Frostbound

Chapter 27

Friday, December 31, 9:00 p.m.

Empire Hotel

“All I want is a quiet beer,” Darak said to Nia, raising his voice over the din. “Where’s the mystery?”

The New Year’s crowd at the Empire was rocking, the bar three and four people deep. Darak had both elbows out, guarding his territory. Daisy was asleep at his feet.

Nia seemed to hold her spot by being female, exotic, and wearing nothing to speak of. There was more of that cosmetic glittery powder against her ebony skin than actual clothing. The werebear beside her looked ready to offer marriage.

“The mystery, my friend, is in how you think you can prevent me from helping you to pluck the guts from this King of the East.” Nia gave him her squinty-eyed look, which said he was likely to end up with an arrow in his ass if he tried to sneak away. “I am the perfect choice for your hostage. I am beautiful. Men never expect a beautiful woman to cut their throats.”

“No.”

“Who else would you choose?”

“No one. No hostages.”

“You think you can get close to him without playing his game?”

“How close do I need to be? I’m just stepping on a bug.”

“Bugs bite.”

Darak sighed. There were only a handful of people he let backtalk him, and they’d all known him since before the Dark Ages. It was hard to fool someone who’d been at your side since togas went out of fashion.

There was the whole problem: You couldn’t replace people like that. They were his chosen kin. “I want to go after this fool alone because he’s a crazy sorcerer. They’re always bad news. How can I hand you over to him?”

“Bad news is my meat and drink.” Nia took a sip of her cocktail. It was mauve with a flower floating in it. “And I’m bored. Stop trying to keep me—all of us—safe. After this long, it’s getting very old. You should have told us what the ghost girl said right away. You should have let us help you look for the necromancer. Enough of that. In three hours you will take me to the pier, and I will play my role as a poor, helpless slave girl. You’re not doing this alone.”

Darak grunted something that was neither a yes or no. He was watching the bartender, Joe, who was holding a cell phone to one ear and his finger in the other. By his face, he was getting bad news. It seemed to be going around.

Joe’s gaze flicked up, meeting Darak’s face. He began walking toward him, closing the phone. He leaned on the bar, bringing his face close to Darak’s so that he could be heard. “You met Lore, the Alpha hellhound, a few nights ago?”

“Yeah.”

“He has a message for you.”

“What?”

“He needs your help.”

Darak sat back on his stool. Great. Now what? “What makes him think I care?”

Joe shrugged. “He does this prophecy thing. He said you made a promise to a ghost.”

Darak’s skin went cold. “What did you say?”

“He said to say the airports are open. If you plan on doing something, meet him at this address now.” Joe grabbed a napkin and wrote something down. He slid it across the bar.

Nia picked it up. “What has this got to do with your ghost?”

Joe gave them a dark look. “Our friend Talia is missing.”

Friday, December 31, 9:15 p.m.

Perry’s condo

Perry Baker lived in an apartment on the ground floor of a Victorian-era warehouse in Spookytown, the entrance off of a parking lot at the rear. Iron stairs zigzagged up its brick face, a few of the railings sporting Christmas decorations. Security lights winked on as Lore made his way around the building, casting harsh shadows in the snow. Someone had cleared a path through the drifts. Bit by bit, Fairview was getting a handle on its Winter Wonderland status.

His mood was far from festive.

Lore had dreamed last night, or perhaps it was a prophecy. As usual, he wasn’t sure which and he had no idea what to make of what he saw: Talia throwing a knife at him, a look of deep anger in her eyes. He could still see the whirling blade, the thwop-thwop of it as it spun through the air. In the dream, he was leaping, trying to get out of the way. Fear rippled through him, but he wasn’t sure what was the real threat. In the murky dream-state, he’d known there was something worse than the knife coming his way.

He’d jerked awake next to Talia’s still form, his heart pounding. He was sick to death of nightmares. First Mavritte with a blade, and now Talia. How come the women in his dreams never had plates of food, or mugs of beer, or scented massage oils? Just for a change, it would be nice. But now he couldn’t find Talia. Was that what the dream meant? Was the knife the sharp stab of worry in his heart?

Lore had called a meeting of his friends. They needed to regroup and make plans because the airports had opened and Omara was on her way. The timing sucked. He had a splitting headache, and he was deeply worried about Talia. He had to find her, but he had no idea where she was—not at the condo, not at the Empire, not in Spookytown, and not at the cop shop. He needed help.

The headache was one of the curses of being the Alpha. He’d been sitting in Bevan’s living room and talking to the Elders when another prophecy had ridden in on a mother of a migraine headache. Through the blinding lights and nausea, he’d seen Darak making a promise to a filmy presence Lore couldn’t fully make out, but he’d heard Talia’s name. Whatever happened next, the rogue vampire would play a role—and it would involve her.

Two prophecies in twenty-four hours? Unusual to say the least. That in itself set his ruff standing on end.

The headache would fade, but worry dug in like the talons of a raptor. Talia had a talent for vanishing—from his condo, from the hospital, and now from Osan Mina’s house. The woman is pure chaos. At least this time, he was almost certain that she was with Baines. But why? Had she gone on her own? Had Baines forced her? Why hadn’t she told him where she was going?

They weren’t at the police station. As the cop on the phone had pointed out, they’d not been gone two hours. Talia was an adult. Lore should chill out. Sure. After all he and Talia had been through, it was impossible not to fear the worst. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, as if he could protect the spark between them with his own bones and muscle. Last night had meant everything. Talia had been everything. Brave, vulnerable, generous—those qualities that drew him to her had been there in her lovemaking. Also, that chaotic, unpredictable element. After living by the rules of the pack for so long, the surprise of her was intoxicating.

When the storm of lovemaking had been spent, he’d slept beside Talia, his body desperate for rest. On top of crime, death, and Mavritte, the venom had taken its mind- and body-blowing toll, but more than an urge to sleep had kept him there.

Hellhounds guarded—and he wanted to guard her. Forever. No one else brought the kind of peace he felt when his fingers brushed her skin. No one—hound, human, or anything else—drew his eyes and filled him with her scent the way Talia did. In a matter of days, she had become the center of his thoughts.

But she wasn’t a hellhound. This isn’t supposed to happen. Too bad. His soul knew who it wanted, and that was that. I don’t care. I want her, and she obviously needs someone to cover her back for once. What she had been through in her existence was appalling, even by Castle standards.

Anxiety sparking through his limbs, Lore crunched through the snow with extra force. He crossed the parking lot. Some of the cars were dusted off, others still lumps of snow. A trail of footprints led the way to his destination. He wasn’t the first to arrive.

Sometime before Christmas, Perry had hung a stuffed toy on the door—a wolf’s head with a Santa hat and flashing red nose. Santa Claws. Lore had to push it aside to find the knocker.

He’d barely rapped twice when Errata opened the apartment door, looking like someone had stepped on her tail. Behind her, he could see Perry’s black and white kitchen. It was a little messy, but well stocked with cookbooks and cans of food on the open shelving. Lore knew Perry had wooed more than one woman with his spaghetti Bolognese.

Errata met Lore’s eyes with a desperate expression. “I can’t stand the man. Would you please take him back to the hospital and chain him to a bed.”

Lore decided not to touch that one. “Silver poisoning makes werebeasts crazy.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “I didn’t realize it also made them stupid enough to try playing detective when they’re full of bullet holes. He just got home an hour ago. He’s barely unhooked from all those machines. Yesterday, he was supposed to be dying, for the love of—”

She turned and stalked back into the apartment.

Lore stepped inside, smelling chicken and onions from the soup pot on the stove. I had no idea Errata could cook. He shed his coat and walked through to the living room. It was mostly bare brick with black leather furniture. Perry had taken the place for much the same reason Lore had moved into his friend Mac’s old condo—to gain a little distance from their respective packs. They were both considered rebels for adopting the human custom of finding a place of their own.

At the moment, though, it appeared Errata had taken charge. She was frowning down at Perry, who was stretched out on the couch, cushions propping him into a semi-sitting position. Perry’s arm was in a sling, probably to immobilize his wounded shoulder. His color was bad, skin pale against the shadow of his beard, and his scent was tainted with the sweat of pain.

“What part of bed rest don’t you understand?” Errata fumed.

Perry’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The part where I take a nap while the bad guys finish me off. That’s why they let me out of the hospital, remember? Too hard to run a medical center with assassins roaming the halls, so you send the target home so he can be murdered offsite. No, thanks. I’d rather cut to the chase and catch the bastards.”

Lore didn’t see Perry angry very often, but the wolf was on a slow burn. Lore didn’t blame him one bit. No hospital would send away a human patient like this. “How many guards are there around this place?”

Just because Lore hadn’t seen them outside, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Most of the Silvertail pack knew Lore, at least by sight, and wouldn’t stop him.

Perry started to shrug, but winced when he tried to move his shoulder. “Dad said he had it covered. Of course, he wanted me to go back to his place.”

“Maybe you should have,” said Lore.

“No way. I do that, and as far as they’re concerned, I’m twelve again.” Perry smiled, but he sounded like he was only half joking.

Errata gave a little hiss. “Stubborn idiot.”

A knock sounded at the kitchen door, two quick raps. Errata went to answer it. Lore glanced over at Perry. His friend had his eyes closed, lines of pain around his mouth. Errata was right. Perry should be in bed, not hosting a meeting.

At that moment, Errata led Darak into the room. The werecougar, tall as she was, looked like a child next to him. “Lore, your, uh, friend’s here.”

Lore and Darak exchanged a wary look.

“Hellhound,” Darak rumbled by way of greeting. Then he turned to Perry. “You look half-dead.”

“Working on it,” Perry replied, opening his eyes to slits. “Do I know you?”

“Perry Baker, Errata Jones,” Lore said, pointing to his friends. “Everyone, this is Darak.

“Of Clan Thanatos,” Darak added.

At that, Perry opened both eyes. “We’re going with the heavy hitters.”

“Damned straight.” Darak made himself comfortable in an overstuffed chair. “What’s this I hear about Talia being gone? How long?”

“Two hours,” Lore said.

“That’s not missing. That’s out for coffee. What else is going on?”

Uneasy, Lore took the other chair. Errata sat on the arm of the couch next to Perry.

Lore got to the point. “First problem: The airports are clear and Omara will be landing shortly. It’s New Year’s Eve and the town is packed with strangers. It’s the perfect time for this attack we’re anticipating.”

“Where is she going to be?” asked Errata.

“She’s staying at her usual hotel downtown. The Hilliard Fairview.”

“Shouldn’t she go someplace different?” asked Errata. “She knows there’s a problem, right? With the fire and the election and necromancy, etcetera?”

“Queens don’t move,” Darak replied. “It would be a sign of weakness.”

“Great.” Lore rubbed his eyes, wishing aspirin worked on half-demon headaches. “Problem two: Talia is missing. I think she’s with Baines, but I don’t know exactly why. Her cousin was beheaded by a necromancer we think was her sire. Her brother is a Hunter who may well be the sniper who shot Perry. Against everything we know about Hunters, they’re using magic.”

Darak made a noise that said he’d just figured something out. “So the Hunters are the interested parties.”

They all looked at him, Lore getting the creeping sense that matters had just got worse. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Belenos wants to destroy Omara,” Darak answered. “It’s not a leap to believe the Hunters would consider the election an abomination, and they’d cheerfully punish the queen whose influence made it possible. They’re working with Belenos. That’s why the Hunters have access to magic. A truce in order to kill a common enemy.”

“Wait a minute.” Confused, Lore got to his feet and began pacing. “The Hunters and Belenos? Belenos killed Talia. He addicted her brother. The Hunters would never work with him. Belenos has a feud with her father. She told me.”

“Am I missing something?” Perry asked.

“Talia was born a Hunter,” Errata said.

“What the hell? No way.”

“Her brother came to finish you off and she chased him through the hospital. You slept through the whole thing.”

“Thank God for that.” Perry winced. “Fido’s balls, Lore, I know you like the wild girls, but wow.”

“She is not a Hunter now,” Lore retorted, feeling his defenses rise. Where is Talia? Why hasn’t she called?

“I don’t know this tribe of Hunters,” said Darak. “But the ones I do know always put the killing of monsters ahead of their personal affections. Their children are the pawns and tools of their fathers. It’s an honor to sacrifice them to the cause.”

Lore stopped pacing and sat down again, feeling sick. “That fits with what Talia has said.”

“Not to be self-centered,” said Perry, trying to hitch himself higher onto the pillows. “But on the subject of my foiled assassination, I take it that Belenos sent the brother after me? Why?”

“Belenos must have found out that you have video images proving he’s in town,” Lore said. “I’m not sure how they knew.”

“I was working as fast as I could. Maybe I left a trail.” Perry winced and closed his eyes. “But still, how would they even know? More to the point, why do they care? What does it matter if we know Belenos was in town once the attack is over?”

“He needs time,” Darak said. “And he will try to get away without being discovered. He will try to stick the Hunters with the blame. And my people.”

“Why you?” Lore asked.

“Belenos hired me to kill the queen.” Darak’s words were matter-of-fact.

Lore’s heart began to speed. “Then why are you here?”

Darak shrugged, an earthquake in that massive body. “I care nothing for the queen, but Belenos is a pig.” And he told them how he’d found Belenos, and what he’d seen. “My guess is the attack will come through the sewers.”

“It fits,” said Lore. “Talia chased Max from the hospital into the underground tunnels.”

“If all this is true, at least we know what game they’re playing.” Errata rose to stand by the Christmas tree, hugging herself. “The next move is ours. Where do we go from here?”

Lore answered, his hellhound instincts utterly certain. “We confront them in their headquarters. Then we chew their bones.”

Perry cleared his throat. “Hell, Rover, this is Belenos we’re talking about.”

“The sorcery could be a problem,” Lore conceded. “But they are still flesh and blood.”

“From what I saw, Belenos has men stationed over a wide area. To catch them all, you’ll have to sweep all the tunnels under the city,” Darak put in. “That’s a large area. If Belenos is smart, he’s going to be on the move himself. His magic is one of their greatest weapons. He’s not going to make himself a stationary target.”

No one answered that one. A stray thought of Talia, the way she had looked at him from her pillow, reminded Lore of everything he could lose. He rose, anxious with what they were about to set in motion. He knew what had to be done, was willing to accept the responsibility, but that didn’t stop dread from crawling like cold lead through his veins.

He had to mobilize the hounds and wolves and invade the tunnels.

Taking his cell phone, he stepped outside the back door, not bothering to put on his coat. The night felt muffled by clouds, the sky hovering just above the rooftops. The square of light from the doorway splashed into the darkness, an island of homey warmth framing his shadow. He sucked in a lungful of the icy air, exhaled a cloud of frosty breath.

He tried to let go of enough tension to think clearly. Part of him was proud of what had just happened. He’d pulled together a team and figured out Belenos’s plan. Perry had paid a high price, but that only made Lore more determined to make their work count. He pulled out his phone and began making calls, first to Bevan and then to Perry’s father, the Alpha of Pack Silvertail.

Lore rubbed his hand over his face, willing to trade anything to be back in bed with Talia, lost in lovemaking. His skin remembered hers, the curve of her collarbone beneath his lips, the faint spray of freckles in the cleft between her breasts. The idea of her brought such a weight of joy and sadness that he struggled for the next breath.

The last thought had barely formed, when a familiar dread leached the softness from the gray winter night. Something evil was watching, just as it had on the night Talia’s cousin was killed. Lore’s gaze snapped upward, scanning for any clue. This has to be Belenos at work again.

He’d felt this same dark miasma just before the fire—except this time he was sure it was watching him. Lore banged back into the apartment, the door crashing shut in his wake. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“Why?” Darak demanded.

Lore struggled for a moment, searching for the right words. “There’s dark sorcery watching us again. I felt it in the parking lot.”

“What?”

Perry struggled to a sitting position. “Fido’s balls, not again.”

The last time he had described the evil, Perry had teased him. Now his friend sat white-faced with pain, a hard expression in his eyes that Lore hadn’t seen before. Perry gave a bitter smile. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really up to running.”

“It’s Belenos,” Darak said, understanding sparking in his eyes. “Now I understand. He has a scrying ball. He’s using it to spy on his enemies.”

“That’s why he’s been a step ahead of us all along.” Lore looked at Perry. “If you used a spell to locate his image on surveillance video, that’s how he found you.”

“Shortcuts,” Perry said sourly. “I should know better than that.”

Darak pulled a carved wooden amulet from his pocket. He turned it over in his hand and shook it. “Nia, my second, made me take this to hide from the evil eye. Maybe its battery’s dead.”

“How do we block Belenos out?” Lore asked.

“You don’t. I do,” said Perry.

“You can’t,” Errata shot back. “You’re full of holes.”

Perry flushed with temper. “Are there any other sorcerers in the room?”

Errata folded her arms, her expression hurt and angry at once. “Just don’t complain to me when you bleed to death, okay?”

Perry shook his head, as if shaking off her words. “Cats, always with the big drama. Hand me that red stone on the bookcase.”

With his good arm, Perry pointed to a sphere of red jasper about the size of a man’s fist. Lore did as he asked, finding the sphere was heavier than he expected. He passed it over carefully, afraid that one of them would drop it. Perry braced his hand on his knee, cupping the stone.

“Drama my hind paw,” Errata muttered. “You’re just another macho idiot.”

“Better that than an idiot in that evil entity’s crosshairs.”

Errata clamped her mouth into a thin line.

Lore shot her a look he hoped was sympathetic. He didn’t blame her for worrying. Perry was reciting something in a low voice. The wolf stared hard at the ball of jasper, a deep furrow creasing his brow. A faint glow was gathering around the ball, but it was obviously coming at a price. His face was falling into hard, tired lines, his skin draining of any remaining color.

Then, as suddenly as if a switch had turned on, the ball of red jasper began to radiate a thick, ruddy glow. Perry’s shoulders sagged. At first the light spilled over his hands, heavy as syrup, but with a single word from him, it feathered into the air, fanning out like a drop of ink in a pan of water. It crept farther and farther in every direction, a splash in slow motion. As it thinned to cover every inch of space, the color grew so thin it was barely noticeable.

Lore and the others watched, looking up, down, and to every corner as the room filled with the faint light. “What’s it doing?” Lore demanded.

“Call it magical anti-spyware,” Perry said softly. “It’ll scrub any unwanted spells within a city block.”

He set the ball on the coffee table and sank back against the couch cushions, closing his eyes again. “We’re safe enough for the moment, but we’ve got to fix this, quick. I can’t shield the whole town.”

“If you attack the tunnels, expect resistance,” Darak said grimly. “Chances are, Belenos will see you coming.”

Lore’s phone chose that moment to ring. He flipped it open. “Hello?”

“It’s Baines.”

The phone line crackled as if the connection was breaking up.

“Detective.” Lore’s heart leaped. “Thanks for returning my messages. Is Talia with you?”

“She’s gone. I need your help. I’m willing to bet she does, too.”

“What happened?”

“The only clue I’ve got is a pair of fang marks in my neck.”

There was static on the line.

“What did you say?” Lore demanded. There was another burst of static that made Lore growl at the phone.

Finally, a clear sentence came through. “I can’t get through to the station. I’m underground. I don’t have a clue where I am. It’s freezing cold. Someone bit me and then dumped me down here.”

The call went dead.