Everafter Series 2 - Nevermore (7 page)

I closed my browser window, stood, and slowly spun in a circle. Rows upon rows of bookshelves. Multiple computer banks—and off to one side, even a card catalogue. But none of these resources were of any use. I looked at my sandals, picturing the medical wing several floors below my feet. I had last visited it months ago, shortly after being turned. My stomach churned at the sudden, visceral echo of remembered fear, and I dispelled the sensation with one swift shake of my head. I wasn’t about to let those ghosts deter me.

Within minutes, I was exiting the elevator on the third floor. It was busier than I remembered, perhaps because of the lateness of the hour. As I watched, a man in a white lab coat exited one room and a woman ducked into another. The Consortium version of orderlies. I wondered if they were all vampires, and if so, how they treated their patients without killing them.

I walked down the hall, scanning each room as I passed. I didn’t think anyone would question my presence there, but I didn’t want to pause too long lest I seem suspicious. Most of the rooms were empty. The few that were occupied held vampires—I could tell from the thick blackout curtains that swathed the windows. Vampires would sever themselves from the natural rhythm of the outside world by banning sunlight from a room.

By the time I reached the end of the corridor, I was confused. Not only was Vincent nowhere to be found, there were no Weres at all on the floor. Shouldn’t there have been at least a few—if only the recently infected, who required supervision and confinement while they adjusted to their inner beasts? I turned and walked back the way I’d come, rolling my neck in a futile attempt to loosen the knot that was growing tighter between my shoulders. When a female orderly emerged from a room several doors ahead of me, I made a snap decision and hurried to catch up.

Her heart-shaped face turned toward me when I put a hand on her arm, and I saw her pupils dilate at the same instant that I realized she was human. My gaze was drawn by a days-old bite scar just above her collarbone. Saliva flooded my mouth as the heat ripped through my throat.
No.

“Can I help you?” she asked coquettishly, oblivious to my struggle.

“I’m looking for Vincent.”

The bridge of her nose crinkled. “We don’t have any patients by that name.” She took a step closer to me. “But what’s yours? Mine’s Tonya.”

I took shallow breaths in an effort to dull the effects of the warm aroma wafting off her smooth skin. It didn’t help. “He was brought in just under a week ago.”

Some note in my voice must have clued her in to the magnitude of my concern, because she stopped her advance and bent her head to the digital tablet in her hand. After scrolling through it, she shook her head. “I have no record of him. I’m sorry.”

“Is there a different facility just for Weres?” I asked, wondering if the shifters had a wing that I wasn’t aware of.

“No, this is a mixed-use facility.” Tonya frowned again. “But we haven’t admitted any Weres in a while.”

Aimless dread made my throat constrict. “How long?”

“Maybe two weeks?” In a heartbeat, the flirtatious glint returned to her eyes. “To be honest, I don’t pay all that much attention to them. I’m much more interested in your kind.”

“So I gathered.” I spoke the words more softly than she could hear.

“You look so thirsty. And it’s been days since the last time I…” Her eyes glazed at the memory. “Won’t you let me? Harold says I taste like rose petals.”

I licked my lips. I couldn’t help it. But I could help whom I sank my teeth into. “You’re very generous. But no. Thank you.”

Before she could respond, I was gone.

*

The trail for information, barely lukewarm to begin with, had gone cold. I could think of only one other tactic, and it was a long shot. I had seen Vincent twice: once in a dogfight on the Red Circuit, and once on the floor of Luna, seizing in agony. If I went back to the Circuit, I could ask some of the regulars about him and maybe learn something that way.

I walked across the width of Manhattan in the pre-dawn, enjoying the stillness of the city at this hour—the hush as it took a deep breath in anticipation of the frenetic day to come. By the time the sun broke free of the horizon, I was in Hell’s Kitchen, staring at the marquee of the Vixen Theater. Every week, the marquee announced, in code, the location of the next Red Circuit party. But if this was a code, it wasn’t one I was going to be able to decipher. The marquee was blank.

Despair rose in my chest, a black wave of longing and fatigue that set my entire body aching in empathy with my throat. Why was my search being thwarted at every turn? And did whatever was happening here in New York have any connection to why I hadn’t heard from Alexa?

I needed to feel her hands on me, to hear her soothing murmurs of love, to taste the bright, hot flavor of her under my tongue. I wanted to go home—to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and escape into oblivion. But I knew I wouldn’t sleep. And I couldn’t give up. Sebastian would know what was going on with the Circuit. He was the one who had told us about the marquee in the first place.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Val.” His voice was deeper than usual and harsh with fatigue. I could only imagine the pressure he felt to get answers about what had happened to both Vincent and Martine, especially in the face of the Consortium’s secrecy.

“Breakfast?” I said. “I’m buying.”

“Where?”

I rattled off the name of a greasy spoon near Times Square and hung up. He’d probably have his chauffeur drive him, which meant that I had to hustle. I walked uptown briskly, welcoming the warmth of the sun on my arms. Too much direct sunlight without any sunblock would leave me with a mild rash and some nausea, but it was a small price to pay for the ability to move about freely during the daytime. Thanks to Alexa.

When I reached the restaurant, Sebastian had already claimed a booth. He was clean-shaven and dressed in clothes that fit him too well to be store-bought, but his face was drawn and his eyes bloodshot. I slid in across from him and nodded to the waitress when she asked if I wanted coffee.

“Invite me to breakfast but keep me waiting.” Sebastian raised his own ceramic mug in a mock salute. “You wouldn’t treat me like this if I were a woman.”

“You don’t fool me,” I told him. “What’s going on?”

He sat back and spread his arms along the width of the booth. “You first.”

“Still no word from Alexa. I presume you haven’t heard anything.”

“Nothing. But that’s not unusual where Telassar is concerned. I don’t think you understand just how isolated that place is.” He shuddered delicately.

“All right.” I battled down the urge to take out my frustration on one of my only allies. “Thanks for looking into it.”

The waitress returned at that moment, and I snatched up my coffee gratefully. Once we had ordered, I leaned in over the table. “What’s the deal with the Red Circuit?”

His shaggy eyebrows arched. “You’re looking to party? I was under the impression that you hated that whole scene and only did it under duress.”

“I’m looking for Vincent.”

Sebastian’s bravado dissipated like mist over the East River. “What have you heard?”

“Heard? Not a damn thing that’s useful.” I scrubbed one hand through my hair. It was getting long. Alexa liked it when I was a little bit scruffy. I wouldn’t cut it yet because she would be home soon. Because the village phone was broken. That was all.

“I called Malcolm’s office the morning after Martine’s death, asking about Vincent. I was told by some secretary that he had been treated and released.” Sebastian’s eyes were dark with an emotion I’d never seen him express before. Fear. “She seemed to believe her own story. But no one can reach him.”

“I talked to an orderly in the medical wing just hours ago,” I said, sitting back as the waitress deposited a stack of pancakes in front of me and an omelet in front of Sebastian. “She said that no one named Vincent had ever been admitted. And that they’d seen no shifters at all in the past two weeks.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s odd. There’s always a Were or two at the Consortium—either a newbie dealing with having been turned, or a drug addict trying to get clean.”

“You mentioned drugs before,” I said, remembering that he had first assumed Olivia to be investigating trafficking at Luna. “Are drugs a big problem?”

“They’re one way to deal with an animal in your head.”

“Makes sense.” Alexa had been on several prescription medications after being turned—antipsychotics like Klonopin that had muted the will of her panther while she adjusted to the unfamiliar presence in her psyche. I could imagine the ease with which some shifters became addicted to drugs like that.

“Look,” I said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ve only seen Vincent twice in my life: once on the Red Circuit, and once last week. Since the Consortium is putting up information roadblocks, I thought I’d go back to the Circuit. But the marquee is blank.”

Sebastian laid down his fork and grimaced. “More of your friend Olivia’s work. She’s taken her fight up the Consortium food chain, asking questions she shouldn’t know how to ask. Malcolm ordered me yesterday to put the Circuit on ice for a while.”

“Damn it.” I swallowed the coffee dregs and shifted my mug to the end of the table in the hopes that it would be refilled. “Where the hell is she getting her information?”

Sebastian’s jaw bunched. “I think we have a leak.”

“A traitor? Really?”

“How else do you explain it?”

I shrugged. “You could be right. All I know is that her source is male.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

Ignoring the gibe, I glanced around the diner to be certain the waitress wasn’t nearby. Maybe I was paranoid, but then again, given the unanswered questions both Sebastian and I were wrestling with, maybe not. He still hadn’t told me what I wanted to hear, and I wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

“You can’t expect me to believe that the Circuit has actually ground to a halt,” I said. When Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, I raised one hand and fixed him with what I hoped was my most intimidating stare. “You know as well as I do that our people need that kind of outlet. So tell me where they’re getting it now.”

He pushed the plate aside and leaned in close enough to kiss me. I didn’t move. “The Chinatown tunnels. Tomorrow night.” Uncertainty flashed over his face—an unfamiliar expression. “You really think the Circuit has something to do with what’s happened to Vincent?”

“It’s your baby. You would know better than I.” When Sebastian shook his head, I flashed my sharp canines to forestall him. “Don’t try denying it. ‘I put the Circuit on ice,’ you said.”

He grimaced. “So I did. Damn it. I can’t afford to slip like that right now.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, they telegraphed his anger. “I don’t like coincidences. The ADA starts snooping around at the same time a sick Were goes missing?”

“And there’s been no word from Telassar,” I reminded him. It wasn’t surprising that urbane Sebastian didn’t have a strong connection to the isolationists in Africa, but I knew
somehow that Alexa’s silence was part of this puzzle.

“Fine, yes, that too.”

I looked at my watch. I needed to be at the lab in an hour. “Will you be there tomorrow night?” I asked as I threw a few bills down on the faux granite tabletop. “Come to think of it, I’ve never
seen
you on the Circuit.”

Sebastian’s grin was pure wolf. He stood with a subtle grace that was both masculine and animal. “Nonetheless,” he said softly, “I’m always there.”

Chapter Six

I reached the Bloody Angle just as it began to rain. Earlier in the evening, dark clouds had rolled in from the west, smothering the sunset. But the storm had held off until I’d set foot on Doyers Street. Probably a bad omen.

At the turn of the century, crooked Doyers had been infamous as a good place to get mugged by one of the gangs warring over the turf of Chinatown and Little Italy. Now it was a tourist attraction. As the skies opened, I made a dash for the Wing Fat Arcade, stepping down into the tunnel only seconds before the first crack of thunder rent the night. In the moments it had taken me to get indoors, the rain had plastered my hair to my head and my shirt to my torso. Rivulets of water streamed down my face to drip onto the stone steps leading into the bowels of the city.

Shops, all closed for the day, lined the narrow underground street: acupuncturists, an apothecary, English schools. When I reached the first intersection, I looked right, then left. Both corridors ended in barred doors with signs in English proclaiming “Keep Out!” and signs in Chinese that probably said the same thing. The one on the left also featured a beautiful woman lurking in the shadows. The gatekeeper.

She pressed close as she handed me a raffle ticket. “Haven’t seen you in months.” When she breathed in deeply, frown lines materialized on her forehead. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“The cat. Her scent has faded.” Her lips skated lightly across my neck. “She shouldn’t be so cavalier about her territory.”

I stiffened and stepped away, tamping down a blistering surge of anger that made me want to sink my sharpened teeth into the tattoo just below her collarbone. Instead, I reached for the door handle. It didn’t budge. The gatekeeper smiled provocatively as she pulled her cell phone from the front pocket of her skinny jeans. When she punched three numbers into the keypad, I heard a click as the lock released.

“Have fun,” she said as I stepped into the gloom beyond. As soon as the door slammed shut, I crumpled up my ticket and tossed it onto the floor. I wanted what it offered too much to trust myself.

The corridor was sinuous, twisting every ten feet so that it was impossible to make out its destination. Naked lightbulbs hung from the ceiling, their harsh light illuminating doors that were set into the uneven stone walls at regular intervals. The fifth door on the right had been propped open with a brick, and I slipped into a large, low-ceilinged room that might once have been a warehouse but now functioned as a club. Several folding tables had been lined up to form a bar along the near wall, and a makeshift plywood dais across the room served as a stage on which a blond woman, wearing nothing but stilettos, danced for the crowd.