, and she was depending on Zach for everything. She didn’t much like it, either. They’d told her at the shelter how an abusive relationship started—and how a man could isolate you from your friends and family, so you lost all sense of proportion and ended up thinking whatever he wanted to do to you was right and normal.

How do I know he didn’t bring those…those vampire things, too? She followed him, most of her attention taken up with worrying, until Zach stopped short and a low thrumming sound alerted her to the fact that the outside world was going on without her.

Sophie looked up.

This bar looked the same as every other puke-palace she’d seen this afternoon. It was long, and low, and dim even in the middle of the day, and the only thing separating this bar from the others was the number of shapes inside it. Who knew so many people drank during the day?

The only bright lights were over three pool tables in back, and Sophie shook yet more water out of her hair. Why did he do that? He’d leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, then done something odd—smelled her, an intimate little movement paired with an inhalation so deep she was surprised his ribs didn’t crack.

“Carcajou,” someone said, a low smoky male voice. “Well met.”

“Ursu.” The thrum under Zach’s tone didn’t go away. It wasn’t quite a growl. “Well met.”

The man clasping Zach’s forearm was big. He had wide shoulders under a wine-colored rugby shirt, stubble over his strong-jawed face, and dark eyes that gleamed like coals. Feathers were tied into his hair, fluttering on a draft from the door Sophie was holding open, and he loomed, slump-shouldered, over both of them.

The smell of the place hit the back of her throat like a shot of burning whiskey, and she coughed. It smelled like animals in here—healthy animals, under the pale ghost of cigarette smoke. The confusion was immediate, her newly sensitive nose picking out at least a hundred different odors at once and connecting them to strange images of fur and teeth, muscular sleek sides and broad paws bearing claws. The rush of mental pictures was so intense she actually rocked back on her heels, shaking her wet hair.

“That’s a new shaman. Congratulations.” The huge man was looking at her, unblinking. “Welcome, sister. The spirits speak well of you.”

What am I supposed to say to that? “Hello,” she managed, faintly. He was just so big. And he looked dangerous—not in the sleek, supple way Zach did.

She was suddenly very, very glad Zach was between her and this man.

They let go of each other’s forearms, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw others, all with that air of zinging vitality and danger. There were a few women, mostly playing pool, that smelled like cats—slightly oily, dry and healthy. A few of the men smelled like the one who had greeted Zach, the others smelled like different kinds of fur and wildness. One tipped a shot glass of something far back, slammed it down, and gave her an odd salute. He had little bones tied in his hair that clicked and clacked as he moved.

Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore. Sophie swallowed a lunatic laugh and moved closer to Zach. He was the only one who smelled familiar, and the musk he carried wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

Zach actually looked tremendously relieved. “I’ve got a bit of a problem—I’m hoping I might be able to find something out.”

“You mean about the price on your shaman’s head?” The big guy grinned. “I’m Cullen, by the way.”

“Zach.” They grinned at each other, toothy white grins that didn’t look very friendly. “I hadn’t heard there was a price.”

“Nobody in the Tribes would take it. But…well, why don’t you come in and sit down?” Cullen’s eyes wandered away from Zach, and Sophie let go of the door. It eased shut, latching with a small click. Her eyes finished adapting to the dark.

“Wait a second.” Her throat didn’t want to work properly. “A price on—”

“Just relax, Sophie.” Zach sounded, of all things, bored. “You’re on Tribe turf. This is pretty much the safest place for you in the whole city.”

“You got that right.” The big guy’s grin turned more genuine and widened, his lips coming down to cover most of his teeth. A rush of noise like crickets on a summer night filled her skull for a moment, and her vision did a funny double-trick.

Where Cullen had been standing was a pile of fur that resolved itself into a hump-shouldered bear, standing on its hind legs and testing the air, looking at her sidelong. And grinning at her, its tongue lolling fat, wet, and pink.

She backed up, moving so fast she barely felt it when her shoulders hit the door, and suddenly Zach was there, his hands on her shoulders. “Easy there,” he said softly, and there was movement behind him. The image of a bear had turned back into a man, and was staring at her, his chin lifted and his nostrils flaring. “Sophie. Sophie.”

She tore her gaze away from the other man with a physical effort, found herself staring at Zach. His eyes were dark and deep, fixed on her face, and his hands were gentle. That odd, heavy musk filled her nose, and her heart gave a pounding leap.

“I need you to be calm,” he murmured. “Otherwise we’re going to have a situation here.”

“She all right?” the bear-man asked, and the new tension in the air kicked up a notch.

“Just peachy.” Zach’s eyes never left hers. “Come on, Soph. Help me out here.”

It’s not Soph. It’s Sophie, goddamn you. Her lungs were refusing to work right, and another one of the panic attacks threatened, her muscles on the verge of locking down.

“I thought you said this was safe,” she managed, in a breathy whisper.

“It is safe.” He didn’t roll his eyes, but it was close. “You’re with me.”

Oh, well, that’s all right, then. She swallowed another weird hysterical laugh. But oddly enough, it was. She’d seen him change on a rooftop and take on three vampires, for God’s sake. A man who looked like a bear—who was a bear—was no sweat. Zero perspiration, as Lucy used to say.

She hitched in a breath, found her lungs were working. I can deal with this. I’ve got to deal with this. “Oh.” She searched for something to say. “Yeah. I’d forgotten that bit.”

“Is she all right?” the bear-man asked again.

Zach’s face didn’t change. But she could feel him, in some odd way, willing her to buck up. To help him out. She didn’t know quite what would happen if she said she wasn’t okay, but it probably wasn’t anything nice. “I’m fine.” The words came out confident, if a bit breathless. “It just…a price on my head?” That’s news.

Zach winced slightly. “I’ll explain.” It was merely a breath of sound, and she found herself staring at his lips now. He’d kissed her—never mind that it was just a chaste press of closed lips. If she could handle that, and handle the way he was moving in on her now, his body inching closer and closer into her personal space, she could certainly deal with a man turning into a bear, right? “There’s something going on, Sophie. I’m getting to the bottom of it. Just hang loose, okay?”

He was pleading with her, she realized, and her head felt a little too light suddenly, and full of more cricket noise. “Okay,” her mouth said without her prompting. “But we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“In a little bit. I promise.” His chin dipped a little, that soft curve of hair falling over his eyes, and she suddenly longed to push it away. Wondered what it would feel like.

She nodded. Her shoulders peeled away from the door, and he let go, finger by finger.

“You sure she’s okay?” The bear-man was still alert, every hair quivering. She could smell the readiness on him, and a queer coldness that managed to be soothing. The coldness was like a snowy night, peace laying over every edge with a blanket of soft white.

“I’m all right,” she repeated, more loudly, for his benefit. Zach’s mouth firmed, and she dropped her eyes. It didn’t seem polite to keep staring. A flush rose to her cheeks, and a fresh swell of low sound rolled through the room, like whispers.

“Christ, she’s raw. Come in and have a drink, Carcajou. Just keep her calm. I’ve got a whole barful of Tribe here, they won’t take kindly to a shaman losing her cool.”

Losing my cool? I lost that a few days ago when Lucy bled to death. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back, either. Jesus. “I’m okay,” she repeated, numbly. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“They can smell it on you.” Zach half turned, glanced across the bar. Everyone had gone still, even the women at the pool tables. “Just like I can. How much is she worth, Cullen?”

“Quite a lot, actually, but only if she’s dead.” The bear-man shrugged. “Some interested party is dangling a prize for a hit. Then something went wrong a few nights ago. Some sort of rumor about downtown and a Puppet ripped to shreds—”

“A Puppet?” Zach perked up. “I thought…”

“Where have you been living? Probably on the rough, if that’s your only shaman.” Cullen backed up a few steps, and Zach moved, too. It was as if they were dancing, neither one of them really giving ground. She followed in Zach’s wake, trying not to feel clumsy.

“We’re new in town.” Danger lay under Zach’s words, like he was daring the man to comment further.

“I guess so.” Cullen laughed, and turned on his heel, presenting them with his broad back. The tension snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. Zach took a seat at the bar like he belonged there, and Sophie hitched herself up awkwardly on the one next to him. The clacking of pool balls and low murmur of conversation resumed. The bear-man poured them both a shot of Johnny Walker Red and settled behind the bar, one eyebrow hitched expectantly.

Zach tossed his shot back, cracked the glass against the counter like an expert, and brought out the newspaper he’d been carrying around and fiddling with all day. “Look at this.” He spread it out on the counter, and Sophie leaned over, not daring to touch her own shot glass. There was…My God, that’s from my wedding picture. The one hanging in the hall. She remembered that day, the taste of the cake and the heavy yards and yards of white satin, the way the veil blinded her—and how Mark had dug his fingers into her arm right before she threw the bouquet, because she hadn’t been paying attention to him.

She’d had finger-shaped bruises for two weeks afterward. And on the honeymoon, he’d been so charming and repentant, until the night she’d accidentally slammed a door and he’d bitten her—

That’s in the Past, and it’s an Unpleasant Thing. Don’t dwell on it, Sophie.

She focused on the columns of text, and felt the world slide a few more degrees over into unreality. Wait a second. “But I’m not dead,” she heard herself say.

“I know that, and you know that.” Zach’s fingers touched the damp, smudged newsprint, sliding over the curve of her cheek and leaving a black mark. “But they found a body that someone’s identified as yours. That means cover-up.”

“Christ.” Cullen set another shot glass out, poured himself a jolt of Walker. “Is it open war on our shamans now?”

“Since when do the Tribes fear upir so much?” Zach sounded honestly puzzled, and dangerously calm.

“You forget most of us aren’t Carcajou. If they band together they can make it difficult for us. And here…well, the upir have worked their way into high society. They own the town. We keep a low profile for fifty miles in every direction. This is like a hunting preserve, and the head bloodsucker is a piece of work. Name’s Armitage.”

What? “Armitage?” Disbelief tinted her tone. “But—”

“Harold Armitage.” Cullen shrugged. “Big name in town, I guess. You want some club soda or something, shaman?”

“No.” She shook her head, curls falling in her face. “I—Jesus, I know his wife. Harold’s a stockbroker. Old money, they do the country-club Christmas each year.” She realized how idiotic that sounded. “You’re saying he’s a vampire?”

“He’s upir. Has been for the past forty years. He hands out the Change in return for favors, and for other services rendered.” Cullen gave her a narrow look, and she leaned back, the bar stool creaking as her weight shifted.

“Accept something to drink, Soph. It’s polite.” Zach gave her a tight smile.

Great. Yeah. Sure. Fine. She picked up the shot glass, downed the whiskey, and coughed as it stung her throat and exploded in her stomach. The gauzy faces hanging over the world sharpened briefly—some of them were clustering around Cullen, whispering in his ears. He tilted his head briefly, and one solidified, its lips moving.

Oh, God. I’m going crazy, no matter what Zach says. Her eyes watered, she blinked furiously, and Zach’s smile turned absolutely genuine. He even winked at her.

“So they have a body, and they’re calling it hers. When exactly was she triggered?” Cullen laid his hands carefully on the counter. Broad, blunt hands—if she looked closely, would they turn into paws?

“Couple days ago. We found her during an upir attack. We thought it was rabid since it was hunting in the middle of a bunch of bright lights and crowded prey. It took a friend of hers outside and ripped her throat open.” The smile was gone as if it had never existed. “Then, just as we got our shaman out of town, seven young suckers broke into our nightly den. And there were more of them at her apartment last night. They fired the building.”

“Upir using fire?” Cullen’s eyebrows drew together. He uncapped the bottle, and Sophie hoped he wasn’t going to offer her more. He didn’t, just poured himself another shot. “Just who is she, anyway?” He leaned down, his mouth moving a little as he stared at the newspaper.

“She’s our shaman.” Zach watched the bear-man read the article.

“She’s Harris’s ex-wife?” Cullen glanced up. “Holy shit. I heard that there was a sacrifice gone wrong, and someone was paying big money, and then we started to hear about upir chasing down a shaman. But—”

“A sacrifice?” Zach wanted to know, but she had a different question.

Sophie grabbed the edge of the counter. The world was still spinning off course. “How do you hear all this?”

“Oh, you know. The air talks, we listen.”

“No. I don’t know.” Sophie shut her mouth, took a deep breath. Zach’s knee bumped hers. A wave of heat slid up her neck, filled her cheeks. “I don’t know at all.” I know nuh-thing, a mad voice from childhood reruns of Hogan’s Heroes crowed in her head. Lucy had done a great Sergeant Schultz impression. It had cracked them both up to no end.

Tears crowded her eyes, blurred the whole bar. She blinked furiously, forcing them back.

“Well.” Cullen didn’t take offense. “You’ll find out soon. When you’re ready, the air will talk to you.”

You know, that really isn’t comforting at all. “Like the faces?” she hazarded. “The ghost faces?”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “The majir.”

“Right.” I am handling this very well. She stole a glance at Zach. He was looking at her like she’d just won a prize, and there was something else about that smile that made her breath refuse to come properly. Something warm and interested, adding to the musk threading through his scent. I am handling this very, very well. Even if it’s weird as fuck.

“Well, if you’re seeing them now and you were just triggered a couple days ago, you’re going to be one hell of a shaman. I’ll bet you’ve always heard weird things, seen things out of the corner of your eye. You were a big daydreamer when you were a kid, right?” Cullen outright grinned, though it wasn’t the feral baring of teeth he’d shown to Zach.

She gave a half-guilty start. “How did you—?” Well, that’s a useless question, Sophie.

“I was the same way. It about knocked me sideways when the old shaman from our sleuth—that’s a group of bears, a sleuth—found me. It was kind of a relief to find out I wasn’t crazy.” He tapped his fingers on the bar’s surface, meditatively.

“So you were normal? Before?” This was the most information she’d gotten from anyone.

“Yeah, sort of. Nobody’s really normal. Being a shaman, though, it’s a lot of fun. Wait until you take a run.”

Take a run? Is that like taking a bowel movement? “A run?”

“I hate to interrupt.” Zach’s knee bumped hers again. “So that first upir we killed was a Puppet? Armitage’s? And there was a—”

“Right. He was spitting mad about it, too. Or so I heard. I guess there was something about the target not being hit.”

“Wait.” Sophie clutched at the edge of the bar. “Target. The target means me, right? The vampire wanted to kill me?”

“It’s certainly looking that way.” Zach tried to shift closer, his knee hitting hers again, and Sophie hopped off her bar stool. “Hey. Sophie—”

She took two quick, nervous steps back. “No. It was after me, right? And it killed Lucy. That means—”

“I’m not sure yet, and there’s other questions to answer.” Zach slid around on the bar stool, leaned back against the bar, and eyed her. “I’m guessing you didn’t spend a lot of time out partying, right?”

“I…no. It was the first time I’d gone out in ages. Lucy said I needed to have some fun.” She said she was going to get me to have fun if it killed her. I guess it did.

“So maybe they were watching your friend—the only friend you had—and waiting for you to show up someplace out of daylight. And the—”

“Hold on,” Cullen said. “Can I get a word in edgewise? The target wasn’t hit. Only one of the two people they were looking to kill ended up dead. Then a shaman got mixed up in it. That’s what I heard.”

Zach tensed, muscle by muscle. “What exactly are you saying?”

Sophie stared at the bear-man. He held her eyes, and his expression was kind. Her mouth closed with a snap, and she found her voice right afterward. “He means someone wanted both me and Lucy dead, and they just waited until we were together.” It means it’s my fault. I knew it.

“Maybe it was efficiency.” Zach nodded. “You were pretty hard to find. I’ll bet you were even registered under a different name at school.”

“My mother’s maiden name,” she whispered. “The degree would have been issued in my name, though, when I finished. Because of the domestic, ah, the divorce.” Because of the police reports and the pictures. Lucy went in with me, and the Dean said they saw so many others like me, that things could be done. And that once I got my degree I could get a job and move, and I’d be safe.

Safe. Oh, God.

Zach let out a sharp breath. “Your phone was probably unlisted, and the address on your driver’s license was that mail drop. You were smart, and hiding probably saved your life.”

“I was over at her place all the time, all they had to do was wait.” The urge to just lie down on the floor and let the world go on without her was overwhelming. If I hadn’t given in, if we hadn’t gone out dancing…God.

“It’s not your fault,” Cullen said softly.

How the hell did he know whose fault it was? She squeezed her mouth shut. The entire place had gone very quiet. She would have bet money, if she’d had any, that they were all looking at her, and she hated that. She hated being the center of attention.

The only thing to do was look at Zach, who had a line between his eyebrows and a firmness to his mouth suggesting that he knew what she was thinking. Whether or not it was true, it was comforting. He was the only thing she had, now.

“What do we do?” She hitched her purse higher up on her shoulder and hugged herself, palms cupping her elbows.

“Can we count on the support of the Ursa?” Zach didn’t look away, but she had the idea the question wasn’t directed at her.

“Well, you’re Carcajou. And they’re trying to kill a shaman. Maybe.” Cullen scratched at his neck and sighed. “At least, the Bear Tribe won’t stand idly by if it gets any worse. But my advice? Take your shaman and run. Train her up and keep her safe. You don’t want to fuck with Armitage. He’s not just upir, he has the means to make a lot of people uncomfortable enough to come looking for you. Weight of numbers—and weight of cash—tells.”

Zach looked puzzled again. “Huh. The Tribes around here, they all feel like this?”

“Don’t get cute. The Tribes here have lost two shamans to Armitage. I, for one, don’t want to lose more.”

“Lost two shamans? And you’re just sitting around?” Zach slid back around, like a kid on a malt-shop stool, and leaned on the counter. “What the hell is going on here?”

“We’re not Carcajou. We’re just Tribe. They have numbers on us and Armitage has cops with long-distance assault rifles. We step out of line and it’s open season in the whole city.”

Zach shook his head. “Jesus.”

“Take my advice and get her out of town.” Cullen set the bottle on the counter. “Sooner or later Armitage will self-destruct. It’s what they do. He’ll get a batch of bad blood, or one of his little goons—like Harris—will take him out.”

“Excuse me.” She felt like an idiot for even speaking, but both of them went still. “Mark’s not a vampire. I lived with him. He’s just…” What words could she pick? The old instinct to lie rose under her skin, and she shut her mouth with an effort. Better to just be quiet if she couldn’t tell the truth.

“Harris has been his regular daylight hatchet man for a couple years, but he just took the Change. He was supposed to offer a sacrifice, but I gather he’s in Dutch because he didn’t.”

“A sacrifice?” What does that mean?

Cullen now looked acutely uncomfortable. “That’s how Armitage runs it. It’s an old upir trick. In order to buy the Change into bloodsucker, you’ve got to sacrifice a member of your family.”

“Now we get to it.” Zach hopped off the bar stool, his hair falling over his eyes. He looked furious, his mouth a tight line and his eyes alight. “Killing two women with one stone. Goddamn, but I hate that type of man. It doesn’t even deserve the name.”

“Wait. So he was supposed to kill me, so he could get turned into a vampire?” Well, if I can believe in werewolves and vampires, I should have no trouble believing this. And it’s just like Mark, too. God.

Zach halted right in front of her. “That’s what a sacrifice is. I’m just surprised nobody’s done it on this large a scale before, in a city.”

Well, I guess that makes them trendsetters, doesn’t it. “What do we do now?” Because I don’t have a stinking clue.

“We take you back to the Family and we have a discussion about running or staying. I’m in favor of teaching this Armitage bastard not to mess with Tribe.” His lip lifted, and she was reminded of the long, lean, graceful lines of the thing he could become. And of the hard weight of him against her, the way he leaned in close and touched his lips to hers, inhaling as if she were perfume.

Maybe I like you, shaman.

“But.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumping, and though he was much bigger than her, he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller. “This is your town, and they’ve killed your friend, and I haven’t made things any easier on you. So I guess it’s up to you what we do.”

Oh, God, not another decision. Who made me responsible for you?

He must have read her face. “Come on. We should get to the pickup point just in time.”

“Carcajou.” Cullen looked like he was ready to say something else, but Zach just turned his head, not quite looking back over his shoulder. “She needs training, and you—”

“If the Tribes won’t deal with this, why should we stay and risk her?” He pitched his voice just loud enough to carry. “She’ll decide what to do. In the meantime, you can tell the air—and Armitage—that if he comes after her I’m going to personally reach down his throat and tear his diseased little heart out. Nobody messes with her from now on.”