Extinction Agenda (19 page)

Waggoner and Paige were closest, so they were the first to pile in. Almost immediately they stopped, their backs blocking the door. Paige was a few steps ahead of him, but Cole was already close enough to see the cool glow coming from the interior of the elevator. Lights flashed and some blinked in quick succession as if to mesmerize the passengers within the elevator.

“Move it,” Cole grunted. “I’m hungry.”

The instant he stepped inside the elevator, his breath was dragged from his lungs.

The car was made of thick glass, inlaid with Dryad markings trapped between transparent layers like ripples frozen into ice. Beyond the glass, a magnificently discombobulated city lay sprawled beneath and around them. The Statue of Liberty and Eiffel Tower lay nestled between massive glittering buildings, mammoth fountains, and spotlights that exploded from a street bustling with cars and people. When Cole looked down, he saw the side of the building to which the elevator was attached. It was shimmering purple Plexiglas that sloped to a pinnacle several stories over his head.

“Been a while since I been to Vegas,” Waggoner said. “Never fails to impress.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Paige told him. “We won’t be staying long.”

“Aw come on,” Cole gasped. “This looks like the closest thing to business as usual that we’ve seen in months. There’s actually more than three people on that street!”

Waggoner laughed and shifted his weight. “It’d take a lot more than the werewolf apocalypse to shut Vegas down. Gotta love it.”

Chapter Eighteen

Chicago, Illinois

R
ush Street used to be the place for discerning customers to go for their more exotic thrills. There were other Blood Parlors in the city, but the place Steph ran atop a standard sports bar was at the center of them all. At least, it had been before getting torched by the Skinners on their way out of town. As a way to show that nothing as simple as a fire could put her out of business, Steph not only reopened her Blood Parlor in the same location but spent a small fortune in repairs to make sure it looked exactly as it had before Cole, Paige, and Rico got their hands on it.

After a push to squeeze everyone on her regular client list for funds using everything from promises for freebies from her best girls to threatening rich men’s families, Steph had opened her Parlor and remodeled the bar beneath it. Instead of catering to the few Cubs and Bears fans who’d decided to buy their beer at a place situated beneath a gothic second floor bristling with candles and statuary, she reinforced every wall and door, packing the bar with employees armed with large caliber pistols and shotguns who were posted at the entrances. Anyone else seen sitting at the bar or around any of the tables were waiting for their turn to go upstairs and be fed upon by scantily clad parasites with smooth skin, overly friendly smiles, and unending appetites. Fortunately for anyone involved in the Nymar skin trade, nobody thought twice anymore when someone left their home and didn’t return.

It wasn’t much past ten o’clock, but the sky had the thick, inky texture of the witching hour. A sleek two-door Mazda pulled to a stop at the curb on Superior Street and let two passengers out to make the short walk to the parlor’s front door. Steph watched their progress on monitors that received a constant live stream from cameras set in windows of every adjacent building. As she marched toward the parlor, Tara looked as if she not only knew she was being watched but that she knew who was watching.

“Shit,” Steph grunted as she stood up and grabbed a short coat that looked as if it had been made from a mix of wool and puppet skin. “What the hell does she want?”

“What does who want?”

The question had been asked in a cultured English accent by a tall Nymar with smooth dark skin and black hair pulled back into a short tail. Astin had begun his service as a bouncer for the Blood Parlor, worked his way up to own the bar beneath the vampire brothel and now filled the space vacated by the Nymar who’d formerly run Chicago at Steph’s side. Astin might have had a refined wardrobe and spoke as if he’d gotten his bouncer credentials at Oxford, but he had a long way to go before gaining the respect Steph had occasionally given her late partner, Ace.

“Shut up and clear out the bar,” she snapped.

As reflected by the unwavering expression on Astin’s face, he was used to being treated that way by her. “Even the customers?”

“Are they regulars?”

“Yes.”

“High end?”

After a moment’s contemplation, he replied, “Not really.”

A buzzer sounded through a recessed speaker in the security room, forcing Steph to pick and tug her dark purple hair as if she couldn’t decide between arranging it or ripping it out. “Tara’s here. Last time I checked, she was supposed to be in Baltimore.”

“Maybe she’s bringing more Shadow Spore?”

“We’ve already gotten our share. Chicago’s supposed to be under my jurisdiction only, so she’d better not have any bright ideas.” When the buzzer went off again, it sounded as angry as an electronic burst of noise possibly could. Steph looked up at the speaker as if she expected to find a living thing screaming down at her. “Get two of the others. New guys. Nobody she could have seen the last time she was here. Give them shotguns, put them in the back room downstairs and tell them to come out shooting if I give the signal.”

“Why would you want to shoot Tara?”

Steph wheeled around on the balls of feet, wrapped in thick wool socks that looked like they’d been pulled off the Wicked Witch of the East after Dorothy’s house fell on her. The top two sets of fangs emerged from beneath her gums as nearly every muscle in her body tensed. “I built up these Blood Parlors real good since we ran the Skinners out of town, and I won’t hand them over to some bitch just because she was Hope’s lackey during the uprising. We’re already kicking back a percentage to the cause, and if she thinks she’s getting more . . .” The buzzer sounded again, this time causing Steph’s eyes to pinch shut, and she spoke in a hissing snarl. “If she thinks any of that is gonna happen, then she’s in for a surprise.”

Astin gave her a crisp nod. “And I know exactly what surprise you have in mind.”

“You think?”

The moment Astin stepped back into the hall, all he needed to do was point at a few of the Nymar looking to see what was going to be done about the visitors waiting to be let inside. A few clean-shaven faces bearing the subtle hint of tendrils beneath the surface fell into step behind Astin and followed him down a set of narrow stairs at the back of the hall. By the time they’d descended to the first floor, Steph emerged from the security room and plastered a wide, garishly painted smile onto her face. The other doors along that hallway opened into rooms used by customers who paid for the experience of being fed upon by whatever Nymar vixen or pretty boy they’d pointed to in the catalog in the lobby.

“Everyone just go about your thing,” she said cheerily to the few faces that peeked out from the rooms. “Just so you know, there may be someone watching you other than me, so keep on your best behavior.”

That might have answered a few unspoken questions, but didn’t do much to alleviate the tension written across the other Nymar faces. Steph preferred to keep everyone guessing, along with her own employees, so she practically skipped past them down the hall and swept her hair back to make a grand entrance down the wider stairs at the front end of the building.

Standing outside the front of the bar, accompanied by four Nymar wearing their markings like war paint, Tara was obviously not concerned about drawing attention. She and her escorts all stared through the windows as if pooling their efforts to melt the glass using the power of their minds. Astin ushered the last of the customers behind the bar and through a doorway leading to the alley. When Steph looked at him, he nodded discreetly to assure her that backup was in place.

Rattling the knobs to unlock the doors just long enough for Astin to take a good position behind the bar, Steph finally pulled the door open and held it in place. “Wasn’t expecting you,” she said cheerfully. “Need a place to stay while you’re in Chicago or will you be moving along soon?”

“Tell me what you know about the Skinners that used to live here,” Tara said as she entered the bar. Once she cleared the doorway, her escort came in and fanned out to make sure they could watch every inch of the bar while keeping clear of the windows and stairs.

“They used to stay at a run-down shithole over on West Twenty-Fifth and Laramie,” Steph said. “I think it used to be some old Greek restaurant. Why?”

“What else?”

Crossing her arms petulantly, Steph snapped, “Whatever they didn’t take with them was either busted up or burnt when we put it to the match. What else do you need?”

“Where have they gone since?”

“Don’t you watch the news? Kansas City, Philly, Oklahoma, anywhere there’s been a big blow-up with the shapeshifters, you’ll find the Skinners. Christ, I’ve even seen Cole getting arrested on the national news! Not that anyone seems to care about that since the furries have taken over.” The belligerence in her features dissolved into a wistful smile. “Can’t really blame the cops or press for that one, though.”

Tara wore a simple overcoat wrapped around her narrow frame. Several layers of thermal shirts, flannel and wool, were revealed when she unbuttoned it. Sunlight might not have hurt Nymar in the slightest, but cold weather played havoc on a body with such limited circulation. “Did you ever see the unedited footage from those prison attacks?” she asked while settling into one of the recently vacated chairs.

“No,” Steph replied eagerly. “I just heard all the trouble that started when someone made the stupid decision to leave the prisoners where they were while other good, taxpaying folks were evacuated to shelters.”

Tara shifted in her seat while peeling off another few layers. In the light, her skin looked pale, yet clear. As more of that light was taken away or blocked, the tendrils beneath her flesh widened into markings that were only slightly fatter than those found on Nymar infected by the earlier model spore. “Official statements from the Department of Corrections say that nobody intended the prisoners to come to any harm. Angry families and human rights activists say otherwise. After the Full Bloods set those things loose, just about every prison in the country became a giant meat locker, and we all know that Half Breeds don’t have any qualms with taking down the easy prey first.”

“And there was footage?” Steph asked, as if being tempted by a sneak preview of the newest blockbuster a month before its release.

“You need to know where to go to find it, but yes. It’s not pretty.” One of her guards had made himself at home enough to step behind the bar, grab one of the bottles of imported beer, and set it down on the table in front of her. Once Tara had a chance to sip the dark ale, she smirked and added, “Well, some of it was a little pretty.”

“Nice. So what else do you expect me to tell you about the Skinners? If you know anything about them moving back into Chicago, then you should be the one telling me.” When she didn’t get a response to that, Steph narrowed her eyes and asked, “Are they moving back into Chicago?”

“I don’t think so. Paige and Cole have been quite busy, but they don’t seem to have any reason to come back.”

“Because they know they’d be risking their own necks in coming here,” Steph said firmly.

“No. Because they have no business in Chicago.”

“I torched their home when Cole was in it. Him and that bounty hunter couldn’t get away quick enough.”

“Was that before or after they came back to burn this establishment to the ground?” Steph was still seething when Tara looked around at the silently glowing television screens and said, “Just because you tried to duplicate the old place doesn’t mean anyone will forget what happened to it. The Skinners sent you a real good message before they left.”

“And you were here for that, weren’t you?” Steph growled as her multicolored nails dug into the edges of the table between her and the other Nymar. “Hope set that up and I played along. Only, I didn’t know I would lose my parlor along the way.”

“Neither did we. I probably knew less than you.”

Although none of the anger left Steph’s face, she tempered it for a moment so she could study the woman in front of her. “Something’s different about you. You’re not so . . . snarly.”

“That’s one way you could put it.”

“You’re still multiseeded?”

“There’s no way to do anything about that. It does take a little while for the two spore to settle into a rhythm.” Glancing at the second floor above her, Tara added, “I’m sure you can think of plenty of colorful comparisons to make in that regard. One of the reasons I came was to check on you, since you’re one of the few I know who haven’t accepted the Shadow Spore.”

“I accepted the first treatment,” Steph said.

“Why not the others?”

“Because I just wanted to experiment. This one turned out like those few years I thought I was only into chicks. Tastes great for a while, but I started yearning for the good ol’ meat and potatoes, you know?”

Tara sighed heavily enough for everyone in the bar as well as anyone standing outside to hear it. “Did Hope seriously leave you in charge of an entire city?”

“You wanna change that?” Steph asked as her fangs reflexively slid partially from where they were hidden. “You’re welcome to try.”

“So you can cut loose however many dogs you’ve got hiding in a back room or up those stairs?” Tara asked. “Even when I was in my deepest, hate-filled, self-destructive emotional pit, I would have known better than to walk into your little castle, sit down, and say something like that.”

“So what did you mean about checking up on me?”

“I wanted to see if you felt what happened during the Breaking Moon.”

“You’re damn right I felt it!” Steph said as she leaned back into her chair and drummed her fingers on the table. “Now that people spend every day being scared shitless, my business is booming. I’ve heard that alcohol, gambling, and gun sales are the only things benefiting from this whole shapeshifter mess. Them and the travel industry.” Leaning forward and flashing a fang-filled grin, she said, “Too bad all those people who packed up and left this country will only have about another week or so of peace and quiet before they’re dragged right back into it. And when they come home, the price for me taking away some of that misery will be double.”

Tara studied her with eyes darkened by threadlike filaments that crept in on all sides to meet at her pupils. “You obviously haven’t felt it.”

“Let me guess. It was something that cleared some of that double-seeded craziness from your brain?” Seeing she’d struck a nerve, Steph bounced her legs excitedly upon the balls of her feet. “Seems like only yesterday you were climbing the walls and shaking like a junkie when the blood from your last kill was still dripping from your lips. Now you sit there looking all smart and forming complete sentences.”

“Hope said the Breaking Moon would let my body catch up to both spores inside of me. All I had to do was live long enough to see it.” Holding up her hand to show Steph as well as herself that it wasn’t shaking, she added, “Looks like she was right.” Placing her hand upon the table as if it had suddenly turned into a lead weight, she asked, “You haven’t felt any difference with your spores?”

“No.”

“Are there any other double-seeded Nymar in the city?”

“No, but that’s not all of what you wanted to talk about.” When Tara stiffened, Steph said, “I’m in a line of work that benefits from knowing when someone is beating around the bush. Some people walk right up and tell you they want to get their dick sucked and then get bitten by a girl wearing a miniskirt with her hair in pigtails.”