To Walk the Night (19 page)
“And no one will know it’s me?” I asked, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. I had never been under the effects of a glamour before, and the results were startling.
“As long as they don’t have someone specifically looking for glamours, no one will know.”
“And if they do?”
Jonathan frowned and shrugged. “Then we will be found out before stepping through the door.”
“And what about my weapons? Are you going to tell me they won’t have someone patting everyone down, using metal detectors? Will the glamour protect against that?”
“No.” Jonathan looked troubled as he surveyed me in the mirror. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Then I think our original plan stands.” I noted the fall of his features, and for some reason, I felt guilty about it. Had he thought we might go in arm in arm or something? “But the disguise will be good once I am inside. If anyone sees me, I can play stupid and hopefully they will just think I got turned around somehow.”
Jonathan nodded, but he still looked disturbed.
We both looked at my reflection in the mirror for a couple of moments longer. Nathan was clearly irritated by the delay. I could see him moving around in the mirror, fidgeting with his suit and tie, glaring at me whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. Gregory seemed right at home, content to wait until the end of the world if that was what it took. Did anything ever faze him?
“Why don’t you use a glamour on yourself?” I asked, moving my arms and legs to see how the robes flowed around me. They looked perfectly natural, taking up the same amount of space as my coat. It was eerie how close they matched up. “Aside from darkening the hood you usually wear, I mean. Why not put on a different, unmarred face?”
Jonathan met my eyes in the mirror and held them as he spoke. He was all seriousness, as if the question was one he asked himself a thousand times a day.
“I don’t hide who I am. My face reminds me of what I was. If I forget my face, I might revert back to the way I was before. I cannot have that.”
His voice was silky smooth despite the slight slurring of his words. I hardly noticed when he drew closer.
“I told you before that you made me who I am today. Your actions changed my life forever. Why should I hide from myself?” His hand rested on my shoulder. “While I hide behind my hood, I do so out of respect for others. Many cringe at the sight of me. I refuse to hide behind a glamour that would make me someone else, something different. I cannot go back to that life.”
I wasn’t so sure I understood, but I nodded anyway. Regardless of how he did it, he was still hiding his face. Just because one way was veiled in darkness and the other would change the structure of his face, it was still deception. He was the same man, regardless of how he looked. Maybe it made him sleep better at night knowing he could change his features and mingle with the rest of the world and simply chose not to.
I stepped away from the mirror and headed for the door I had come in. Jonathan’s hand slipped away.
“So,” I said, stopping with my hand on a doorknob carved in a pretty accurate representation of the moon. They took their lifestyle pretty seriously here. “Shouldn’t we get this show on the road? Time’s a wasting and I would like to get home before dawn.”
22
We went over the plan once more after meeting with the rest of the Luna Cult that would be joining us. Aside from Nathan and Gregory, Jonathan was the only werewolf going. I didn’t know if that meant they were the only three in the entire Cult, or if they were the only ones he trusted. I kind of hoped it was the former.
The other Cultists were Purebloods, devoted to the Cult and the rescue of their Denmaster. They were the ones Jonathan trusted the most. I just hoped they wouldn’t get in the way once all hell broke loose. They didn’t look to be trained fighters like I hoped they would be.
I was just thankful Pablo hadn’t been included in the group. I’m not so sure I could have held off from killing him if he started making trouble. I was too stressed as it was without having to deal with his attitude. Nathan was bad enough.
The plan was pretty straightforward. The Cult was going to go in through the front door, and I was to wait until the guards were focused on them before making my move to the window. The hope was that they would be too busy making sure the Cultists were unarmed and wouldn’t notice me slipping in.
Once inside, I was to make my way toward the sound of the Cult. Jonathan assured me they would be making enough noise that I wouldn’t have any trouble finding them. If all went well, they would linger at the staircase they hoped would lead down to my location and I could join them without being noticed.
Of course, there was no telling if they would even pass the right staircase. No one had been inside the actual mansion, so as far as we knew, our paths wouldn’t even cross. And it was no sure thing I would be able to get in and to them without running into someone along the way. I had a bad feeling this wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded.
If I ran into someone, I would have to do my killing quietly. It wasn’t exactly my forte, but I could manage it if I had to. I doubted our plan would work out like planned anyway. It sounded far too easy for it to work out right. Something always went wrong with any plan, no matter how carefully laid out. I knew that. I’m pretty sure Jonathan did to, but it was better than nothing.
This had all the makings of a disaster.
And it was the Luna Cult’s skin that was on the line the most. If they were blasted the moment they stepped through the door, I could just turn around and call it a night. What did I care if the Cult ended up broken and scattered?
That was the dig. For some reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint, I did care. Maybe it was the trust Jonathan had shown me, the willingness to let me do my thing even though he knew there was a good chance I would kill him when it was all said and done. Maybe it was the fact I was given this opportunity to take down a Minor House when I would never have stood a chance alone that had me cheering for their success.
Whatever the reason, I didn’t like the feeling. I shouldn’t be thinking anything but dark, blood-red thoughts about the Luna Cult and its head werewolves.
We separated and I went to get my motorcycle. I would follow the others most of the way to House Tremaine, then break off once we were close. I would use the same path I took two nights ago to get to the side of the house. From there, I could wait for Jonathan and the others to get to the front door. If anything went wrong, he would shout a warning and I could get away. It was nice he was willing to keep me out of danger like that.
It kind of gave me the willies.
The rain was coming down hard by the time I got to my Honda and found the others in black, unmarked cars. Jonathan, Nathan, and Gregory shared a car, while the other Cultists crammed into two other beat-down vehicles. They started driving the moment I came into view. I fell in behind them, keeping my distance just in case someone from House Tremaine decided to meet them down the road.
The drive was cold and slow. Gregory drove the head car, and he obeyed every traffic law in existence. I was beginning to wonder if he was intentionally stalling when we finally turned on the street where House Tremaine was nestled. I let them drift even farther ahead and parked behind the backstop at the old abandoned ballpark.
No other cars passed as I made my way up the hill and into the trees. The leaves and branches created a canopy that kept most of the rain off me as I worked my way toward my watch point. I was thoroughly drenched, and the leather of my pants had all but glued itself to my thighs, making movement more difficult than I would have liked.
It wasn’t until House Tremaine came into view that I noticed I was being followed.
I wouldn’t have noticed it at all if it hadn’t been for the snap of a branch and the faint glow of a cigarette poking out from behind the edge of a tree. Whoever was following me obviously didn’t care if I noticed him. I could almost hear him chuckle from his hiding place.
I pretended not to notice my stalker. I was supposed to be a Pureblooded Cultist, not someone trained in stealth and death. I kept going as I had been, though I allowed myself to make a little more noise than I normally would have, until I reached the large oak that had provided me protection the first time I was there.
I scanned the grounds and saw that the lawn was pretty empty, which was surprising. I thought someone would have been out there by now.
Jonathan had yet to arrive. They had probably stopped a little ways down the road to give me time to get set. When he did get there, I would have only a few minutes to get into position.
There was another snap of a branch, but I kept my eyes on the grounds. I used my peripheral vision to keep an eye out for my stalker, waiting for him to make his move. I closed my hand around the hilt of my sword and wondered how it looked through the glamour.
A moment later, my stalker strode into view. He didn’t even bother to keep himself concealed as he approached. I turned to face him, keeping my hand on my sword, but didn’t draw. I didn’t want to break my cover quite yet. I still might do this without having to fight him.
“Well, well, well,” he said, tossing the cigarette on the ground. He stamped it out with his foot. “Look what I found. I thought I smelled something fishy.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a pleasurable sigh. “The things I could do for you would make your toes curl.”
The wolf was smiling. He was the same man I had seen two nights ago. He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat now, pulled down over his eyes to keep out the rain. Otherwise, he looked the same as I remembered, right down to his suit.
“No thanks,” I said, smiling. “I’ve had my fill of fat, arrogant men.”
His smile faltered and died. “Now, what would a member of the Luna Cult be doing out here like this?” he asked, his voice going cold. “Shouldn’t you be with your friends down there?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Jonathan step out of his car. He was taking his grand old time, adjusting his jacket and tie, talking to each and every Cultist. He was still giving me time, and I would be damned if I wasn’t going to be in position when I was supposed to be.
“I’m just making sure everything goes as planned,” I said. “I won’t get in the way. You can go back to lurking around in the dark.”
The stocky man with his little pencil mustache shook his head slowly as he strode toward me. His hand went to his waist and I expected to see him pull a gun or knife. That wasn’t what he was going for.
“I think we can do something else to pass the time,” he said, unbuckling his belt. “I’m sure Tremaine and your friends can handle things between them just fine without us watching on. There is no reason for us to get wet without reason.”
I kept the revulsion off my face and held my ground. My hand shifted from the hilt of my sword to the two daggers at the front of my belt. It probably looked to him like I was reaching for the glamour-made cord around my waist.
The werewolf smiled and unzipped his pants. He ran a hand over his face and used his index finger to smooth down his mustache. It didn’t improve his looks in the slightest.
“You barely have a smell about you,” he said, sniffing the air. “The rain does that, you know. I would love to see if you smelled like a girl I once knew. You look like her. She died happy.”
I let the wolf close on me. It was all I could do to keep from attacking him with every word out of his mouth. Everything about him oozed slimeball.
He left his pants hanging loosely around his hips, thankfully leaving everything else tucked away. He twisted his hat on his head, centering it before stepping in close.
I pressed my back against the oak tree and waited for him. I moved my right hand down to join the left, each hovering just inches from the hilts of my two silver knives. I had to wait for the right moment before acting, or else I might blow the whole plan. If he cried out, the game was over. And if he shifted, things could get ugly fast.
The wolf glanced down to where my hands hovered and he smiled again. “Let’s see what’s under those robes, now shall we?”
“Let’s,” I said as I drew both knives. I lunged forward and the wolf opened his arms as if he thought I was throwing myself at him in lust. The satisfied look on his face turned into one of shock as the first knife penetrated his groin. The second came at him from the side and embedded itself in his throat, cutting through his jugular and severing his windpipe all in one fluid motion.
I darted to the side before the blood could spurt out on me. I yanked both knives free as I moved, ducking under his flailing arms. I didn’t want to get his blood on me, nor did I want him touching me. Having his scent on my knives was bad enough. Any wolf with a good nose would smell it. I had to hope the rain would wash enough of the scent away to keep them off me until the time came for me to reveal myself.
He looked at me, his mouth working, and he dropped to his knees. He clutched at his groin, ignoring the wound in his neck as if it were unimportant. He gurgled something inarticulate before falling face-first into the wet earth.
He was still alive and it could take him some time to die, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Werewolves might be more resilient than normal folk, but that didn’t mean they didn’t die. He was losing a ton of blood and couldn’t breathe. The silver from my knives would effectively paralyze him, make his wounds slow to heal, so that he would die well before recovering.
I didn’t have time to sit around and watch him die, however. Normally, I would have cut off his head to be sure, but to do so would mean getting more of his scent on my weapons. I couldn’t risk it.
I wiped my knives clean on the wet grass, well away from where the dying wolf’s blood pumped out onto the ground. He reached out toward me and I jumped back, barely keeping myself from screaming. His eyes glazed over and he fell limp, though the blood kept coming.
I watched him as I cleaned the knives, waiting for him to move again. I was surprised he had managed even that much with the silver running through his veins. Most of the time, a wolf wouldn’t even be able to twitch after being struck by a silver weapon. This guy had been pretty damn strong. I was glad he had never shifted.
My thoughts drifted to the night before and the wolf that hadn’t seemed to be bothered by silver. I shook off the thought before it could fully form. I seriously hoped werewolves with a resistance to silver weren’t becoming common. If they were, I was in for some serious trouble.
I sheathed my knives when they were as clean as I could get them, wishing I had thought to bring spares. I could have left the dirty ones behind a tree and gone in with fresh ones, but there was no going back now.
With one last glance at the dying wolf, I started picking my way down toward Tremaine’s mansion, hoping luck was with me and no one would find him before the real action began.
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