Teeth of Beasts (Skinners) (38 page)

“I gave that to Daniels,” she said. “He knows he’s infected with the first component of Pestilence, and after all he did for us, I figure he deserves some peace of mind.”

“And you deserve to get your arm back. After all we did for those nymphs, I’m sure Tristan could find some more of that Memory Water for you.”

“Oh, she owes us and she’s going to pay up. Remember that deal Rico hashed out? We really have been granted access to the A-Frame Airlines. All we need to do is give them some notice and we’ll be transported in style. Well, if you can stretch your boundaries enough to call those tacky beaded curtains stylish.”

“Fun. So you’ll just keep your arm in a sling and feel sorry for yourself?”

Sitting up without leaning on him, Paige let her eyes wander about the huge room, taking in one sight at a time. “No, I’ll work through it the hard way. Learn from my mis
take, figure out a way to deal with the mess, and move along. That’s how it should be.” Shrugging, she looked up at the cathedral ceiling and added, “I need a new weapon anyway.”

A large man wearing khaki pants ambled down the aisle carrying a box of hymnals and a dozen pens stuffed into the pocket protector of his gray shirt. The glasses sliding down his nose were wide enough to replace the Cav’s broken windows, and the eyes behind them showed a hint of friendly familiarity when they spotted Paige. He showed her a crooked smile and started filling the spaces on the racks behind each pew so every parishioner would know the words to their songs.

“When Rico told me you were here,” Cole said, “I thought he was kidding.”

“Why?”

Lowering his voice to reduce the risk of being struck by lightning, he said, “Because you told me more times than I can count that this religious stuff doesn’t work.”

“I told you it doesn’t work on vampires or werewolves, and it doesn’t. It also doesn’t work for magic charms. But maybe,” she added with a gentle smile, “it works on me.”

A special sneak peek at Book Four in the Skinners series,

Available Fall 2010!

Alcova, WY

The pickup was covered in a yellow paint that had been faded from decades of punishment from a relentless sun. Even after the sky’s glare had faded to a soft, burnt orange, the truck still looked like something that had been flipped out of the proverbial frying pan. Its frame rattled around a powerful engine humming with a dull roar as it slowed to a stop on the shoulder of County Road 407. The passenger side window came down, allowing the driver’s voice to be heard as he leaned over and asked, “You need a ride, buddy?”

The man who’d been walking along the shoulder of the road didn’t take his hands from the pockets of his Salvation Army overcoat. A mane of tangled, dark brown hair flapped against his face when he turned to fix his blue-gray eyes upon the driver. “No, thanks,” he said.

“You sure? It’s a few miles until the next gas station.”

“I’m sure. Thanks, anyway.”

The driver grumbled something under his breath that he thought would go unheard.

Having heard the man’s snippy comment just fine, Mr. Burkis turned away from the truck and let it move along.

“Funny,” said a voice from the hills amid a rush of bounding footsteps and the skid of heels in rocky sand. “After all the death that has been brought to them from strangers, they still justify stopping to ask for more from a monster walking along the side of the highway.”

The County Road cut through a section of exposed rock that made the area seem like something closer to a desert than a place within range of so many rivers and dams. No running water could be seen from this stretch of road, al
though both of the men who now faced each other could smell moisture in the air as easily as they could feel the fading sunlight upon their faces.

“Hitchhiking, Randolph?” the vaguely amused voice asked in a guttural cockney accent. “You’ve never been one to indulge in the finer things, but surely you don’t need to travel on human roads.”

The man in the overcoat wasn’t impressed by the display of speed that had brought the other man to his side. He merely stuck his hands deeper into his pockets, turned away from the road and started walking at a normal pace into the surrounding wilderness. The new arrival fell into step beside him, wearing a set of rags that wrapped around his waist and hung over his chest thanks to the good graces of a few stubborn sections of leather and canvas. He wore no shoes. The hair sprouting from the top of his head hung in strands that looked more like greasy wires. A jagged scar traced a line down the side of his nose, but that was the least of his injuries. His right eye socket was filled with a mass of hardened flesh resembling wax that had been stirred right until the point of hardening.

“I stuck to the roads because I knew that’s where I would find you, Liam.”

“Have I become so predictable?”

“Ever since you became famous.” After cresting a small rise, Burkis removed his hands from his pockets so he could cross his arms sternly over a chest that was thicker now than it had been a few moments ago. “Didn’t you get enough camera time in Kansas City?”

Liam smiled wider than any human could. The corners of his mouth stretched almost back to his ears and a few of his teeth flowed into fangs as if melting down to points. “I made a damn fine run of it there, didn’t I?”

“You made a mess and stirred up the Skinners, just like I said you would.”

“Always know best, eh Randolph? Remember when you were the one listening to what I had to say?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“And in that time, you’ve become the one with all the answers, have you?”

“This is my territory,” Burkis snarled. “No matter what our history may have been, you don’t get to come here and sully it by terrorizing humans for no reason. Feeding is one thing, but you’re—“

“Sending a message,” Liam snapped in a way that sent his last syllables rolling along the tops of the hills. Immediately aware of the impact he’d made upon his environment, the man in rags lowered his chin as well as his voice. “If you’ve picked up the same rumblings from the east that I have, something out there may very well have gotten that message of mine.”

Burkis pulled in half a breath and grimaced. “You reek of Mongrels.”

“Of course. The filthy buggers escorted me out of Kansas City. To be honest, I think they might have gotten closer to finishing the job than that group who cornered me in Whitechapel. I always knew the Mongrels were opportunistic little shits, but I never banked on them working with the Skinners.”

“That has yet to be determined,” Burkis said. “How did you get them to take your side?”

“A wild stab on my part. Common greed on theirs.” Casually shifting his gaze to the east, he squinted at the darkest horizon as if he could make out what was happening on the other half of a map. “I told the lot of them that Full Bloods are created when one of us bites one of them.”

Burkis recoiled as if he’d picked up the scent of cotton candy amid the desolate stretch of hardened terrain. “They believed you?”

“One of them did. That’s all it took to carry me away before I was damaged any further. After that, I suppose the fellow with the ambition to move up a rung or two on the food chain convinced some of his mates to join him because that’s all they could talk about when I was able to open my eyes.”

“Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did,” Liam said with a wink. “Nipped at one or two as soon as I was able. Of course, the first one didn’t make it. Seems those Mongrels aren’t put together as well as they like to think they are. Their strength is in numbers, though, so they kept me from getting away. I needed a few more days to heal and then I bit the few who stuck around for their chance at immortality. Only took some fingers and half an arm. Doesn’t do the trick unless you get to the bone.”

“I know that. What happened then?”

“What do you think happened? They changed.”

“Into what?” Burkis asked.

“Into something that’s close enough to a Full Blood to fool the likes of them.” Seeing the other’s glare, he explained, “They’re stronger and bigger than what they started as, but they’re also a little slower. Takes away some of their advantage. After word spreads, Mongrels in this precious territory of yours may come to trust me.”

“You honestly believe they’d trust you after the history of blood spilled between our kinds?” Letting out a cynical snuff from flared nostrils, Burkis said, “They took you away from the Skinners to use you and they’ll keep using until they figure out a way to be rid of you.”

When Burkis started walking even further from the road, Liam dashed around to get in front of him. It took next to no effort to cover the short distance in a flicker of motion. “I know what I’m doing, Randolph. If you found me to try and show me the error of my ways yet again, you can stuff it up your self-righteous arse.”

“What I want is for you to help me find someone that can give us some of the answers we’ve all been after for longer than these cities have been scattered across this country. The one that may have gotten your message.”

Not only did that cause Liam to straighten his posture, but it put a curious tilt into the way he held his head. “Go on.”

“I also want to meet the ones you created. I’ve seen your appearance in those videos that have been making the rounds.”

“Ah yes. That motorists with the cameras. They all have cameras these days, don’t they?”

“And they spread their pictures like rumors over a camp-fire,” Burkis said.

“Have the Skinners seen my movies?”

“I’d wager so. But right now, that’s not your concern. You were seen traveling with Mongrels, so I’m assuming those are the ones you altered. Any others wouldn’t split from their pack and they sure as hell wouldn’t defer to you the way those did.”

“What makes you think they’re still with me?”

“Because you’re a terrible liar, that’s what.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Filling up the massive lungs within his chest, Liam expelled his breath and said, “But I could hardly ever slip one past you, Randolph. They’re not far from here. Maybe ten or twenty miles up in the mountains.”

“Take me to them.”

Cover art by Larry Rostant