Harlequin Nocturne March 2014 Bundle: Shadowmaster\Running with Wolves (6 page)

“But I'm calling you an Aegis operative,” Brita said.

“Now you're the crazy one,” Phoenix said. “Sure, I'm not completely human. But some of us don't
want
to work for Aegis, and the only way to avoid that is to get out of the city.” She met Brita's gaze. “I'd guess it's the same with you, isn't it?”

“I saw you run right toward the fire, right into danger, when you were supposedly trying to escape the Enforcers,” Brita said, jerking up her chin. “I know you're in the Fringe to locate Bosses and turn them over to the government.”

“You
know?
” Phoenix asked mockingly. “Sammael has harbored the same suspicions, hasn't he? Why hasn't he taken action?”

“Because...because you...”

“Have him under my spell?” She snorted. “If I were after the Bosses, I'd have had two of them right where the Enforcers could find them. You'll notice I didn't alert them.”

“Because maybe you wanted to catch more than two fish.”

“But I haven't tried to escape, and by now—if you were right about me—I'd have realized that my odds of exposing any of the other Bosses would be just about impossible. Maybe we should just agree that you aren't ready to defect to another crew and I'm not here to betray Sammael, and go on about our business as if nothing has changed.”

“No deal.”

“Even if I tell him what you were doing out there with one of The Preacher's crew?” Phoenix sighed. “Look, I'm not asking you to trust me. Just let me get out of the city.”

“Not good enough.”

“What
do
you want, Brita? I was right before, wasn't I? It's not just a matter of your own survival and freedom. You may not be Sammael's lover, but you're more than merely his lieutenant.”

Brita seemed ready to object, but suddenly her shoulders sagged and she looked away.

“I owe him a lot,” she said. Most Bosses use people who aren't members of their crews like disposable objects. The Scrappers, everyone who tries to survive here in the Fringe, don't matter except when they can be useful. And since Bosses only recruit the strongest and meanest people in the Fringe, it's always the weakest who end up being victims.”

“And you used to be one of the victims, even though you're more than human? You must have grown up having to hide what you are.” Phoenix rubbed her lower lip. “What is that, anyway? Not Opir, not dhampir, not Daysider....what are you?”

They stared at each other. Brita finally broke the impasse.

“Sammael took chances on a lot of us,” she said. “But we learned fast, and pretty soon we were as good as the other crews. Maybe better, because we didn't take anything for granted.” She ran her hands through her spiked hair. “If it matters to you at all, Sammael gets food and other necessities to the Scrappers, keeps the worst-off from starving. He holds back some of our booty just for that, even if it comes out of his share.”

“You make him sound like a paragon of virtue.”

“He can be as ruthless as any of the others if he's riled enough. I've seen him take down two Bosses, which is why not even The Preacher messes with him, big as he talks. But he's one of the good guys, if someone like you can see anything past what you're taught by your government masters.”

“Not
my
masters.”

“So you keep saying. But now your excuse is that you just want to get out of working for Aegis. It's all lies.”

“It doesn't matter what I've done or who I am. I'm not here to expose anyone. Sammael will sell me what I need because he can use what I'll pay him. And once I'm outside the city, you won't have to worry about my motives, will you?”

“If you even plan to leave the city.”

“We're talking in circles now, Brita,” Phoenix said. “But tell me...does Sammael know what
you
are?”

She waited for a tense, extended moment for Brita to inadvertently betray her true relationship with the Daysider. But Brita's answer was firm and simple.

“No,” she said. “And I
will
kill you if you tell him.”

“Then we do understand each other.”

Brita stared at Phoenix for a long time. “I'm going to show you something,” she said. “I want you to see this before you go back and betray him to the Enforcers.”

“I told you I'm not—”

“I'll have to take you outside the Hold.”

“I don't think Sammael will like that, do you?”

“This won't be a trap, if that's what you're worried about. I know you want to know more about him, and I'm going to give you that chance.”

The other woman's sudden change of attitude both worried and intrigued Phoenix. She couldn't very well turn down any chance to see more of the Hold or anything else Brita was willing to show her, even though Brita was almost certainly lying about her own motives. “So will you try to slit my throat as soon as we're outside?” Phoenix asked.

“I'll give you fair warning when I'm ready,” Brita said.

“That's very kind of you.”

Brita shrugged. “You stay here.” She strode off, leaving Phoenix right in front of the armed entrance. She returned a few minutes later with the blindfold in her hand.

“What's the point in taking me to see something if I can't see it?” Phoenix asked. “Or are you going to put me up in front of a firing squad?”

“It's only until we get there,” Brita said, moving behind Phoenix to tie the cloth around her head. “Then you'll see everything, I promise.”

Possibly even my own death,
Phoenix thought. But she was still ready to fight, and she wasn't going down without one.

Chapter 6

B
rita took Phoenix's arm, and then they were outside in the damp coolness of early morning, the smell of the bay carried on a chill predawn breeze from the east. Phoenix took particular care to note and memorize the various small changes in scent along their path, the many turns and double-backs, everything that might help her find this way again.

After a very short while, Phoenix realized they were heading south, toward the Wall. Her heart jumped in her chest. Was Brita going to let Phoenix out of the city without Sammael's knowledge?

Soon enough, Phoenix realized her guess was wrong. Brita removed her blindfold and Phoenix saw that they were near the corner of one of the countless decrepit buildings that provided such unreliable shelter for the
“citizens”
of the Fringe. Brita gestured for Phoenix to stay where she was.

From her position, Phoenix could see the Wall rising up above the shorter buildings, separated from them by an empty lot. The barrier was studded with thick shards of glass and every other conceivable sharp surface, capable of stopping a would-be human escapee or slowing a Nightsider invader. The top of the Wall was crowned by coil after coil of razor and barbed wire, extending the barrier's height by another good twenty feet.

But there were clearly weaker spots in the Wall—small cracks deepened by time and changes in weather, crumbling concrete here and there, evidence of efforts to file down the sharp points that made even touching the Wall so deadly. And along the base, stretching to either side as far as Phoenix could see, were mountains of boxes and metal scraps and every kind of abandoned appliance and machine, arranged in such a way as to appear like garbage thrown against the Wall. It was exactly the deceptive kind of barrier used to block the entrances to Sammael's Hold.

A concentrated effort by Aegis or the Enforcers could clear it away in a matter of days, exposing the hidden passages the Bosses kept finding...or creating. But there were never enough Enforcers to waste on patrolling the south Wall and preventing a handful of lawbreakers from escaping every few weeks.

Phoenix was about to ask what she should be looking for when the faint beam of a headlamp pierced the darkness and a small group of people—men, women and children—crept out of the shadows. Two of Sammael's crew seemed to be leading them, while several others, armed with stolen Enforcer rifles, followed behind, walking backward to watch for any pursuers.

Sammael came last. His headlamp was barely bright enough to extend a few inches beyond his face, but he moved easily, as if this place was very familiar to him. He spoke to his crew in a voice too low for Phoenix to hear, and then joined the emigrants.

There were about a dozen of them, huddled together with their meager belongings. Meager, in some cases, because their owners could only carry so much out of the city. It was evident that one family was from the Mids, another couple almost certainly from the Nobs. But the mingled fear and hope was the same on every face.

These were people condemned for deportation for minor crimes such as shoplifting or running a red light—foolish little infractions that showed how desperate the government was becoming in its search for convicts to send to Erebus as blood serfs. Some were accompanied by family members who would give up everything to remain with their loved ones, even brave the dangers of the southern Zone and risk their own very possible deaths.

Phoenix leaned against the wall of the building, taking deep breaths to ease her distress. She had never been so close to one of these unfortunate people. Aegis had kept her protected from such sights, from such thoughts.

Now there was no escape from reality. She had always disliked the practice of deportation, but the situation was complicated and very volatile. That was why the two main political factions, Patterson's and Shepherd's, were so hostile to each other. No one
wanted
deportation, but those who supported Patterson believed an end to it would lead to another devastating war, while Shepherd's supporters claimed that there had to be another way to negotiate a new, permanent kind of peace.

She turned her troubled attention back to the waiting emigrants. A wealthy-looking couple was clinging to each other, the fiftyish woman with a tearstained face and the man staring about him in apparent confusion, as if he couldn't guess how he'd come to be in such a place. Their money obviously hadn't been enough to buy their way out of punishment.

The Mids family, consisting of two young children and a single man, sat together in a small circle of misery. The girl, perhaps ten, simply looked blank. The boy, a few years younger, was crying. The father's face was wretched with misery.

Was he leaving a wife behind, a wife already condemned? Did he hate this city, one of the last refuges for humanity on the West Coast of the former United States?

“There will be additional supplies waiting for you outside the walls,” Sammael was saying, cutting into her thoughts. “You'll be in the Zone for the most of the next hundred miles south of the city. Avoid the agricultural Enclaves. There are said to be several unauthorized human settlements between here and the Los Angeles Enclave. I can't vouch for their safety, but you'll be better off with other people around you.”

The man with the two children pushed his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of A-bills. “I'm sorry I don't have more,” he whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. “If I did...”

“Keep it,” Sammael said, stepping back. “You may eventually find them useful, and I don't need your money.”

“But I understood...”

“I don't need your money,” Sammael repeated. He knelt to face the little boy, stroking the child's dirty hair away from his forehead. “Don't be afraid,” he said. He smiled at the girl. “You'll take care of your little brother, won't you?”

The girl's face lost its blank look, and she focused on Sammael's face. “Yes,” she said. “I'll take care of him.”

Sammael took her hand and squeezed it very gently. “That's a brave girl,” he said. He got up, nodded to the father and turned his attention to the wealthy-looking couple.

“Two hundred A's are all I need from you,” he said.

The woman's moist eyes widened. “That's all?”

“You'll have a hard enough time adapting as it is,” Sammael said. He hesitated, lowering his voice. “You do understand you may die out there, or be taken by rogue Freebloods.”

“We understand,” the man said. “At least we have a chance.” He held out his hand. “Thank you.”

Sammael ignored the hand, and the man let it fall. “There will be no turning back,” he said.

A series of nods, a sob, a sharp breath followed his announcement, but no one seemed interested in backing out. A few moments later, Sammael joined his crew in chivying the frightened people into what seemed to be a solid stack of concrete blocks.

Phoenix continued to stare long after they had disappeared from view. Her bones seemed to have melted, and only a sheer act of will kept her on her feet.

Sammael had let those people out for nothing, or almost nothing. He'd risked his life and those of his crew out of sheer altruism, just as Brita had described.

No, not just altruism. Compassion. A Daysider showing compassion to his enemies, people he was supposedly willing to help destroy by aiding in the mayor's assassination.

It was a paradox. He had no stake in these peoples' lives, no reason to want to help them.

“Only three Bosses smuggle people out,” Brita whispered, “and the price the others charge is very high. With The Preacher, it's a miracle if you get out at all. Sammael does it because he wants to help.”

Does he?
Phoenix thought. Or was all this some kind of trick to upset what Brita believed to be Phoenix's plan? Was it possible that Sammael was pushing these people right into the arms of bloodsuckers waiting to ambush them outside the walls? Wasn't that just as likely...
more
likely coming from an Opir?

No,
she thought. Not from a man who had touched the little boy with such gentleness, spoken to the little girl in just the right way to give her a purpose, a reason to go on.

None of it made any sense.

“Come on,” Brita whispered, grabbing Phoenix's arm again. “We need to get back before they do.”

Phoenix resisted her tug. “You showed me this because you think it would change my mind about exposing Sammael and your crew...
if
that were my intention, and if I could get out of here alive?”

Brita didn't answer. She blindfolded Phoenix again and hurried her back to the Hold by the usual circuitous route. But every moment, Phoenix was aware that she was being given a chance to escape, that Brita must have had more than one reason for taking the
“guest”
out to observe Sammael's act of apparently selfless philanthropy.

Was Brita hoping that she could force “Lark” to act recklessly to expose Sammael and the secret passage? Did she want an excuse for a fight and a chance to kill? Phoenix didn't give her what she wanted. Once they were back at the Hold, Brita escorted Phoenix to her room, followed her in and closed the door.

“You didn't run,” she said.

“But you expected me to try,” Phoenix said, standing near the bed.

“I don't know what to make of you, and I don't like—”

“Not knowing,” Phoenix finished. “Believe me, I understand.”

Brita snorted. “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, for now,” she said. “That doesn't mean I won't be watching.”

“And I'll keep your secrets as long as you keep mine.”

“And what you just saw this morning?”

“I'm not planning on telling anyone. It might backfire on me, too.” She offered her hand, which Brita pretended not to see.

“The others will be back anytime now,” the lieutenant said. “I suggest you get some rest.”

She left, played with the lock outside—presumably with the intent of hiding the fact that it had never been functional in the first place—and walked away, her footsteps barely audible in the corridor.

Twisting her hair into the usual ponytail and tying it with a scrap of twine, Phoenix considered what she'd learned. There was so much she had yet to understand. Once again she weighed instinct against her orders. If she were to follow her instructions precisely, this would be the time to return to Aegis with the intelligence she had collected...presuming she could escape now that she'd let several opportunities pass. She'd made direct contact with an Opir spy, after all. And more.

But that wasn't good enough. Even if she could manage to get away, she still didn't know exactly what role Sammael was playing in the assassination. If she could pin that down, she could return to Aegis having done everything she could.

That meant she had to keep pretending to want to escape the city and still find a way to stay with Sammael until she understood his connection to Drakon. And she couldn't forget her purpose, though part of her wished she
could
get away from the Enclave...from duty, from doubt and all the other emotions she shouldn't be feeling. From wondering if Sammael's actions with the emigrants had been done out of genuine compassion Opiri weren't supposed to possess. That no agent of murderers
could
possess.

She sat on the bed and massaged her temples. Wasn't the fact that she wanted to believe proof that she hadn't been the right choice for the job after all? They should have sent someone harder, more focused, more dedicated. Like her father. Someone who wouldn't be thinking that maybe she wanted to stay with her enemy...not out of necessity, but because she was beginning to—

Care. About an Opir who took in the weak of the Fringe, shared his
“take”
of profits with the poor, helped human convicts escape and refused to take advantage of a prisoner he badly wanted.

She laughed. She kept assuming all that was true. God help her.

But it wasn't too late. There was still time to pull herself back from the brink and harden her heart, remembering that Sammael's supposed
goodness
to the fugitives and the people of the Fringe meant nothing in the end. His breed had killed Dad, would keep killing until they'd won their war and enslaved all mankind.

Turning off her troubling thoughts, she slept fitfully for the next two hours, trained, as were all agents, to rest whenever the opportunity arose but with senses tuned for any change in the immediate environment. By dawn—which she couldn't see but sensed as clearly as if she were looking out a window—she woke to the sound of the crew returning to the Hold.

But she didn't hear Sammael's voice. She rolled off the bed and half-ran to the door, every muscle tense and heart beating fast. Other voices rose in argument, and she knew something had gone wrong.

Sammael hadn't returned. Phoenix was struck by the sudden fear that the Enforcers
scouring
the Fringe, supposedly looking for
the treacherous govrat,
had taken Sammael against orders, anyway. Could his helping the emigrants have exposed him somehow?

There was another, just as chilling, possibility. Phoenix had heard the very unsubtle threats leveled at Brita by The Preacher's representative. What if one of his followers, or a whole crew of them, had caught Sammael somewhere alone?

She banged on the door for a good minute before it swung open with a loud creak. Standing in the doorway was a small, wiry man she hadn't met.

“Brita said to check up on you,” the man said, gazing at her with pointed curiosity.

“Where is she?”

“Busy. You need the bathroom or something?”

“I want to talk to Brita,” she said, trying to balance the tone of her voice between worried concern and stubborn insistence.