Dangerous Creatures (25 page)

Expendable Youth

T
he next day, Lennox stared at Necro across the subway tracks. He needed her one more time. It was cold and damp in these tunnels, yet there she sat in a tattered white T-shirt and ripped jeans. A tattooed coil of barbed wire snaked its way up and down her bare arms. The chain-bound combat boots recalled her inner Necromancer.

Good. I want her to be tough.

Nox didn’t take threats from the Otherworld lightly, and that was precisely what he was dealing with here. Even dead Incubuses tended to have friends in low places. Lately, he had taken even greater precautions. He made sure Necro hadn’t been followed. He had sealed off the Underground stop, even from Casters. He’d dragged a broken-down bench over for her to sit on.

Then he’d compelled the Necromancer out of her warm bed and guided her here.

He didn’t feel any better about it, but he didn’t have a choice. Who was he to mess with things like vengeance and fate?

Destiny. There is an Order of Things, even now.

When the dead called for you, you had to listen. What often started with a message from the other side quickly became a premonition and then a hallucination. By the time the nightmares began, nothing good followed. After his last night, he knew it was time to talk to Abraham. The Otherworld had a thousand powerful connections and reconnections to this one. It wasn’t like Nox could ignore the call, no more than it was his fault that Necro had to take it. There wasn’t another Necromancer in his employ. And she’d displayed an uncanny gift for channeling the Ravenwoods in particular. Not to mention, a willingness to do it, so long as she didn’t have to carry the Ravenwoods around with her, in her conscious mind.

Nox didn’t know why, but he depended on her.

The candles were smoking. Halfway melted, down to inch-high stumps of white wax. Necro’s head tipped back, exposing her pale neck.

Necromancers happened to be the most valuable when they were the most vulnerable. Sleep created the clearest connection.

He was running out of time. He could only have so many of these conversations before Necro would remember. Besides, the Royal Barbados cigar box on his desk at Sirene was almost empty now.

His mother had always kept the box full, for those times when Abraham visited, which was probably the reason the cigars were such powerful conduits now. Nox could still recall Abraham sitting on the creaking settee on the veranda of his family’s island home—hovering like a threat over his parents, like the dark cloud Abraham had been for as long as Nox had known him.

He was the one family friend who most often dropped by, to be anything but friendly. Which was understandable, considering Abraham Ravenwood was so busy being too many other things.

Say, for example, an extortionist. Or a thief. Or a prison guard. Sometimes even an executioner.

All the while savoring these nasty cigars.

Nox stared at the golden cigar paper and touched the tiny crown stamped on its side. Lost in another time.

If my mother had only listened. If my father had only believed me. If only Abraham hadn’t had the whole Dark world wired to his own puppet strings.

Even from the Otherworld.

Hopefully this business would wrap itself up soon, one way or another. Nox needed to move on. There was only so much living in the past a person could stand before they started to lose their mind.

Particularly when the past was this toxic.

There was no putting it off any longer. Nox lit the cigar and looked away.

Better get this meet-and-greet started
.

Almost instantly, Necro’s eyes opened. “Boy,” the voice bellowed out of her limp mouth.

“I’m right here.” Nox nodded across the tracks. “Like I said I’d be, when you sent that posse of Vexes to rattle around at my place last night. Message received, old man.”

“You talk a big game, yet you continue to be a disappointment.” Necro’s gold eyes rolled up as she spoke, leaving the glowing white that always made Nox think of the inside of an oyster.

“You’re still singing that same song, Mr. Ravenwood.” Nox flicked ash from the cigar. The smoke burned in his nostrils. “The song of a dead man.”

“I’m done singin’. Like I’m done waitin’ for you to fight my battles.”

“Good. I was getting tired of fighting them. Unlike some of us, I have a life to live.”

“I said I was done waitin’. I didn’t say I was done with you.”

“I thought—”

“You don’t think about anything but yourself and your idiotic clubs. You’re a stain on the Caster race, Lennox Gates. Come to think of it, you have been since you were a little boy.” Necro gave him an angry smile.

Nox snapped. “If that’s the case, then why I am the one you’re talking to? Where are your own beloved grandchildren now? Because I’d be happy to leave your nasty affairs to them.”

Necro shook her head, swinging her wild blue faux-hawk. “None of your business. Not anymore. Now that you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

Nox averted his eyes and blew on the cigar ash, holding it away from his face. “Name one person who still visits your grave. Even one, Abraham.” Nox waited, and smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Then the word came, suddenly and improbably, flying at him from out of the blue. A brick through an unsuspecting window.

“Silas.”

Necro smiled as she said it, all teeth.

The cold seeped through Nox at the sound of the name. He started to say something—most likely, something as bitter as he felt—but caught himself.

Careful. Silas Ravenwood is nothing to joke about. Watch yourself.

Nox cleared his throat and began again. “Silas Ravenwood is a busy man. And from what I hear, he’s a whole lot Darker than his son, Macon. More like his grandfather, wouldn’t you say?” His heart pounded. He needed to get out of this conversation, fast.

“Silas has always done me proud.”

“That criminal? I hear he’s too occupied with building the biggest Blood Incubus syndicate in the Underground to visit anyone’s grave. If he had time for you, why hasn’t he been dealing with your business instead of me?”

The answer was a slow, low drawl. “Not everyone has a Necromancer in their employ, boy. Makes you easier to reach than most, from where I sit. You’ve always stood too close to this side of the veil, like you already knew you were a dead man.” The old man’s laughter echoed through the tunnel. “Don’t you worry about Silas. He has a part to play in all this. Unlike you, he’ll be ready to play it when the time comes. In fact, he’ll be stopping by Sirene to give you my regards.”

The thought made Nox’s stomach twist into a knot. He tried to sound like himself, but he was suddenly having trouble remembering what that was supposed to sound like. “I look forward to it.”

“If I wasn’t clear enough, boy, that was a threat.”

“I picked up on that.”

“You know what you have to do. Make sure you do it, or Silas will.”

“Another threat?” Nox asked.

“Your choice. Your coffin.”

“I’ll take your word for it, dead man. Considering I don’t actually own a coffin, myself.”

Necro growled. “You will, unless you hand over the people who put me here, boy. Especially the Siren and the hybrid Incubus.”

“So you’ve said.” Nox had to keep stalling. He’d already survived this long. He just needed more time to figure out his end game. It was one thing to pretend to do business with Abraham Ravenwood. It was another thing to spill blood on his behalf.

Necro grunted. “It’s not a request.”

Nox drew a breath. “Don’t be so dramatic. When haven’t I done everything you’ve asked?” It was true, as much as Nox hated to admit it. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d made a few suggestions here and there. He had delivered both the Siren and the Incubus, at least as far as the club. His form of Persuasion wasn’t as obvious as a lollipop, but it was infinitely more powerful. Not even the most powerful Natural in a millennium had seen him coming.

“If you had done everything I’d asked, you’d be digging graves by now.” Necro-Abraham did not look impressed.

“It’s happening. The plans are in motion. I can give you both of them if you give me enough time.” Just because Nox hadn’t decided what to do didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. He was his mother’s son. He believed in options.

“Then why are they still alive?”

It was a legitimate question. Nox had been wondering how to answer it. Stalling would only buy him a little time. Eventually, it would run out for everyone, and heads would roll.

His and theirs.

He gazed across the tracks. “You’re a greedy old man, Mr. Ravenwood. Greedy and impatient.”

“I’m a dead man, Lennox. You know what the problem is with dead men? We’ve got nothin’ to lose.”

“Sometimes,” Nox said, “neither do the living.”

Necro drew her switchblade out of her pocket, moving it up to her neck, guided by Abraham Ravenwood, the monster inside her.

She pressed the blade so hard against her skin that Nox was sure she was going to cut herself.

“Is that so, Lennox?” Abraham’s voice rasped from her lips.

Nox froze.

The point pushed deeper.

“I’ve made contact with Silas now. There are other Necromancers. I don’t need this one anymore. But you seem mighty fond of her.”

Do not react. Do not let him see you flinch.

The skin was beginning to separate beneath the point of the knife. A thin trickle of blood was racing down the pale skin of her neck.

If he thinks you care, she’ll be dead. You can’t do that to her.

Nox sighed. “If it means less time spent talking to you, I’ll slit her throat myself. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Necro pulled the knife away from her skin and held it out to Nox with an eerie smile. “Be my guest,” she growled.

Nox stood there for a long moment. Then he tossed the cigar down onto the tracks.

The longer he stayed, the more danger his Necromancer would be in. He was powerless; all he could do was go.

It wasn’t a feeling Nox Gates liked.

As he walked away, all he could hear was the sound of bitter laughter echoing through the tunnel behind him.

 
CHAPTER 22 

Damaged Soul

H
ow’s it going, Rid?” Lena’s voice crackled over the speaker of Ridley’s new cell phone. Nick the Nerd Warrior was a good friend, and she had the reception to prove it.

Aside from that, there wasn’t much to feel good about. It had been a long day of work for Ridley, who, though no closer to finding her dream than before, had at least determined it did not involve Mortal hair.

Ridley sighed. “Great. Perfect. Like a dream come true, Cuz.”

Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday. So many days for nothing but work. Why do there have to be so many of them in a row?

Her feet hurt. Her hands had some kind of itchy rash, probably from disgusting scalp fungus. The heel had snapped off one of her black Louboutin ankle boots on the subway. Talking to her cousin only made it worse.