Dying Bites: The Bloodhound Files-1 (17 page)

Then I get some clothes, some food, some bedding and towels and toiletries. The money has way too many pictures of full moons on it, but the clerks take it happily enough.

I go back to my new residence—and find Gretchen waiting for me.

“Uh . . . hi,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Nothing on the case, I’m afraid. I simply thought I’d come by and say hello. Let me help you with those.” She grabs a few of my bags as I fumble for my keys.

“Thanks.” We go inside, and she follows me onto the elevator.

“I have to say, Jace, that you seem to be taking all this extremely well. If I were in your shoes, I’m not sure I could.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice. When I catch the Impaler, I’ll take my frustrations out on him. Until then, I’ll just shoot Cassius. You know, to stay in practice.”

The elevator stops and we get off. “Yes, I heard about that. Still not entirely clear on how your weapon works, but at the very least you got his attention.” Her grin tells me I’ve got hers, too—or at least her amusement. “I wish I’d been there to see it.”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 135 of 370

“Yeah? The next time I shoot him I’ll tell him it was a personal request.”

I unlock my door and we go in. I put my bags on the kitchen counter, and Gretchen helps me transfer things to the fridge. “The Impaler,” I say as I stuff some TV dinners into the freezer. “I’ve been thinking about his name. Any relation to Vlad?”

“As in Dracula? No, I’m afraid he’s strictly fictional here. Popular, though.”

“I’ll bet. So I’m guessing he acquired the title from what he’s done to pires.”

“And thropes, though he doesn’t stay with that one particular method. Nicknames are a funny thing—once one sticks, it doesn’t seem to matter what you do afterward.” She pauses, then says, “You have one already, you know.”

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me. “Which is?”

“The Bloodhound.”

I frown. “There’s at least three different ways to take that, none of them terribly flattering. But it could be worse, I guess. I’m going to pretend it’s on account of my tenacious nature and tracking ability.”

“What else could it be?” Gretchen says with a knowing smile. Yeah, I definitely like her.

She tells me she has to get back to work, but makes sure I have her cell-phone number in case there’s anything she can help with. I was going to check out some TV, but after she leaves I realize I’ve got the beginnings of a headache; I decide to take some painkillers and go to bed instead. Curious as I am, seeing the vampire equivalent of Seinfeld reruns can wait.

And then my cell phone rings.

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 136 of 370

“Jace? It’s Cassius.”

“Hi. What’s happening?”

“Nothing in particular. I just wanted to see if your new accommodations were all right.”

“They’ll do, I guess.”

“How are you feeling? Dr. Adams said you were having some trouble with RDT.”

“I’m fine. The stuff he gave me works like a charm. Symptom-free.” I wonder if he’s about to bust me on the subject of Tanaka—a boss like Cassius always knows what’s going on—but he doesn’t.

“And the wolf pheromone? Have you used it yet?”

“Yeah, I put some on before I went shopping. Nobody tried to take a bite out of me, so I guess it works.”

“Good, good.”

“Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about. What happens to my life while I’m gone? I mean, what am I supposed to tell people about where I’ve been?”

“That won’t be a problem, Jace. Because you’re from an alternate reality, we can do things with time as well as space. We can put you right back on the night we took you.”

“Really? That’s a relief; I was starting to think I’d have to make up some kind of alien abduction story.”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 137 of 370

“I hope I’ve put your mind at ease.” He pauses. “Well then, try to get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up.

That was a little strange. Was he just checking up on me, or—

Hmmm.

A good night’s sleep does wonders—too bad I don’t get one. My headache lingers for far too long, and it’s still nagging me in the morning. I go on the offensive, clubbing the damn thing with aspirin and then finishing it off by drowning it with coffee. It helps a little.

Walking to work improves my mood further. It’s a wonderful day, blue sky and bright sun, the air crisp and cool. It smells better than most cities, too—but then, a large proportion of the residents have very keen noses.

Something shoots past me in the street, and for a second I think it’s one of those couriers that bounced off the car when Charlie was driving. But it’s moving even faster and in a straight line; my second impression is that it must be a motorcycle, except there’s no engine noise. By the time I figure out what it is, it’s almost out of sight.

Sure. I’ve seen bears ride bicycles in the circus. Why not wolves?

It was more quad than bi, with four pedals and a long, low-slung seat—more of a harness, really. He didn’t seem to be wearing a helmet, but I guess safety is less of an issue when you can heal from pretty much anything.

I find a corner kiosk and get some more coffee before heading into the office. Tony the were-guard gives me a gruff nod, and I nod back. It all feels weirdly normal. They
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 138 of 370

haven’t assigned me a cubicle yet, so I just head for Cassius’ office and knock on the door.

“It’s open.”

Cassius is behind his desk, studying something on a laptop screen. He barely glances up when I enter. “Jace. Get down to Intel Analysis; Gretchen’s got that data you wanted.”

“Sure. Where—”

“Third floor.” His voice is brisk, and he goes back to working on his laptop immediately.

I take the hint and do an about-face, then pause with my hand on the door. “Uh, I’m going to need a desk at some point—”

“Talk to Reception. They’ll assign you one.”

Right. Guess my assumptions last night were off-base. Or that’s what I would think, if I were in high school. . . .

Please. The old attentive-one-minute, distant-the-next routine? That’s the very first lesson in Bad Boys 101 or How to Act Like a Dick and Drive Jane Crazy. Well, I don’t need any more crazy at the moment, thanks. I head for the third floor and hope for some good news.

Intelligence Analysis is a large, bustling room, full of desks, monitors, and people with intent looks on their faces. There are no windows. Though everybody seems to be talking—on the phone, on a headset, to each other—they all seem to be using low, calm voices, giving the place a kind of subdued intensity.

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 139 of 370

I spot Gretchen in a corner, talking to a bearded Middle Eastern man wearing glasses. Something about him is unusual, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s the glasses. Nothing odd about the specs themselves—but he’s the first person I’ve seen actually wearing a pair. Not a lot of astigmatism in the supernatural set.

Gretchen notices me and waves me over. “Good morning, Jace,” she says. “This is Agent Mahmoud. He may have discovered something useful to you.”

Mahmoud nods. “Hello. I believe that your subject may have had some dealings with a gang known as Los Colmillos del Demonio. They mainly distribute Bane, but lately they’ve been branching out into other areas.”

“Bane?”

Gretchen nods. “Street drug used by lycanthropes. Wolf-bane cut with PCP—heightens aggression, reduces sensitivity to pain, impairs impulse control. Nasty stuff.”

“Yes,” Mahmoud continues, “and also highly profitable. But it’s only one market, and Los Colmillos have apparently decided to expand into another. Four members were arrested last week with a significant amount of Cloven in their possession.”

“Garlic-infused methamphetamine,” Gretchen says. “Also called Stinkfoot, Devil’s Hoof, and Sicilian Speed. Administered to a pire, it causes euphoria, mania, and increased bloodlust. Quite addictive, as well.”

“What’s the connection to the Impaler?”

“This.” Mahmoud hands me a sheet of paper. “The FHR funds many of their activities through the smuggling of drugs. We got a tip that they’re the ones supplying Los Colmillos—and according to our source, the one who set up the deal is someone very high up in the FHR chain of command.”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 140 of 370

I read the sheet. It’s a transcription of a recorded conversation between an anonymous informant and an NSA operative, detailing what Mahmoud just told me. “The source seems to think the drug push is to finance some kind of large-scale project,” I say.

“Could be what we’re after.”

“There’s just one problem,” Gretchen says. “All known FHR members have gone to ground. We don’t have eyes on any of them. If we want to track the Impaler through the Resistance, we’ll have to find them first.”

“So we take one step back,” I say. “If we can’t find the wholesaler, we talk to the retailer. Los Colmillos del Demonio.”

I hand the sheet back to Mahmoud. “My Spanish is a little rusty. What’s that mean?”

“The fangs of the Devil,” he says.

SIX

I sit down across from the thrope and regard him levelly. He’s in wolfman mode, six and a half feet of black-furred, fanged, clawed muscle. His gang’s symbol is dyed and shaved into the fur on his back, letting people know he stays in this form all the time. The heavy iron collar around his neck is chained to a secure bolt in the concrete floor, and other than the chair I’m sitting in, there’s no furniture in the room. He growls at me, letting me know my alpha female status doesn’t mean squat to him.

It’s taken us three weeks to nail this guy. Three weeks of chasing down leads, shaking down his pack, staking out thrope bars. His name is Eduardo Hermano Lopez, and he’s the leader of Los Colmillos del Demonio.

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 141 of 370

Charlie’s watching on a video monitor—one-way glass uses too much silver, so it’s not that common. He’ll step in if I bungle the interrogation, but it’s important to me to try to do it on my own. The growling hairball doesn’t make me nervous—as far as I’m concerned, a bad guy in a cage is exactly as dangerous as an angry hamster—but this is my first time.

I flex my fingers and begin.

You big leader no more, I sign. You my puppy now.

My presentation is still a little shaky, but my comprehension’s good. I will rip your throat out and feed your tonsils to my pack, he signs. I feel absurdly proud that I remember the sign for “tonsils.”

No. You go to kennel twenty-five years. Having, selling drugs. Unless you make deal now.

What kind of deal?

FHR.

What’s that mean? Female Hair Removal? He makes the snorting equivalent of laughter.

Funny. You know what me saying. Your supply giver, I want.

Me not heard of supply giver. Me think you stupid in head. It’s surprising just how well sarcasm comes across in sign language; I look forward to trying it out myself when my skills are better. What’s wrong with you, anyway? My five-year-old cub signs better than you, and he’s only got eight fingers.

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 142 of 370

I ignore the question. Why protect them? They only humans. Sheep. Dumb, weak, slow. Not pack, not gang. You not owe them loyalty.

He considers this. True. But no one trusts a traitor. Bad for business.

Me not hunting business. Hunting one human only. Give him, you go free.

Who?

The Impaler.

The name brings a snarl to his lips. Him? Good luck. I’d give him to you if I could, but no one hunts him. He hunts others.

Then you stay in kennel.

I don’t know where he is. No one does. He’s a [something]; he leaves no tracks. He contacts us, we don’t contact him.

I sigh and shake my head. Not a good idea—my skull already aches, and the motion actually makes me nauseous. I mutter, “Then enjoy the obligatory delousing, fleabag,”

get up, and leave.

Charlie’s in a room down the hall, sitting in front of a video monitor with Gretchen.

“Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming in a few hours,” she says.

“I doubt it,” Charlie rumbles. “From what I hear, he’s lost more than a few pack members to the Impaler himself. Guy’s the FHR’s main enforcer, after all—if half the stories are true, he’s killed more thropes than Hades Rabies.”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 143 of 370

But none of those killings inspired them to yank somebody out of their home dimension. Or am I not the first cross-universe tourist they’ve set on his trail?

The question’s been bugging me more and more lately. I’m not being given the whole picture, and Cassius refuses to answer any of my questions about the McMurdo research station.

And my headaches have been getting worse.

“Got a possible new lead, anyway,” Charlie says, getting to his feet. “If it doesn’t pan out, we can come back here and work out our frustration on our guest.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say. “We finally locate an FHR cell?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gretchen says. “They’ve gone deep underground—we’re not picking up any chatter at all. But with all the pressure we’ve put on Los Colmillos, other business ventures are attempting to take their place.”