Alterant (27 page)

R
iding along the two-lane road behind Grady Hospital, Evalle had twelve minutes before she had to meet Storm at the MARTA train station. Flashing lights glowed from the front of the hospital and sirens screamed heading in from the interstate.

How were they going to stop this fog and all the killing?

She parked near the curb, cut the engine, lifted the visor on her helmet and glanced around. Most people avoided the dark corridor between the rear of the hospital and the interstate, especially around eleven at night.

She called out sharply, “Grady?”

“You rang?” He took form in front of her, smiling.

Oh, dear Goddess. He shouldn’t have been able to take human form without having shaken the hand of a powerful being like her. But here he was, looking human. VIPER agents were allowed to trade a handshake for one minute maximum.

If anyone in VIPER found out what she’d done for Grady, Sen wouldn’t have to wait on the Tribunal’s decision to have her locked away.

Grady hadn’t been able to do this yesterday—had it only been a day ago? She’d held his hand on and off for over twenty minutes so he could maintain human form at his granddaughter’s wedding. Grady had died in the ’80s,
so he hadn’t wanted to talk to his granddaughter, only smell the flower-laden chapel and hear her wedding vows spoken, because his human senses were sharper than his Nightstalker ghoul form.

So Evalle had broken a rule and held his hand longer than the allowed one minute, which could result in her suspension from VIPER. She couldn’t bring herself to regret helping him after seeing his unbridled happiness last night.

Considering her current list of supposed transgressions, holding Grady’s hand too long was a minor one.

“Stop lookin’ at me like I’m a ghost,” he grumbled.

“You are a ghost, sort of.” She rubbed her tired eyes. “What else has changed after that handshake?”

“You mean besides me gettin’ better lookin’?” He grinned, his teeth a soft white against his raisin-brown skin. He scowled at her. “Only lasts a few minutes when I do it on my own, so it ain’t like I’m gonna be walkin’ around all day like this.”

She smiled, though it was a sad one. “I wish you could.”

He angled his head, looking her bike over. “What the hell you do to your ride?”

The paint job on her GSX-R motorcycle would have been ugly even if she hadn’t been in a rush. “I sprayed black over the gold to camouflage it so no one would recognize my bike, but I can clean off the paint when I’m ready. I covered the tag with pieces of sticky vinyl numbers.”

Grady crossed his arms. “That because you got ambushed this morning?”

Not really, but she
could
talk to him about that. “Got
jumped right before the Tribunal meeting. I think they were working for someone else, almost like bounty hunters, but I’m sure I smelled Noirre majik.”

He lowered his voice. “Glad you bein’ careful, but don’t know if that paint job will hide you. If those men that jumped you this morning are still around, they ain’t gonna be happy about losing their prize for the Medb.”

So the Medb had been behind her ambush. Grady had a point about the paint job, but she’d abused her Gixxer’s beautiful finish for another reason—to prevent being spotted easily by VIPER, Quinn or Tzader.

Grady said, “I heard some of the Nightstalkers tried to warn you.”

“I realized that later, but at the time I couldn’t stop to talk to them. I was trying to not be late for that blasted Tribunal meeting.”

“Those men were bounty hunters.”

Grady normally bartered hard for a handshake before he gave up any information, but he seemed content with his current semi-human form, so she wasn’t going to question this gift.

She asked, “Some of Dakkar’s bunch?” She had a serious issue with Dakkar if he’d sent them. VIPER allowed Dakkar’s people to track down bounties as long as they didn’t interfere with VIPER business.

“Nah. Freelance mercs for the Medb. They’re looking for Alterants.”

Evalle needed help finding Tristan, but she had to be clever about how she asked questions or she’d get Grady caught between her and the Tribunal. He’d almost died
at the hands of the Kujoo when he’d interfered a few days ago.

Okay, he was dead already, but the Kujoo would have done horrible things to him, and she doubted he’d fare any better if he ticked off the Tribunal.

She tapped her handlebar. “I wonder if the men who ambushed me were hunting just me or any Alterant.”

“Could be both. Heard they were after a female Alterant, but they think she’s with a male they’re hunting for, too.”

Who would that be? Evalle asked, “Did those men find any other Alterants, or are they still around?”

“Not a word on the bounty hunters since this morning.” He lifted his head, sniffing, then looked at her. “You know about that stinkin’ yellow fog come to town?”

“Saw it on the way here. Making people crazy. Have you heard about the fog anywhere outside of Atlanta?”

“Yep. It’s on the West Coast, too. Humans think the Alterants are some kind of Bigfoot gone Frankenstein. They think someone’s been experimenting and created these things. You better be careful.”

“I haven’t shifted into a beast.”

“No, but I hear VIPER’s declared open season on
all
Alterants.”

“All? But not me, right?”

“Don’t know. You be careful.”

She had to get moving, but where was Tristan? Snapping her fingers, she realized how she could find out if Grady had any idea where Tristan had gone after he’d teleported into the subway tunnels. “Do you know anywhere
the men from the Medb could hide underground, like around the MARTA rail stations in downtown?”

Grady looked away, his lips pooched out as if pondering. “Underground, you say? I heard once about tunnels the old Nightstalkers say the subway disturbed when it was built.”

She wanted to laugh at his reference to “old” Night-stalkers. Grady had died thirty years ago when he’d slept exposed to the elements on streets near Grady Hospital. “Where are the tunnels?”

“What you got for me?”

She muttered, “Unbelievable,” and pulled a bottle of Old Forester from her tank bag. She stuck it out to him. “Here.”

He broke out a real smile for that, then looked at her expectantly. “That’s it? No hamburger or french fries?”

She’d kill him if he weren’t already dead. “I’m in a hurry. I had time to make one stop, and McDonald’s didn’t offer an Old Forester Happy Meal. I need information, Grady.”

The old coot ignored her while he concentrated on opening his bottle. He downed a long drink, then sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t be lookin’ at me like that. There’s a place underground, or at least there was at one time, but these old guys are Methuselah-old, so I don’t know if—”

“Grady!”

“O.
K.
’Sposed to be a warren of tunnels humans weren’t meant to access, but the subway cut through the tunnel system in a couple places. They run up and down
like underground hills, so they go anywhere from near the surface to deep down and big open spaces like rooms. Been around since long before all this was built.” He waved his free hand to encompass the city that sprawled around him.

“Why would someone build all those tunnels?”

“You’re not the first nonhuman to inhabit Atlanta, Evalle. Long before the homeless died and turned into Nightstalkers there were thousands killed during the Civil War era that didn’t cross over to the other side. And not all of them were soldiers. Atlanta couldn’t have rebuilt if someone hadn’t found a place for the lost spirits to go.”

“They created a home for spirits?” She had this vision of a freaky halfway house for ghouls.

Any time Grady squared his shoulders and his voice turned instructional—like now—she wondered if he’d taught when he was alive. He had a voice that reminded her of Morgan Freeman, who could play any role from vagabond to president.

And Grady’s enunciation and speech could shift from broken street talk to sound fluent as a university professor, which was how he sounded now.

“Hauntings progressed until it was a serious problem. People shied away from buying a house rumored to have haints or moving a business into a building that scared the workers. The spirits were just as upset about people, industry and progress disturbing their resting grounds. Someone got the wise idea to give them another place to reside. So the tunnels and cavelike rooms were built underground long before high-rise buildings and subways showed up.”

“The ghosts just left?”

“I heard a pair of people, maybe exorcists, coaxed the spirits into going underground, but another rumor said they were tricked.”

She started thinking about being stuck underground with a bunch of spirits. “Are they friendly?”

“Have no idea. None of the spirits up here will go down to the Maze of Death.”

“You’re kidding about that name, right?”

Grady had turned up the bottle again. He took a long slug and lowered it until his unyielding gaze met hers. “No, I’m not joking. Don’t go down there. If those men that ambushed you are down there, leave ’em. They may not make it out again to be a problem, because we both know that some spirits are not nice. If that place is full of angry beings, especially former trained soldiers, it’s dangerous.”

Just my luck the Maze of Death is now on my bucket list.

She checked her watch—running late to meet Storm. “I got you. I have to go. Will you
please
stay out of sight while you work through whatever it is you can now do with your body?”

He looked hurt. “Why you want to be like that?”

“Because I don’t know what Sen might do if he finds out you can take solid form on your own.”

Grady sniffed and fisted his bottle in one hand. “He don’t scare me.”

The idea of what Sen could do to Grady scared her. “It won’t help my case with the Tribunal either.”

That changed his attitude. “In that case, I’ll lay low, but if I find out they lock you up I’m gonna have to have words with Sen.”

May Macha help her. “Catch you later.”

She checked her rearview mirror as she pulled away and grimaced over Grady’s still-solid form. Riding through the north end of downtown, she didn’t encounter bodies lying around. This area appeared untouched by the fog. People were actually moving around. Did the fog just manifest itself in spots? Were people ignoring what they heard on the news because they didn’t see fog around them?

Or did the newspeople know the fog was behind the killings?

In a couple turns she found a parking spot on West Peachtree Street near the North Avenue MARTA terminal.

Her bike had a warding. If anyone but her tried to ride it they were in for a nasty surprise, but did spraying paint over one section alter the warding symbols carved into the frame?

Tzader would know, since he’d had the bike warded as a gift to her, but she couldn’t ask him right now.

At the stairwell she descended wide steps to the subway level and tried not to think about Grady’s warning.

Maze of Death.

If Tristan was in there, she had no idea how she could pass through a concrete wall to find him or how to pull him out. She couldn’t use the same gift from the Tribunal twice, so teleporting herself anywhere again was not possible.

When she reached the track level, Storm was leaning against a section of tile-covered concrete wall where passengers waited to ride trains.

He watched her coming toward him as if he saw only her.

He had on his usual dark T-shirt and faded jeans. His midnight black hair was pulled back from his face, accentuating the sharp angles and burnished skin his Native American blood awarded him.

Four women stood in a group pretending to chat while their gazes strayed to Storm, whose powerful shoulders pulled at his T-shirt when he crossed his arms.

Feral sexuality in an untamed package.

Women were drawn to the risk.

Men allowed all that unleashed danger a respectful distance.

Two strides from reaching Storm, Evalle noticed one of the women in the foursome giving
her
a thorough examination, clearly perplexed over Storm’s smile for her.

Evalle had more to worry about than being snubbed. They didn’t bother her. Not really. But sending them a little push of energy might rattle that bunch enough to wipe the snotty looks off their faces.

Storm
tsk
ed at her and warned, “No playing with the humans.”

Evalle swung her gaze up at him and lifted her shoulders. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled. “Ready?”

She nodded and led the way to the service entrance, where Storm kept watch as she used kinetics to open and relock the door. Once they navigated their way back to the dark corridors, they stepped over the tracks and up onto the foot-high structure running alongside the rails.
That’s where the trains pulled power to operate. She’d worried the first time Storm had stepped up on the shield that covered the power access, but it turned out to be stronger than it appeared.

Evalle checked over her shoulder to see that they were swallowed in the semi-dark area, then asked Storm, “Have you heard about the sulfur-smelling fog and Alterants shifting?”

“I saw some of the fallout on the news. The top end of I-285 is covered in wrecks. People were going crazy in some areas, shooting each other.” He walked along for a moment. “Your Alterants might be dead.”

“I hope not. I think I know where Tristan and maybe the other Alterants are down here.”

“How’d you find out anything with only three hours to rest?”

Because I slept a half hour
. “Saw a Nightstalker I know on the way here.”

“Your friend Grady?”

“Yep. He said there’s a warren of tunnels and rooms down here where spirits moved to live after the Civil War. Soldiers and civilian spirits. It’s called the Maze of Death.”

Storm didn’t laugh, but he might as well have by the comical look he gave her when she glanced up at his silence.

“Hey,
I
didn’t name the place,” she said in self-defense. “Anyhow, we might have lost Tristan’s trail because he teleported through the concrete wall into the maze. The only idea I have is to go back to the last spot you found his trail and see if we can find an access point nearby.”