Blood Bonds (22 page)

“What happened?” It wasn’t drugs doing this to him. Not even synth. This was Alchemy, and it was evil. She knew there were powers that could kill Kin, but whatever this was had no individual scent she could detect. But there was a change in him. Creyal had acquired a sweet, sickly smell that reminded her of rotten things in the ground.

“I couldn’t stay away.” He lifted his arm. “I was just going to have a little taste. I figured I could find out more info if I did my usual. But they wouldn’t let me leave.” He curled against her. His arm slid over her shoulder, and he tucked his head under her chin. “Something was wrong. It wasn’t the usual kind of set-up. Smelled funny. Then I saw them.”

Haley stroked his head and back and thrummed in her chest. “Who did you see?”

“Dead Kin.” Every bone in his Creyal’s body pushed against his skin. He’d changed a lot since Monday. “He was there...”

“Who?”

“The cop on the floor.” Creyal’s breathing was shallow. “I’m so tired ... so tired.”

From the hallway the sound of cop voices and the scent of Alchemist magic drifted in.

“I’m okay, so please don’t come in here guns blazing,” Haley said. “We’re good. All’s good.”

The door jerked open, and the Alchemist filed in, their body shields facing her, cutting her off from the other half of the room. Pin guns came up. “He’s not in any shape to hurt anyone now. You can put those down.” She started to stand.

“Stay down, wyrm!” The voice was male, but she had no idea which one said it. All dressed up in their big, bad, black cookie cutter outfits they looked just alike.

Haley said, “Hey, guys, any cops out there that might be listening. Please don’t leave me in here with the SWAT team from hell.”

She was about to call out again when someone yelled, “Stand down.” Bauer came through the door, his arm done up like King Tut, and looking in need of a serious drink.

“He’s sick,” Haley said, and they all tossed her angry glances. Bauer shook his head and looked at the crumpled cop on the floor. Someone felt for a pulse and then yelled for the EMTs. “Didn’t you hear me? He’s sick.”

“No one gives a shit about the fucking lizard.” That from one of the Alchemists.

“Bauer!” Haley said.

The detective looked at her, dark eyes flashing. “He’s not my priority right now, Haley. As far as I’m concerned, they can take him out back and lop off his head.”

“He’s sick, Bauer. As in ill. We don’t get diseases.” No one was listening. “For Christ’s sake, Bauer, that son-of-a-bitch on the floor did this to him.”

The man turned on her and jabbed a finger in her face. “And with any luck he’ll fucking die. He destroyed six lives today. Six good Human lives. None of us will be the same, and Jones probably won’t get to see his kid’s...” Bauer curled his hand into a fist, and made an obvious effort to step away.

Haley stared at him, feeling detached. He was pissed. They all were. She was Kin, so it was her fault, too. She accepted that. Fine. But that didn’t change things. “You need to call the CDC, Bauer. Kin don’t get sick, remember. That means whatever this is, it’s deadly. Creyal saw other dead Kin. There could be more. If it can kill Kin, it has the potential to kill Humans, too. And that means everyone could wind up like this.” The entire room came to a standstill.

Bauer pulled out his phone and dialed.

It was on the bus that Farley got nervous and a thin sheen of sweat broke out across the back of his neck. Over the driver’s seat was an advertisement that read “It’s SMARTA to ride MARTA.”

No, he would have been SMARTA to take a cab. Now he was stuck inside this rolling cookie jar, smelling people and waiting for the Hunger to show up like a bad penny.

After the longest fifteen minutes of his life.

When Farley could see the Wall he stood up and pulled the cord. A bell tolled and the bus slowed. He got off and headed across the street and down an alley. His combat boots thumped on the pavement and the chains on his skater pants jingled.

It was cold today, and his Godsmack shirt didn’t offer very much protection.

Correction, Haley’s Godsmack shirt.

It was black and matched the pants, so he’d borrowed it. She’d given him the stink eye when he’d pulled it out of her drawer, but it was either that or her pink flowered one, and he really didn’t feel like getting the shit kicked out of him today.

Farley tucked his hands under his arms, and wished he’d kept a spare jacket at her place. Other than the few stray pieces of clothing, everything there was hers. But that was going to have to change, wasn’t it?

Yes, it was.

It took a lot of will power to get himself out of that building and on the bus. And it wasn’t because he was afraid of any cravings popping up. Leaving Haley alone was just a bad idea. Every metaphysical energy point in his body said so.

He passed under a causeway and trotted along the edge of the concrete spillway that funneled excess rain water into the creeks. This was a bad part of the Gray Zone and Farley knew it. Usually he stayed near the Pit, Casey’s, or the line of restaurants where a lot of the shippers hung out. The truck yard on the north end was another reasonably safe place.

Farley stopped just under the old iron bridge connecting the two sides of the stacked stone fort. It wasn’t really a fort, it just happened to look like one.

Inside, the building was scarred by a run-in with the Society for Neighborhood Improvement and bore a combination of 1960’s olive tile crossed with a 1990’s face lift. It only went as far as the foyer. When Farley stepped into the hall, he could see why. This place made his little hole in the wall look like the Ritz.

Honest to God moss was growing on the walls, and a small tree coming up through a crack in the floor had surpassed weed status and was heading into bush frontier. The stairs didn’t look safe in spite of being made out of stone. There were great gaping holes in the railing, big enough to drive a car through.

Farley headed up the hallway, hoping he was in the right part of the building. He only knew Niles lived in the area because Kin avoided it.

Eight doors later, and after taking a stairwell into a flooded basement, Farley decided the only direction left was up. So far, he’d only found a family of rats and an old burned out sofa, circa 1970. The room it was in smelled like melting rubber.

Rock shifted on the steps where the mortar had crumbled and left the flagstone flopping like the sole of a blown out tennis shoe. The long hall at the top was nothing more than a stretch of rotten wood littered with trash and a few shriveled rat skeletons.

About half-way up, he had a pretty good idea which room was Niles’. It was the only one with a door. When he jiggled the knob it came open.

Damn thing didn’t even squeak.

Farley looked inside.

A flashlight would have been a good idea. The room was dark because the windows had been covered, leaving nothing but a thin orange line where the sun could leak in.

His vision slid to its natural state and he scanned the room. A desk, a pallet on the floor, a big trunk, and what looked like a radio in the corner was a complete inventory of the three hundred square foot space. Farley stepped inside. The walls fluttered when he moved the door.

Like they were breathing.

What the hell?

Farley reached up and felt scraps of paper, dimpled with writing and held up with thumb tacks.

The little sheets were everywhere, floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor. They fluttered whenever he stirred the air. Farley went to the window, felt for the blanket that covered it, and yanked it down. He blinked and waited for the splotches of green and red to fade. When he could finally see, he became rooted to the spot.

Okay, this is weird.

Newspaper articles, hand written letters, old maps, and pages from calendars covered every inch of wall space. The different lettering and overall changes in style told him that the collection spanned decades. Farley had never imagined Niles to be the coupon-clipper-stalker type.

Then there were the photos--lots and lots of photos.

They were of Haley. Candid shots, taken from a distance. Walking into the CFKR, sitting in the park, parking lot of her building...

Hopefully, Haley wasn’t going to be right about the Twinkies.

Farley plucked a newspaper clipping from its place on the wall. It was dated 1938. The article was brief, talking about the official establishment of the CFKR and how the city of Atlanta had set a new trend dealing with the ever-growing concern of Human and Kin existence. Haley was mentioned close to the end, where the current CFKR director felt she could be an asset to the establishment of good relations with the non-Human residents of the city. They were all like that. Either she was mentioned, pictured, or quoted.

On the desk Farley found a ledger with more names and places, then an article from about ten years ago. Haley wasn’t mentioned in this one, but another Kin was. Farley stared at the photo.

Frozen in time, with wings half spread, and his blazing blue eyes turned like he was listening to something no one else could hear, was the epitome of Kin acceptance; Justice, the Great White.

Nothing about him was like other Kin. With his ivory scales and large blue eyes, Justice gave off a gentle unimposing presence. He had no ridges, no horns, no thorny protection or armor. While not all Kin could breathe fire, they usually had some sort of natural defense or offense--such as quills or venom--but Justice had nothing. To top it off, rumor had it he was mute. Defective.

But he did have something that the Human world wanted, badly enough that they accepted him to the point of not making him walk around in a Human skin.

Justice could read minds. Not the pick-a-card-any-card, either. The city used his ability to save billions in trials as well as innocent lives.

And while the Great White looked like a harmless Disney version of My Favorite Dragon, Farley wasn’t fooled. Kin didn’t get as old as him if they weren’t powerful.

Not to mention dangerous.

Behind the article in the section marked “names and numbers", there was only one phone number, but no name. Farley took out his cell phone, and for shits and giggles punched in the number.

On the third ring, a very normal-sounding Human voice answered. “This is Gregory.” There was even TV noise in the background.

What had he been expecting? Justice was mute. Feeling like an ass, Farley did the only thing he could. Apologize. “I’m sorry. I think I must have dialed the wrong number.”

“Who are you trying to call?”

The man called himself Gregory
.

Farley hung up without replying. His phone was a disposable, practically impossible to trace.

Gregory.
Where had he seen that name before?

He looked around, then down at the magazine cutting. The caption under Justice’s photo read:
The Great White resides in the beautiful city of Atlanta with his Human companion, Gregory...

Shit.

Human companion, my ass.
He was Justice’s Link. Farley was willing to bet his piddly-ass paycheck on it. He stuffed the ledger in his boot and looked around for anything else that seemed important. He decided a little photo evidence was in order and snapped a couple pictures of the walls with his cell phone.

Weird.

Especially the astronomy maps. What were all those lines?

Either Niles was seriously wacked or he was seriously wacked.

Still, Farley couldn’t shake Medan’s claim he’d been protecting Haley. And why the hell would the Queens want Haley dead to begin with? Females were competitive, sure, but dead? Usually that only happened if you put two of them in the same room together.

Haley had no ties to territory. She wasn’t in line for a throne. Hell, no one even knew who’d clutched her. She was the equivalent of a red-headed bastard stepchild.

Farley turned to leave, but a small separation in the wall above the desk caught his eyes. He stepped up to it and felt around inside. The smoothness of plastic brushed his fingertips, and he knew immediately what it was.

A notebook of the electronic kind.

Niles was not only a coupon clipper but a technology man. World’s just full of surprises. Farley gave the room a final sweep and tucked the Sony Vaio under his arm.

Outside, the wind had picked up, and he shivered as he headed up the sidewalk. Farley crossed the road, but when he got to the causeway he kept going. The scent of Male Kin was on the wind and he didn’t need the trouble. And considering the area, there could only be trouble.

Farley dropped his head and turned his chin. Three big Males were coming up the sidewalk wearing worn out jeans and no shirt or shoes.

He slid the notebook under his shirt. At little further and it became obvious that they weren’t going to get bored with this.

Farley faced them and they flashed fang. When he didn’t react they slunk lower, until their hands held them up and feet pushed them forward. Walking like beasts and not Humans. Their eyes glittered with gold and orange. Their mouths opened, breathing him in. Beside him now, curious fingers prodded his clothes and traced his boots. Clicking sounds rode up in their throats, and their tongues tasted him where they could find skin. The one on his right worked Farley’s pants leg up to his thigh, chasing it with his teeth.

These Males were too young to be out of the Hive. But knowing Medan, she might have found them unworthy and forced them to the streets to survive or die.

Considering the part of town they were in, the latter was more likely.

Movement from the tunnel caught Farley’s attention and another Male slid from the darkness, heading up the sidewalk. And he didn’t move like a hatchling. Hell, he moved like something old, and filled to the rim with bravado. As he got closer, a hand came up and pushed the hood off his head. The face confirmed what Farley already scented.

“Darco.” Farley didn’t even attempt to cap the growl in his throat. The Male smiled, flashing sharps. Black hair fell over his shoulders in thick waves and framed his long face. Like Farley, Darco was too pretty to be handsome. But then, clutch mates often
impressed
on similar features.