Reckoning (The Watchers Book 5) (13 page)

“This is for us?” I asked, looking at the ancient motorcycle parked off the docks. “You sure?”

Carden nodded but didn’t elaborate. I didn’t know who’d left it, but presumably it was the same people who tended the safe house we were headed to. The plan was to head to a secure place to get our bearings, I’d get some rest, then we’d find our way to the island of Melkøya—hopefully using something other than a freaking boat to take us. The ground still felt as though it swayed under my feet.

He lashed our duffels to the back of the motorcycle, slid his sword neatly along the side, and patted the seat. “Up you get.”

I didn’t question. I was just thrilled to be traveling on something that didn’t require a life jacket.

From the docks, we drove through a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fishing village lined with nondescript buildings that looked like they were built from a giant monochromatic Lego set. If it hadn’t been for the occasional other driver, I’d have thought it was a ghost town. I snuck a quick look at my watch, thinking I’d somehow lost track of time, but no, it was just after five o’clock and there were hardly any people to be seen.

He reached back, grabbed my hand, and brought my arm back around his waist. “Hold on.”

Already we were leaving the center of Hammerfest behind, and Carden accelerated as the road emptied and began to twist and turn. Here on the outskirts, it felt a little like the Isle of Night, with the churning sea on one edge and a wall of rock on the other. Patches of snow glowed eerily on the side of the road, flickering past us, caught in the motorcycle’s high beam.

“It’s actually kind of pretty,” I shouted to him.

He shouted back to me, “Be happy. The last summit was held in Norilsk.”

“Siberia?” I asked, and at his nod, I added, “That would’ve sucked. I’ve had only a few semesters of Norwegian, and it’s already ten million times stronger than my Russian.”

“Doesn’t matter…” He said something else, but it got lost in the wind.

“What?”

“I said they’ll mostly speak English at the summit, maybe some German.”

Conversation was too hard, so I just nodded and wrapped my arms more tightly around his waist, nestling close to his back.

The engine hummed and the seat vibrated beneath me. I felt alive, excitement thrumming through me. Carden didn’t speak, but he must’ve felt the same way, because he revved and leaned down, opening up that old bike as fast as it could go.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with sea air. Frigid wind whipped me, but I didn’t care. I was free. Or almost.

My mother was close. I’d find her, save her. I’d begin a new life.

We
…we would begin a new life. Though, as exciting as it was, I found it difficult to picture. Where would my mother and I go? Would Carden want to come? It was hard to imagine. It felt as though I’d been on the Isle of Night forever, studying, surviving.

With Ronan.

I turned my cheek into the wind, letting the cold wind slap my cheeks and clear my mind.

A new set of smells hit me. The briny air began to mingle with some other scent, an industrial smell, like burning chemicals. And, as we rounded the next curve, I saw it: Melkøya, an island whose sole purpose was the drilling and shipping of natural gas.

It was a tiny disc of land, and steel buildings were jammed to its very edges. There was no organic matter in sight, just an industrial forest of oddly shaped structures. Large spires reached high above everything, spewing blooms of red flame and black smoke. Even in the darkness I could tell everything was in a palette of gray—snow and ice blanketing concrete and steel—and yet an electric radiance limned the island, warming it. Every light was set ablaze, making the place glow like a fiery and faceted ruby floating atop the dark purple of the Barents Sea.

How on earth would we ever sneak onto
that
?

I must’ve made some sound because Carden slid a hand from the handlebar to give my arm a quick squeeze.

The bike wobbled as he turned onto what I assumed was a driveway hidden beneath layers of ice and snow gone gritty and crusty with tire tracks and vehicle exhaust. At the end was a small white building glowing gray in the darkness. Crosses studded the surrounding snow.

“Creepy.” I peered closer. It was a cemetery. “This is the safe house?”

“No,” he said with a laugh, “this is Hammerfest Chapel. But the clouds are clearing, and I thought you might like to stop and see the lights.” He got off the bike and nodded to the sky. “The view is good from here.”

“Oh wow.” The sky had taken on a strange cast, like I was looking through tinted glasses. A band of bright green flickered along the horizon. The northern lights.

I gave him an assessing look as he pulled a blanket from his pack. “Well aren’t you prepared?”

He winked and snatched my arm, tugging me into the shadow of the church. “A man must have his priorities.”

There’d been a day when such a statement and all it implied would’ve shot a bolt of heat through my very center. But I was here for a reason, and it wasn’t canoodling with Carden under the northern lights, no matter how pretty they were.

I slowed down, pulling my arm back with the slightest resistance. “But…my mom. We’re here for her.”

He spread the blanket. “Aye, and so we’ll get her. But nothing will happen tonight.”

I crossed my arms at my chest. Nothing was going to happen—he didn’t know how right he was. There was no way I could clear my mind of the single thought that’d taken hold: my mother was on that island. “I think I just want to get to the safe house. They’re probably waiting for us, right?”

“We’ll get there.” He plopped down and patted the blanket by his side. “But now it’s evening, which means the day is only just getting started for the vampires.”

“What does it matter?” I looked up at the sky. “It’s dark. It’ll still be dark in the morning.”

“It matters to them. They have their habits.” He leaned his elbows on bent legs, looking up at me. “Do you imagine they switch their routine with every vagary of the natural world? They’re immortal—they’d go mad. No, if I know Jacob, they’re sitting for dinner and a party.” He reached up and tweaked my butt. “A party that would be greatly enhanced to discover a wee Acari bonbon like yourself. So sit beside me, love. Enjoy the lights. A spot of relaxation will help. I can feel your tension from here. Anyway, we’d be fools to attempt to broach the island before morning.”

His words struck me as condescending, and I stiffened. “We’d be fools to not go to the safe house and get prepared.”

He kicked back with a sigh. “You’re missing the lights. And this chapel is the one part of Hammerfest that was spared during the war. The Nazis burned the rest of the town. Why not take ten minutes to enjoy it?”

Instinctively, I followed his line of sight, and it was my turn to sigh. The green lights had risen, swirling along the horizon like a cresting wave. “Fine. I guess you’re right. I’m sorry…it’s been…” I contemplated the last twenty-four hours—I’d been waterboarded by Fournier, pawed by Trainees, tossed into the sea—and decided it was no wonder I was feeling a little bitchy. I dropped next to him, leaning my head against one very broad, very strong shoulder. “It’s been a really, really, really long day.”

“Come, love. That’s it.” His voice was a low hum that seemed to reverberate through me, relaxing me. He wrapped an arm around me. A vampire’s body was cool to the touch, but something about feeling so sheltered, so protected was enough to send a ripple of warmth through me.

Surely it was just stress that had me imagining distance between me and my vampire. I’d gotten so used to the bond, and now that it was gone, well, it wasn’t bad, just different. Actually, it was probably good. Independence was, right? Of course I’d go through a period of feeling distant from him—the physical change alone would take time to adjust to.

We sat there for a while, and the tension slowly unspooled from between my shoulders; the looseness in my joints began to feel like something closer to my body’s natural state.

I gave a little shiver, another sigh, and leaned all the way into him. “Do you ever get tired of being right?”

The brief spurt of optimism disappeared the moment we pulled our motorcycle in front of the safe house.

On instant alert, Carden tore off his helmet and put his finger to his mouth. With a slight tilt to his chin, he inhaled deeply, and a grim expression fell over his features. “I smell blood.” In an instant, my stars were in my hand, but he shook his head. “No need. The only scent here is death. And yet”—he inhaled again—“go easy now.”

Didn’t have to tell me twice. It was pitch black now, and no lights were on in the house, either—it was merely a shadow standing in the darkness, the front door hanging open like a black, gaping maw. I pulled my flashlight from my duffel. Carden might’ve been able to see in the dark, but I wanted every crutch available.

I began a slow, silent approach to the door, sweeping the flashlight in front of me, my senses opened to the slightest movement or sound. I cast my light over the entryway path. Drifting snowflakes sparkled in the vivid circle of bright white. The ground glittered where the beam hit, bits of ice twinkling like so many tiny diamonds.

And then I saw the footprints. Red ones.

I squatted. “Someone,” I whispered to Carden, “some
woman
, walked out of here. Not very subtly either. She tracked a ton of blood.” I stood, adding, “That was stupid.”

“No, that was a
message
. For us.”

“Do you think it was Charlotte?”

He shrugged and nodded to the house. “Let’s see what else is waiting for us.”

The front door swayed in the wind with a rhythmic
creak
. The only other sound was our breathing and the slow crunch of our feet on the snowy walkway.

Carden reached in carefully and flicked on the light, illuminating a scene of total carnage.

The place was small, more of a cottage than an actual house, and it was possible to take it all in with one glimpse. There was a kitchenette, a fireplace. A door opened onto a small bathroom, and I could spot chipped tiles, an ancient sink with hot and cold faucets, and a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

But the thing that snagged the entirety of my attention were the cots, four of them, arranged with military precision along the back wall. Gray metal frames bearing thin mattresses. And bodies. One per cot.

Blood, everywhere—smooth crimson pools of it shimmered on neatly swept floorboards, glistening in my flashlight’s beam. I stepped closer, careful not to tread in it, and leaned down. A single set of footprints tracked in and out of the puddles.

Someone had gone from bed to bed, slicing throats.

I held my breath as I stood. Shone my flashlight on the bodies.

“Holy crap,” I blurted. Because there was someone I recognized, someone whose white-blond hair was matted with blood. “What was Tracer Otto doing here?” My eyes shot to Carden. “I hated Otto.”

“Aye, as did Fournier.”

I gaped at him, my mind spinning. “Really?”

I’d known my world was complicated, but this was some serious up-was-down-and-down-was-up crap—where apparently my friend Josh was my enemy and the Tracer I despised had been an ally.

Disturbed, I found my gaze sliding from Carden. How could I know who to trust in this world, really, if it was impossible to genuinely know anybody?

Needing to fill the silence so he wouldn’t somehow detect my thoughts, I said, “Who did this? Surely, Charlotte couldn’t have gotten here so fast.”

He pointed to a spot over the hearth, where a message was scrawled in blood,

Tick-tock.

XoX lottie

Her words echoed in my head:
I’ll get to her first. You’ll be too late to help your dying mommy.

My eyes shot to his. “We have to go. Now.”

I guess I’d expected him to protest, but for once Carden was in easy agreement with me.

“Aye,” he said as he took my hand. “She can’t be far ahead.”

I got to the door first. Opened it. And immediately stumbled back a step.

A wall of men in uniform stood there, and for a second I thought police had come to raid the safe house. But then I made sense of the armbands they wore—red sashes, each with a white circle and a black swastika in the center.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Freaking…what the…
Nazis
?”

Carden’s arm reached around and slammed the door shut.

I gaped at him. Had I fallen and hit my head? Because this was seriously not computing. “Do those guys know what decade this is?”

“I warned you this was a bad idea,” he said, and the nonchalant Carden-ness of it infuriated me, waking me from my stupor.

“Suddenly this is my fault?” I dashed to the window, peering out. I wasn’t proud of how hysterical that’d come out. I needed to get a hold of myself and squinted out the window, trying to make sense of it all. Sure enough, their uniforms were tailored, every pleat sharp, every hat peaked and impeccable. These weren’t costumes. “You didn’t tell me there were Nazis.”

“The Russians forced most of them out after the war. The rest went underground. You can imagine the Synod was only happy to take them in.” He pulled his sword from the scabbard at his side.

“They have guns, Carden. You’re bringing a sword to a gunfight.”

He gave me a look, and there was something cruel in his eyes, there and gone in an instant. “Dismiss my blade, and you know naught of me.”

There was a sudden chill in my hands, and I rubbed them together. “Just saying I wish we had more weapons.” I plucked my stars from my boot, but how I wished I had that cool new boomerang star, the one currently stowed safely in my duffel…which was on the back of the bike. “The stupid duffels are still on the stupid bike.”

He put a finger to his lips to silence me.

A stream of German came to us from the other side of the door. Things like
schnell
and
wie viele
.

My pulse hitched up a notch. I felt so naked—here we were, surrounded, and I had only four throwing stars.
Four.

There was the misericordia, of course. That little nuke was tucked in my boot, but Ronan’s warnings resonated in my head.
“You must keep it hidden. Even from Carden.”
Keep it hidden…from Carden…hidden…