Bite Back 05 - Angel Stakes (24 page)

“I’ve made introductions between House Trang and the Albuquerque Were,” I continued. “It went well enough that they’re offering help for Bian to set up her House. That’s not finished; formal alliances have to be negotiated centrally in Santa Fe, where the senior alpha is. I expect to be called to attend that, and when I do, I can open the conversation about getting Assembly representation for what they’re calling the League of Southern Packs.”

“Good.” Naryn finished his tiny cup of coffee. “Larimer?”

“I’m scheduled to attempt another ritual tonight. That should cement the Denver pack’s alliances with about a dozen packs, some of them in loose association already.” My stomach flip-flopped. As long as the ritual worked. Me looking like a fool wouldn’t be so bad, but it would reflect on Felix as well, and because of that, it could be dangerous for the pack. “Felix has accepted that Pack Deauville is a sub-Pack and he’s given no indication he has a problem with an association with Altau. No one in a position of authority here has ever gotten around to confirming that to him, though. And when that conversation takes place, it’d be a good opportunity to introduce the idea of representation on the Assembly.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Naryn said. He gathered the reports on his desk and stacked them neatly to one side, nudging them into perfect alignment. “You know, if you keep doing the impossible, people will keep giving you impossible tasks.”

I needed to get my ears cleaned out. I couldn’t possibly have heard what I thought I’d heard, but in case I had, this was the best timing for my last task on my to-do list for this meeting. I took a piece of paper out of my pocket, unfolded it and placed it neatly on the top of his pile.

He raised one bushy eyebrow.

“The…ahh…costs of bringing Agent Ingram here.”

He glanced at it without comment, then sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“Bring him in.”

Ingram ambled through the doorway, his most disarming, good-ole-boy face on and his eyes sharp as a snake’s.

“Agent Harold Ingram, head of the FBI’s ultra-clandestine Project Anthracite,” I said, enjoying the tic that came in response to my teasing. “And this is Naryn Bazhir, House Bazhir, second-in-command of the Athanate in North America.”

Naryn stood and they shook hands.

“I have to say, sir, I expected you to look different.” Ingram squinted and swiveled his head.

I understood what he meant.

Through the work of Project Anthracite, including the disbanding of Ops 4, Ingram knew the outline of the Athanate. Knew that it was
Athanate
, not vampire. Knew that it was an old and powerful group. A race of paranormals.

And here was one of the most senior Athanate in North America, wearing common clothes and sitting in a plain office behind an ordinary desk. A man you might pass on the street without a second glance.

Naryn smiled, and there was genuine humor behind it.

“I apologize for not meeting expectations. I seldom wear my cloak to the office.”

“Yuh.” Ingram played along with the joke as they sat. “And the teeth.”

“That can be arranged.” Naryn looked up at me, still smiling, and got his revenge for the bill I’d left on his desk. “House Farrell.”

Bastard.

He was completely within his rights to check on me. He was ultimately responsible for me and I was only days out from a treatment that’d never been attempted before. A treatment to reverse the process of going rogue.

Could I manifest fangs and not get swept up by the need to bite?

He needed to know. And just like Skylur, there were layers to his request.

He needed Ingram to
know
in his gut what the Athanate were. That was better coming from me than from him.

And on top of those worthy reasons, he was teasing me. The man had a sense of humor.

I closed my eyes and concentrated.

After a moment, I felt my fangs manifest and opened my eyes to see Ingram going pale.

His heartrate had doubled too.

Yup. One thing to know it as information, another to
know
it and see it right in front of you.

Little Ms. Farrell drinks blood, Agent Ingram. And likes it.

I felt the stir of hunger, but put the fangs away without going Blood-crazy and Naryn nodded, satisfied.

Ingram tried to cover his unease by clearing his throat loudly and shifting in his seat. “I have to lay it down plain, Mr. Bazhir; I come to this meeting making no promises.”

Naryn could easily have responded
neither do I
, but he just said, “I understand.”

If Naryn couldn’t persuade Ingram, what would he do?

Best not to think of that.

“I realize that you folks have stayed out of sight for a long time,” Ingram said, “and that inviting me here represents a departure from that practice.”

“It’s not just a departure, it’s a huge risk for us,” Naryn said.

Ingram snorted. “I guess I just might be risking myself here as well.”

Great, a
my risk is bigger than yours
contest. The good-ole-boy face hadn’t lasted long.

I got my oar in before they could start paddling in circles. Best diplomatic hat on. “Can we agree that the risk isn’t on one side or the other? If we get this wrong,
everyone
is screwed.”

The pair of them sat back in their seats. Ingram stroked his chin thoughtfully. His heartrate had slowed.

While they chewed on that, I made some more coffee.

“Should we start by stating our objectives for this meeting?” Naryn asked me as I handed the tiny cups out. No way I could tell if he was being sarcastic. Much.

“I’d prefer to start with the ultimate aim,” I said.

“Mine is easier to state,” Ingram said. “I’ll keep it brief, since it appears you kinda know it already. Project Anthracite was set up to report directly to the Deputy Director of the Bureau. Its mission is the termination of illegal clandestine organizations operating domestically.”

I bit back a smile. Project Anthracite wasn’t on the standard organizational chart of the FBI. So they’d set up an undercover operation to seek out undercover operations.

“A wide remit,” Naryn commented. “At that level of brevity, I’ll say that I represent the Athanate of North America, and some of the Were and Adepts. Our aim, as House Farrell has put it, is to reveal ourselves in such a way that it does the least amount of damage.”

Ingram grunted. “That’s vampires, werewolves and witches in old-fashioned talk?”

“Popular culture has a great deal to answer for, but that’ll work as a starting point.”

“And you, sir, are looking to reveal yourselves through the FBI?”

“Before you find us anyway. It’s no longer possible to evade your detection, though not all Athanate outside of North America believe that.”

Ingram ignored the compliment to the FBI. His eyes narrowed. “That goes for your werewolves and witches as well? Not all of them on board?”

Naryn nodded.

“That seems to be a problem right there, among many other problems. In fact, more problems than a hound chased across a creek full of gators.”

Naryn almost smiled. “If we focus on the problems—”

“Yup. We lose sight of the other bank. You say discovery would do you harm—what do you mean by that?”

I got in before Naryn. “It would do
both
of us harm, Agent Ingram. I’m not talking about firefights.” How had David and Pia put it, when they presented to the Assembly?

Naryn was better at voicing it. “We’re talking about worldwide irrevocable damage to the structures of modern society. The collapse of major sectors such as banking and healthcare. The breakdown of confidence and security. Not that these are our intentions; however, we have considerable socioeconomic research that supports these findings, which we would be happy to share with you. All of that destruction would hurt us as much as you.”

“We’re in this together,” I said and laced my fingers through each other. “Like this. We are dependent on each other in this country.” It needed something more. “We are you.” It sounded stupid as I said it, but it seemed to register with Ingram.

There was a long silence, then the creak of his weight settling more in his chair. We had his attention and he was expecting a long session. His heartrate had sunk back to its normal level.

“Do you need to send some kind of signal to your team?” I said.

“Already have, Ms. Farrell. We have time. Not too much, but we have time.”

Had to have been something he set up before. There’d been nothing once I’d gotten him out of his car.

“I had some leeway when I started this project,” he went on. “I’ve been profligate with it of late. I do hope to return to my former level of credit with my organization.” He laced his fingers together in imitation of me and studied them, turning them this way and that before settling them across his stomach. “It would be remiss if I didn’t lay down my boundaries and explain my situation.

“I’m here in part because I believe in folk, y’see. Strange, isn’t it? All this high-falutin’ talk comes down to my belief that I know you and trust you. If I’m expected to continue in that trust I will have to have continuing contact with people I trust. Without,” he peered at me, “unexplained gaps.

“If I don’t have that access, or I am unable to rejoin my team, you need to be aware that my files and analysis would be available to my superiors, and that body of work would be sufficient to reconstruct my knowledge.”

A dead-man switch, just as I’d assumed.

“I make you no guarantees, and I have oaths and a criminal code to uphold. I also have a distrust for any organization that’s not state or federal but which claims jurisdiction over people within the United States. And I may add, my distrust extends to any organization that has military force not under the purview of the government.”

He stopped and waited for a response.

It was an opening for Naryn to get tough. Maybe to casually reveal Athanate telergy powers, which theoretically could have been used to nullify the protections Ingram thought he had. All of which would have been a mistake in my opinion.

But Naryn didn’t go there. “I’m immensely reassured that you’ve come to talk,” he said. “It shows at least one of us has gained a level of trust with you.”

“And that’s the way we need to grow it,” I said. “We talk until you trust us to a level where you’d introduce us to your boss and then we do it again. All we’re asking is you don’t make decisions until we’ve had a chance to explain.”

Ingram grunted. “The Director, Chief of Staff, and so on, all the way to the top,” he said.

Naryn nodded. “To the president.”

“We sure have some work to do, Mr. Bazhir.”

Naryn laughed.

I left Naryn and Ingram much later, still talking details and forming a grudging respect.

Ingram got along better with Naryn than I did. I also had to admit, Naryn was a much better person than I was for this.

Yelena was waiting. While I’d been in with them she had returned our ‘borrowed’ car and picked up the Hill Bitch from Manassah, where Tullah had left it after driving up from New Mexico.

We made it to Bitter Hooks only a few minutes later than I’d said.

It didn’t matter. Felix had had a change of heart and broadcast an offer to any packs within reach of Denver, except the Confederation. That’d messed up his preparations, and people would be continuing to arrive here until about 1:30 in the morning. Many of the packs who’d gotten the broadcast were too suspicious, but Felix was expecting to double the number of halfies he’d given during our first conversation.

Yelena was restless. “This is going to go on late. I’m supposed to remind you to get regular sleep. You’re still recovering.”

“Hmm. Yes, nurse.” I leaned back against her. It was cold. I was wrapped up in my shabby stockman’s coat and she had borrowed a ski jacket.

We were sitting on the rocks at Falcon’s Bluff.

An area had cleared around us. My own personal zone of awe.

Beyond that, the halfies and their pack companions milled around.

I had to remind myself that these were the critical cases from every pack in every bordering state.
Just
the critical cases,
just
the closest packs. A sense of hopelessness swelled up in me.

Despite their unease about other packs on their territory, the Denver pack had really made efforts for their guests. There were metal drum barbeques off to the side. I could confirm the ribs, steaks and potatoes that came off them were excellent. There were coolers with beer, which I’d also sampled, hydration being important.

Following my instructions, the pack had built three bonfires. On my word, they’d toss the barbeque coals on the bonfires and the ritual would start.

Felix and Ricky were walking through the crowd, making sure they shook hands and welcomed every single one of them. Nick, Ursula, Olivia, Ben and all the other cubs that had been at the last ritual were down there repeating their stories for everyone to hear.

Yes, I’m the halfy that changed.

It happened, I saw it.

I was right next to her.

You’ll be fine.

It was barely working. Not just because of the ingrained doubt in the minds of the other packs. Were didn’t mix like this, pack brushing against pack, none of them on their own territory with the sense of grounding that gave. Push any group of Were from this many different packs together on another pack’s territory and they’d be tense and skittish. Add in the feelings of the halfies, which ranged from nervousness to outright terror, and the result was a churning mass of jumpy shifters.

The baleful glow of the barbeques didn’t help, side-lighting the scene like an artist who only had red paint and black paper.

It felt explosive. Not the halfies so much. They were more distracted, more inward focused, as you’d have expected. But their companions pressed against other pack members, full of doubt, wondering if it was all a con. Anger simmered in the night.

Only another half-hour.

Beneath that, even without the surface tension, the cacophony of Calls from so many different packs was like nails on a blackboard. It did nothing to help me find that centered zone of confidence about tonight’s ritual.

And I wasn’t sure that zone existed.

“Distract me, Yelena.”

Without turning, I sensed her fangs manifest inches from my throat, and I managed a breathy laugh as my whole body turned into one aching need.

“Yes, that’d work,” I said hoarsely. “Might freak the halfies out, though.”

It wasn’t just Yelena. Or Skylur’s directives about my House. Over the last week I’d sensed my Athanate’s growing impatience. I was House Farrell. I needed to be all that implied. I needed to exchange Blood with my House. I needed to get back to Manassah with David and Pia and Yelena for a little bite-fest. Skylur’s restated bans explicitly made my House off-limits to other Athanate, but he’d removed the in-House restrictions.

“We’ll have to sometime, Boss. Soon.” She put the fangs away, but I knew her need was as great as mine.

It wasn’t just the Athanate imperative to share Blood with your House.

Other Athanate sensed her marque and thought that we were already sharing Blood, because her marque was identical to mine. It was our secret, hidden from everyone around us: older Carpathian Athanate could mimic a marque. With a few years’ training, I might be able to change my marque as well. For all the other Athanate groups, this was a nightmare. The marque was one of the foundations of Athanate society. It made distinctions between Houses; it gave definition and identity to Houses. Knowing that we could fake it would make us abominations in the sight of everyone except the Carpathians, and I had no wish to become a refugee in eastern Europe at the moment.

It didn’t help that, for a majority of Athanate, I was probably still regarded as an abomination anyway, because I was a hybrid.

I’d held off biting Yelena because I didn’t want to play favorites between the Athanate members of my House in terms of Blood. Or knowledge. Tonight, I’d tell David and Pia about the effects of being Carpathian. We’d all bite each other. My heart leaped at the thought.

And I’d have to confirm my choice of Diakon.

“We will. Tonight,” I promised, feeling another tick of anticipation. “So long as you don’t insist I have to go to bed to get my beauty sleep instead.”

She chuckled. “Good. So, how do you want me to distract you?”

“Tell me what you were talking about with Vera last night.”

“She is interested in Carpathian beliefs.”

“Good is God?”

Yelena snorted. “You were still awake, then. She…what is the word…condenses? She condenses thousands of years of thought into a phrase. It’s not one we use, but it comes close to Carpathian philosophy.”

“You mean Carpathian religion?”

“We don’t like the word religion.” She shifted slightly. “It tastes of politics and human structures.”

“So, what do you say instead?”

“Faith is close. Meaning the act of belief, not another word for religion. Vera says what I mean is the exercise of faith.”

“So the exercise of faith is God?”

“No.” She shifted again, probably struggling to communicate something that was difficult to say, even in Athanate. “The power of believing, the strength of it, that’s maybe a part of God. Not what you believe exactly, but how strongly you believe it.”

“But if what you believe in isn’t important, you could have faith in anything. Even Basilikos.”

“That’s where Vera says God is good. And you understand what’s good through the use of eukori. If we share eukori, I cannot lie to you, I cannot…ah…avoid knowing what would be good for both of us. Eukori between two, we call the Lesser Communion.”

“Still doesn’t mean that what two people think is good, is really good.”

“Yes. But a House that shares eukori knows what is good for the House. And a community will know what is good for the community. That eukori we call Greater Communion.”

“So if everyone…”

She laughed. “And here in five minutes we reach the question that the Carpathians debate for centuries. If the whole world shares eukori, are we God, do we know the mind of God, or do we know only what we can know of the mind of God?”

“God!” Well, I’d asked for distraction. “So tonight, when we use eukori to try and focus the ritual, that’s to know a little of the mind of God?”

“You get above yourself, we say. Think of it more like prayer.”

A batch of new halfies emerged from the dark tree line and made their way forward cautiously.

“That looks like the last of them arriving,” Yelena said. “We should go down.”

“Yeah,” I said with reluctance. “You know, I’m not ready for this. I have no idea what will happen. I lack faith in myself, if you want to put it like that.”

“You did well last time.”

I snorted. “Yeah, but I was crazy then.”

What if craziness was essential? The Adepts told me that belief enabled use of the energy. The energy didn’t care about good and evil, crazy and sane. I only had to look at psychopaths like Noble to see that. What if I’d believed I could change halfies at the last ritual because I was already tipping over into insanity?

What if a community of Carpathians shared eukori in their Greater Communion? What if what they defined as good was what everyone else knew was evil?

Enough! Stop this!

Focus.

We walked down. The crowd parted, maintaining the zone around me. Eyes looked up and down, never holding mine. Eyes full of curiosity, fear and a desperate hunger.

The newcomers passed through the welcoming committee and a few were able to pick at the food.

Then Felix turned and caught my eye. We nodded at each other.

Time to roll.

We’d spoken before and he’d accepted how I wanted to try running this ritual. He and the Denver pack began to separate the companions from the halfies. Even after all the preparatory work that Felix had done, it was difficult. The companions had been entrusted with the halfies by their packs. Were instinct made them want to stay, but my instinct told me they were part of the problem. Their doubt was part of what held the halfies back. I needed them away from us.

As the Denver pack worked on that, I went around and greeted each of the halfies, trying to look and feel confident when I wasn’t.

Yelena was like a shadow at my back, feeding her eukori through me, allowing me to gauge the state of each halfy.

With each of them, I shook their hands or hugged them, whatever they seemed comfortable with. I met every pair of eyes, and the half-believing hope in every one of them added a stone to the pile I carried.

There were all kinds—a cross section of races and sizes, mainly young: most between eighteen and twenty-five. Only about a third of them were female.

They were scared. More scared than I was. It hung like a mist that trailed around their necks—so insubstantial, and yet so strong, and so heavy.

The crowd churned.

Pack. Think of them as a pack.

The wolf in me
wanted
them as pack. I had to push that back down. Felix had enough problems without me being accused of stealing werewolves from other packs.

As those around her pulled back slightly, a girl stumbled to the front. Young, maybe twenty. Short. Frail. The stress had pushed her to the critical state. As parts of her body strained toward wolf and failed, it
hurt
. She was scratching herself, drawing blood, falling.

My nose twitched.

Pasadena!

I was amazed she’d been let out. But then, maybe it was a callous test on the part of the LA Were, to let a female halfy go and test whether this ritual was safe.

“Hold her up,” I said.

The halfies on either side took her arms.

I licked the gash on her forehead. I felt the bitter flavor of aniatropics flood my mouth. A trembling eagerness in my jaw.

I had to distract myself from that. Biting wouldn’t go down well tonight.

She needed something. Something visual.

I ran a thumb across the blood and saliva, smeared it across my eyelids and the bridge of my nose, a bar of red, dark and glistening. Copied that on hers. Blinked at the mark across our faces which felt
right
. Felt part of the ritual, part of this place.

“There,” I said softly. “See? Sisters. What’s your name?”

“Paige,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Walk with me, Paige.”

Something seemed to catch in the air, like a flame in tinder, spreading out from us. The halfies sighed.

The girl gritted her teeth and staggered behind me, steadying herself with a hand against me. Trusting me.

And as the last of the Denver pack and the companions disappeared back into the tree line, I made my way to the final halfy, hunched over and head-down at the end of the group.

And smelled the guilt coming off him. Now,
that
was a different emotion.

The guy was a hand-span shorter than me. His unkempt hair looked as if it might be blond or light brown. He looked about twenty. His body had a solidity to it, a tension. It reminded me of someone.

I’d frozen, partway into giving him a hug, and he sensed it. I drank in his scent, tilted my head for a better look at him.

“You okay?”

He ducked his head and muttered something.

I lifted his chin.

Once he realized he’d gotten my full attention and I wasn’t going away, he stood straighter. A feeling of resignation replaced the guilt. But this guy could meet my eyes, where most of the halfies couldn’t.