As Lie The Dead (13 page)

By the time we came back downstairs, half of our beating victims were on the express bus to Decompose. The rest were dispatched quickly. Without anti-coag ammo, I settled for breaking their necks with a twenty-pound weight.

We didn’t speak, even though I found myself with half a dozen questions—and most of them for Phineas.
I still knew little about his whole half transformation thing, and the intense way he’d acted while interrogating Tattoo had further piqued my curiosity.

Tattoo had asked if Phin was an angel. The same question balanced on the tip of my own tongue.

I had half a mind to ransack the place while I was there, just to make sure the Halfies didn’t keep communing over heavy bags and sweaty gym clothes. Phin’s abrupt turn toward the back hallway changed my mind. I trailed after him, observing the shape of his beautiful wings, the way he held them close against his body, and hadn’t made them disappear as he’d done before.

He was also limping. Either I hadn’t noticed it earlier, or he’d only just started in the last ten seconds. Favoring his left leg, fatigue starting to sag his shoulders. I eyed his leg. Noticed a spot on the upper thigh where the black denim was darker. He pushed through the back door, stepped outside, and left a small red smudge on the floor instead of a footprint.

“You’re hurt,” I said, following him into the rank alley.

“It’s fine.”

“Then why are you limping?”

My question flipped a switch in Phin—he walked straight, no limp, shoulders back, all the way to his car. The red smudge repeated itself half a dozen times. I was so intent on following the faint blood trail I didn’t notice his wings disappear. They were gone when we returned to the car, his bare back showing no hint that they’d ever been there.

Phin held the door open for me; I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Are you getting in?” he asked.

“I want to see your leg.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s bleeding, Phin. It’s not fine.”

“It’s a scratch. They didn’t bite me.”

“Good. So show me.”

He cocked his head. “In order to show you, I’d have to drop my pants in the middle of the street—something I’m not about to do. Now will you get in the car?”

Okay, I’d give him that one. I climbed across the front seat and settled into the passenger side. “Thank you,” I said, after he started the engine.

Hands on the steering wheel, all I got was his angular profile. One glittering eye, focused straight ahead. “For what?”

For what? “Saving my life back there.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re welcome.” He turned his head, blue eyes painfully bright, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. “Wouldn’t do for my people’s protector to get herself killed her first day on the job.”

I smiled. “Looks like those wings come in handy in a fight.”

The amusement flickered out. His mouth pulled into a taut line. “Maybe we can keep that between us.”

“Only if you tell me why.”

“You saw something our kind is forbidden to show to outsiders, Evy. The first transformation was to prove a point. The second was an instinctual reaction during combat—one I should have tried harder to
fight. Those half-breeds never should have seen me like that.”

If words could physically cause pain, the amount of self-flagellation in his voice would have had him on the floor, sobbing like a baby. I understood losing control, having done it many times in the course of my job. I understood second-guessing actions performed in the heat of battle, if they turned out to have negative consequences. I just didn’t understand the self-hatred over flashing a little feather.

“Call me dense,” I said, “but I don’t get it. You grow wings when you get mad?”

“No, that’s not …” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Did you ever ponder the reasons for the Owlkins’ choice of pacifism? Why we prefer to stay out of conflicts and have chosen to live in peace with your kind?”

“Not really.”

There were many things about the various Dreg species I didn’t ponder the reasons for; it was easier to just accept things than to question them. Owlkins didn’t fight. Were-cats were always looking for a brawl. Gremlins were scavengers. Vampires thought themselves superior to every other living thing. Humans wanted desperately to keep our city intact and under our control.

Under Phin’s intense gaze, I was ashamed of that lack of interest. If knowledge was power, then I was pretty damned weak. “Why, Phin?” I asked. “Can all weres do what you do?”

He didn’t answer right away. He seemed to study me, his eyes in constant motion as their focus shifted across my face. Whatever questions ran through his
mind, whatever consequences he considered, he came up with his own answers. And made a decision.

“Not all, but some of the Clans do,” he said. “Those of us with the ability to bi-shift are regarded as … higher-class than those who can’t. We’ve been among your people for a longer period of time. Much longer, and we’ve learned enough to know when to leave the battles to others.”

“You think that’s why Rufus was given the destroy order.” My stomach knotted. “Whoever gave the order knew your position within the Clan Assembly?”

“That’s my suspicion, yes. My fear is that they know the others who possess the ability to bi-shift and that they may be targeted next. Disregarding the gremlins, the Clans make up the largest population of nonhumans in the city. Weakening us gives someone else a stronger position.”

I turned the information over in my head. It certainly changed my perspective on the day so far. Not only on Phin’s deception in gaining my help but on the actions of my own people over the course of the last ten days. Something stank, and it wasn’t the trash cans on the street.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I asked. “If you want my help in protecting Joseph and Aurora, I need to know everything before it becomes relevant. You need to start trusting me a little.”

“The way you’ve trusted me?”

“I guess we both have trouble trusting people first.”

“You say you’ll help me, and I believe you. Please understand, the Clans have strict rules about who we
share certain information with. You’ve seen me bi-shift, and I can’t change that. I just ask that you and your friend keep it to yourselves.”

“I haven’t told anyone, and I doubt Wyatt’s had the chance.” The phone in my pocket needed to ring, dammit. And soon. “Who else is at risk?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Remember that thing about trust we just discussed?”

His nostrils flared. “If the Assembly chooses to share that information with you, so be it. I can’t go against their wishes. Not yet.”

Not yet. A sure sign that he had a breaking point; it just hadn’t been reached. “Okay, fine. Do all Owlkins bi-shift?”

“Do all humans perform handstands?”

All of my sarcastic retorts dried up. “What?”

“All Owlkins,” he said, the words coming out as though diseased. A sequence of letters he couldn’t stand uttering. “Humans have a need to place simple labels on others, so you can more easily understand what is truly a complex relationship. We lived as a community but were of two kinds. The Coni are capable of bi-shifting. The Stri are not.”

“Coni and Stri,” I said, trying out the words. In the last two days, I’d learned more about the names Dregs used for themselves than I’d ever bothered to discover on my own. Danika and I had been—for lack of a term that could ever hope to boil down our odd friendship—business associates. And even that sounded too damned cold.

Our paths had crossed nearly two years ago during
a Triad investigation into a series of murders in the nightclub scene. We had (wrongfully, it turned out) traced the murders to Danika’s cousin. She attacked me in falcon form, and I think it was both her age-appearance and her ferocity in defending her cousin that helped me see her not just as a Dreg but as a warrior. And it was her curiosity about humans, afterward, that continued to fuel our interactions.

Very carefully choreographed interactions. She had talked about private Clan matters about as often as I had discussed Triad secrets—never. I very rarely talked about myself, although she was less guarded. Mostly we exchanged information about other species. And after two years, I knew as much personal information about her as I did about the man sitting beside me—and I’d known him about eight hours.

Part of me was embarrassed for not having given a shit; the other part was proud for learning now. “Which are Aurora and Joseph?”

“Both are Coni.” Grief crept into his voice. He bent his head, looked away. “It’s ironic, I suppose, that the Coni were the first to walk among humans, and it seems we’ll also be the last.”

I reached my hand across the armrest. Paused. Touched his shoulder, featherlight. Corded muscle felt strangely hollow beneath my hand. Cotton where I should have touched steel. His head snapped sideways. Our eyes met. A sea of emotions roiled, chaos hidden in their blue depths.

“Don’t pity us,” he said.

“I don’t. I guess I just understand.”

His lips parted.

My ass chose that moment to ring. I pulled back, retrieved the phone, checked the I.D. Kismet. Putting it to my ear, I said, “Stone.”

“Get back to your apartment,” Kismet said. “Felix called. You’ve got a problem.”

12:40
P.M.

While Phin got us back on the road to Parkside East, the rest of my conversation with Kismet occurred in terse, barked sentences.

“What happened?” I asked.

“No one’s hurt,” she replied.

“But?”

“Someone’s there claiming to be Alex Forrester’s father.”

“Shit.”

“The Owlkins said they were friends of yours, but we need Chalice there to talk to this guy.”

“I’ve never met Alex’s father.”

“Well, we can’t produce Alex, so you get to field his dad.”

“What am I supposed to tell him? That his son was bitten by a half-Blood vampire and then I shot him in the head?”

“Variation of the truth, for now.”

“Meaning?”

“The last time you saw him was the day before yesterday.”

“Terrific.”

“Just deal with it.”

“Yeah, fine. How’s Wyatt?”

“Recovering nicely, the lucky bastard. The surgeon found that piece of knife an inch from his spine but got it easily and stitched him up. No serious damage, no complications, no long-term recovery. Wyatt should be up and around in a day or two.”

I released a pent-up breath. My chest felt lighter, free of a weight I hadn’t noticed until it was gone. Worrying about someone sucked.

“You have anything new for me?” Kismet asked.

“Couple of leads.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her about the meet at Park Place. Instead, I reported the slight mess we’d left behind at Mike’s Gym. “I’ll let you know when something else pans out.”

“Good enough.”

I slid the phone back into my pocket, ready to relay the major points of my conversation to Phin. As he negotiated a turn onto the Wharton Street Bridge, he said, “I’m glad Wyatt’s all right.”

How the …? “Let me guess. Coni have excellent hearing,” I said.

“Well, yes, but your phone isn’t very quiet.” He gave me a sideways smile, a flash of brilliant white teeth. “So you want to fill me in on the play before we get there?”

“Once I know the play, I’ll share.”

I closed my eyes and pulled on everything about me that felt foreign—all of the memories and sensations that were distinctly Chalice. Anything I could
grasp about Alex. Emotions flooded me, at once warm and chilling. Quiet evenings on the sofa watching movies. Laughing at jokes. Loneliness. Camaraderie. Feelings, without specific memories. No names, no idea if Chalice had ever met Alex’s father.

The car stopped moving. Phin had parked across the street from the apartment building. I had no clue what was waiting for me upstairs, if this man would even recognize Chalice.

“Let me do the talking,” I said as we climbed out of the car. “I may have to do some improvising here.”

“And who am I pretending to be?” Phin asked.

Half a dozen things came to mind. All were demolished by the sight of him standing on the sidewalk, sans shirt. “Maybe you should wait by the car.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“Do you have a shirt in the trunk?”

“No.”

“That’s why.”

His eyes narrowed. “Evy—”

“I’ll be fine, and I’ll make sure Joseph and Aurora are fine.”

He looked up at the rows of apartment windows across the street. Mine faced the opposite alley, but I understood the gesture. Trying to see ahead into an unknown situation. Just the image of a smiling loved one could make the worry go away. He retreated to the car.

I offered a smile that he didn’t return, then jogged across the street. On the elevator up and the walk down the hall, I pondered different things to say to this man. A perfect stranger who might or might not
recognize the face I wore and the body I had claimed. Nothing seemed right. I’d just have to go with my gut.

The door wasn’t locked; I went inside with as much authority as seemed necessary. It was quiet. Three people sat in the living room. Aurora and Joseph were close together on the sofa. Frail as he was, Joseph sat forward on the cushions, shoulders back, an ancient bird of prey with just enough spunk left to attack anyone who dared threaten his charge. Aurora’s head snapped toward the door the moment I entered, her hands wrapped protectively over her swollen belly. She looked past me, seeking someone who wasn’t there, and frowned when she realized as much.

The third person sat in the upholstered chair next to the sofa. He stood up and turned toward me, hands planted on wide hips. He was short and rotund, middle-aged, with gray hair around the perimeter of his otherwise bald head. Wire glasses had slid to the tip of his bulbous nose, but he didn’t reposition them. Except for his eyes, he didn’t look a thing like Alex.

“About time one of you showed up,” the man said. He had the voice of a longtime smoker, rough like sandpaper and deep as a bass drum.

“I was at work,” I replied. He knew Chalice. Good. From his annoyed accusation, he also didn’t seem to like her much. “What do you want?”