Blood Promise (A SkinWalker Novel #4) (A DarkWorld SkinWalker Novel) (31 page)

A
human
gunman, red-faced, bright-eyed, and in the
Graylands
.

What the hell was a human doing in the dead world? How was that even possible?

"Don't hurt her," yelled Emma, shoving into the man's way.
 

"Get out of my way, kid." He flicked the air with the back of his hand and Emma's image wavered like smoke as it passed through her body.
 

But she didn't. She yelled and began to throw blobs of ghostly gray fire at him. Simon followed suit, aiming his hands at the man, pulling dust into a mini hurricane. Dirt and stones rose from the floor and joined the spinning wind, but the demon soldier swiped a hand at it and the mini vortex evaporated.

I took advantage of the kids and their distraction and edged away down the tunnel until it curved out of sight. Then I turned and ran.
 

I stopped only briefly to yank open the door to what I thought was a side tunnel. It was, in fact, the entrance to a stair case. I left it wide open hoping the gunman would think I'd run that way. Then I sped off down the main tunnel in the pitch black using my panther sight to guide me.
 

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, but eventually it came to an end and opened out into a gray day.

I was miles from the city now. I should return to the lake and jump home.

But when my head began to spin and bile burned the back of my throat, I knew I needed time to rest before I could safely make the jump. Cool liquid trickled from the wound on my back. When I touched my finger to my back it came away covered in blue fluorescent poison.

How the hell had they gotten the ammunition to the Graylands? More importantly, why?

I was beginning to suspect whoever was killing paranormals saw me as a threat to be removed. I wouldn't be safe at my own apartment.

Whoever the human soldier was, he wouldn't be alone. Humans with deadly weapons in the Graylands were infinitely more dangerous than any demon overlord. They'd check my apartment, and if they knew what they were doing they'd probably check Tara's. I'd go to Logan's hotel room to hide.

I ran, the urge to grip my shoulder almost taking me over. My heart tightened. Pain sliced through my arm and into my hand.
 

But I didn't slow down, even when I neared the front doors of the hotel. Here in the Graylands with everything upside down, I had to focus to remember to go left instead of right.

When I slammed through the hotel's front doors there was no doorman with a long mustache in the lobby. No staff at the desks in the reception area. There were elevators but they didn't work.
 

Nothing lived here, not even electricity.

So what manner of paranormal power was behind the presence of live weapons in the dead lands?

I pushed against the stairwell doors using my weight to shove them open.

I squinted up at the stairs that I had to climb and felt the stairwell tilt, the walls threaten to close in on me.

You can do it, Odel. One step at a time.

And one step at a time was all I could manage. Six floors of one-steps as my ragged breath rasped in the silence of the stairwell and the soft soles of my boots
tap-tapped
on the concrete stairs.

When I finally reached the door to the sixth floor, the gigantic orange number emblazoned on the wall blurred in front of my eyes.

I tried to swallow the cough that ripped through my chest and succeeded only enough that it came out strangled. I swayed as dizziness took hold of me, then caught the wall and rested my forehead against the cool stone.
 

When I grabbed hold of the handle of the fire-escape door and pulled I expected to meet the resistance of the hydraulic door, and put my weight into it. The door swung freely and I stumbled, only managing to save myself from tumbling back down the staircase by grabbed hold of the railing.

Close call, Odel.

I hobbled along the darkened passage, straining to look at the numbers on the doors through rapidly blurring eyes.

I'd been to Logan's apartment only a couple of times, but I knew how far it was from the stairs to his door.

At the door, I bent to peer at the number on the little gold plaque on the door. Everything was backward--as I'd expected.
 

I paused. Would my key would work? I'd brought it with me from the normal world. Did I need a backward card?
 

I leaned against the door jamb until the wave of dizziness passed. Then I slipped the key card into the hatch, and waited for the tiny
ping
and the green light glow.

Nothing happened.

Crap. Just like I thought.

An upside down world needs upside down locks and keys.

Now what? Where else could I go to hide out? Some place where I could get inside without needing a key.

I could think of two: Storm's place and my father's house. The decision was easy. I didn't have the energy to run all the way out of the city and up into the mountains.

Storm's place it was.

Frustrated and exhausted I yanked the key card out of the slot and gave the handle an angry slam--as if it would do any good to take my fury out on an inanimate door.

The latch groaned.
 

The handle turned.
 

And the door opened.

I frowned and brought the card key closer so I could study both sides of it with my hazy vision. Looked normal to me.

Okay, then. I shoved it into my pocket and entered the room.

Gift horse, and all that.

Once inside I shut the door and attached the safety chain. It made sense now. The locks were electronic and didn't work. A bolt and safety chain was as good as it got.

I went further into the room and saw the single unit that performed the multi-functions of dresser, suitcase storage and fridge storage. Calling on my panther strength I ripped it free from its wiring and shoved it along the floor to the front door. It wouldn't stop intruders but it would reinforce the door and slow them down.
 

I felt bad about destroying property but I didn't think it mattered. I doubted anyone planned to use Logan's apartment in their afterlife. So much of the Greylands remained abandoned, and 'abandoned' in the Graylands was far worse than the abandoned areas of the normal human plane.

With the door as secure as I could make it I stumbled to the bed. A couple of paces away from it my legs finally gave out, and I smacked face-first into the blankets.

I
LAY
THERE
FOR
A
while, breathing through the pain and grateful that, judging by the condition of the room, the resident demons hadn't gotten to ransacking the place yet.
 

When I thought I'd no longer faint if I moved, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to turn over.

I used the next few minutes to check on the condition of my body. My self-scan told me what I'd already known. I'd lost a lot of blood from the wound in my back but the bleeding had slowed, if not stopped. I was filthy, sweaty, and the front of my shirt was soaked with blood. But what really annoyed me was the bullet hole in my jacket. I loved that jacket.

Damn the gunman. How the hell did a human get into the Graylands?

And alive?

I rolled into a sitting position and eased the leather off my arms. It would tax my strength but I needed to get clean--quite a feat when the Graylands had no running water.

Good thing I was just-in-case type. There was a stash of moist towels in my backpack with my first aid kit.

I reached over and grabbed the backpack. Lifted it onto the bed. When I'd unzipped it and rummaged my way to the bottom I found what I was after. Tiny, crinkly packages of moist towels inside sealed foil.
 

I pulled them all out and dumped them on the mattress. Then I unbuttoned my shirt and let it drop open.
 

The towels did their job. I wiped my chest and as far down my back as I could reach. Then, after buttoning up with shaking fingers, I sat there and stared at the floor, at the pile of bloody towels, and wondered why I was shivering when I felt so hot.

I prayed the wound hadn't been infected. I prayed I could find something to wear in place of the shirt. I prayed no one would find me until I'd slept long enough to regenerate and heal. As hard as it would be to place myself in such a vulnerable position I really had no choice.

I had to get better. Fast.

I was trying to find a comfortable position on the bed when I realized there was a hard lump inside the front pocket of my jeans. It took me a moment to remember what it was. Nerina's key.

Now was probably a good time to use it--before I gave in to fatigue.
 

The invisible pull of my body urged me to put my head down on the pillow and close my eyes. Instead, I slid my fingers into my pocket and gripped the cool, metal disk. I pulled it out and lifted it close to my eyes. When I turned it over I realized the markings were on both sides of the disk. Did that mean one side was the wrong side?

Oh well. I'd find out soon enough.

I followed Nerina's instructions feeling uncomfortable calling out her name like a besotted lover. When the ritual was complete I lay there, waiting, ears pricked for some sign that she'd heard me.

I'd expected a ghostly death talker specter. I got a disembodied voice in my head.

"Kailin?"
 

"Nerina?" I responded, confused and relieved at the same time.
 

She huffed out a breath. "Of course it is. I'd almost given up on hearing from you. What's happened?"

How did she know? "It's barely been a couple hours. What makes you think something's happened?"

"Stop playing games, Kailin. I know you well enough by now to recognize when you're in pain."

"Oh," was all I could muster. She knew me that well, huh? "Okay, then. I got shot."

"Shot?' The shock in the death talker's voice was clear. "How did you get shot in the Graylands?".

I wanted an answer to that question, too "There is at least one human with live ammo here in the Graylands."

Her silence lasted so long I wondered if we'd lost the connection. Then she said, "Humans. Living ones?"

"Yup."

"And live rounds?"

"Yup."

"That," she muttered, "is not good at all."

"Yup."

She sighed. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Bullet in the back," I said. "Through and through. I haven't bled out yet though."

"Thank goodness for small mercies." She hesitated. "Maybe it's best if you came home."

"No," I said, my voice breaking on a yawn. "Not yet. I need to find the guy who attacked me and figure out what is going on here. Whoever these people are, they are breaking ancient rules."

"They are," she said. "But policing those laws is not your job."

I paused, considering her statement. "I can't see anyone else taking a stand." Which was true. "Think about it, Nerina. If people can break the 'no-humans-in-the-Graylands' rule without being called to account, then what other rules will they break--are they already breaking? The inter-plane restrictions are there for a reason."

 
There were many planes of existence, each controlled by various paranormal species--no one knew how many there were.

The Graylands had its replica of the human plane but it
wasn't
the human plane and living humans didn't belong there.
 

She didn't answer so I continued. "Besides, I owe it to all the people who may potentially be in danger to investigate what the hell is going on here."

The sound of her continued silence reverberated in my head.

"You may think this isn't my problem, but it is. Do you really think these intruders have nothing to do with your Mika's death?"
 

Again, silence was my answer, but I plowed on.