Apocalypse Happens (35 page)
“No.” I paused to retrieve my gun and Luther’s from the nightstand—if a silver knife works well, a silver bullet works even better—then I hurried to catch up.
We tossed our knives on the kitchen table. The kid reached for the door, but I shouldered in front of him. Luther was a rookie. Not that I was much better. I’d been on the job less than four months. Still I was the leader, which meant I got to go through the door first.
In the past, a seer—someone with the psychic ability to recognize a Nephilim in human form—worked with several DKs, or demon killers. However, that arrangement had gone to hell when the Nephilim infiltrated the federation and wiped out three-quarters of the group. Now the remaining members pretty much did whatever they could. Seers became DKs, DKs became seers, and everyone killed anything that got in their way.
“If Ruthie still isn’t talking, then how do you know something’s out there?” Luther asked reasonably.
I wasn’t going to tell him that I’d had a dream visit from the dead. Not that such news would be a shock. Luther got visits from the dead every damn day. I just didn’t want to share right now. Right now I wanted to know what was out there, and then I wanted to kill it.
I crept down the stairs, silent on bare feet. Luther was even quieter. He’d been born part lion. He couldn’t help it.
A door led into the parking lot behind the building. I opened it but didn’t step out. Instead I listened; Luther sniffed the air, then our eyes met, and together we nodded. Empty as far as we could tell.
“Don’t shoot anyone I’ll have to dispose of later,” I cautioned, a variation of
don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes
, or in federation-speak,
don’t kill a human by mistake
.
Nephilim disintegrated into ashes when executed
in just the right way, eliminating impossible-to-answer questions and the annoying necessity of bloody body removal. People were another story.
Luther’s only answer to my caution was a typical teenage sneer combined with an irritated eye roll. I didn’t have to touch him to know his thoughts.
As if.
We stepped outside. No one shot us, not that a bullet would do much damage. Supernatural creatures, even those like Luther and me—more human than not—healed pretty much anything but one thing common only to them. Which meant the killer had to know what that single thing was.
I indicated with a tilt of my chin that Luther should go around the building to the left, while I went to the right. We’d meet back here, then together check out the dark gully at the far end of the lot where the Milwaukee River gurgled merrily past.
My gaze was pulled in that direction. There could be something hiding there—several somethings. Although the lack of a warning from Ruthie made me think that whatever I’d heard had probably been human. Not that a human couldn’t be a huge pain in the ass. They usually were. And anyone sneaking around in the dark just had to be.
As I slid along the side of the building, back to the wall, I caught movement near the river and spun in that direction, gun outstretched. For an instant I could have sworn I saw something slinking low to the ground, a black, four-legged . . .
I blinked, and the shadow was just a shadow, perhaps a log with four branches, perhaps the reflection of a distant streetlight off the river. There were also foxes in Friedenburg, a few coyotes too and dogs galore. But that had looked like a wolf.
“Sawyer?” I whispered. My only answer was the sharp wail of the wind.
I lifted my face to the night, waiting for the air to cool my skin. Instead, humid heat pressed against me; there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze. Not the wind then, but definitely a wail.
Shit. Luther.
I sprinted toward the front of the building. Though every instinct I had shrieked for me to skid around the corner, gun blazing, I paused and checked the street first. Charging into the open was a good way to get my head blown off. I didn’t think even that would kill me, but it would take a helluva long time to heal. By then, Luther could be dead.
There was also the added concern of my possible pregnancy. I didn’t
want
to be pregnant, could think of little I wanted less than that, except maybe slow, tortuous death by Nephilim, but what was, was. If I carried Sawyer’s child, he, she, or it was all that was left of his magic, beyond what he’d given to me. I had to protect his gift. I’d promised.
Four
AM
on a Friday morning and Main Street was deserted. Friedenburg boasted its share of taverns—this was Wisconsin, after all—but they’d closed on time, and everyone had skittered home.
Not a sign of Luther. Hell.
“Kid?” I didn’t want to shout, but pretty soon I would have to.
I hurried along the front of the knick knack shop, so intent on the next corner I nearly missed what rested in the shrouded alcove of the doorway. I’d already scooted past when what I’d seen registered. I stopped and took several steps backward.
On the top step sat a blanket-shrouded basket. Despite the lack of light in the alcove, and the lack of
color to the blanket—either black or navy blue—I still detected movement beneath.
The back of my neck prickled, and I had to fight not to slap at an imaginary mosquito. I dared not touch that area unless I meant to. Sawyer wasn’t the only one with tattoos, nor the ability to use them.
Had someone brought me a basket of poisonous snakes, tarantulas, or Gila monsters? Maybe something new like a land shark, a water-free jelly fish, a teenie-tiny vampire. Believe me, I’d seen stranger things.
The wail I’d heard before came again—from the basket. I leaned over and caught the end of the blanket with the barrel of my Glock, then lifted. What I saw inside made my heart beat faster than any vampire ever had. I let the blanket fall back into place and nearly tripped over my own feet in my haste to move away.
“Fan-damn-tastic,” I muttered.
Someone had left me a baby.
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