Lady Superior (4 page)

Whatever damage the bullets caused, the creature didn’t seem to mind. It threw its head back, now sporting an elongated muzzle, and howled.

Is that a werewolf?
Kristen wondered.
Did I almost get choked out by a fucking werewolf? That’s not even fair. There isn’t even a moon tonight.

The creature got down on all fours and charged the distant silhouette. The shooter seemed to anticipate the action, using the creature’s rising head and height to vault over as it leapt at her. Jane landed behind the creature in a roll. She came up on her feet and ran straight for Kristen. “Help!”

“Help?” Kristen croaked. Her throat hadn’t yet recovered from the creature’s grip. “How?”

Jane ran past her. “Punch it in the face!”

“What!”

Jane disappeared around a corner. “That’s what I’m paying you for!”

The beast turned on Kristen and charged her.

Punch it in the face.

Kristen shrugged and held her ground. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

The changeling bore down on her, its shoulders nearly scraping the shelves on either side. It howled and threw itself forward, arms outspread.

She ducked its grabbing hands and surged straight up the moment they passed, using her weight and upward motion to drive her fist into its jaw. The combination of her blow and its momentum carried it over her shoulder and sent it spinning head over tail through the air. The creature slammed into the far wall behind her and fell to the ground in a twisted heap.

Kirsten watched it fall in awe. Jane reappeared just as the body hit the concrete and delivered two rounds to its already mangled head. She shuffled back from the creature, watching it in cautious silence, pistol still leveled.

“Is it dead?” Kristen called.

“I think so. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“Did you get the thing you wanted?”

“Not yet.”

Kristen opened her mouth, but Jane silenced her with a finger. Jane reached inside her flak jacket—Kristen noticed the body armor for the first time and wondered why she didn’t have any—and retrieved a cell phone. She held it to her ear and paced. Eventually, Jane began speaking. “Hey, Michael. Yeah, I know it’s late. I’m sorry. It’s kind of important. We need a cleanup crew on the Howell job. When? Like right now. One of the changelings went hairy on me. No, I’m not going to make her carry it out of here. There’s at least six other dead guys. Look, even if we did it ourselves, we need to keep the cops out of here until we’re done, so you might as well send us a clean-team. I already said I know it’s late. That’s what happens when we have night jobs. You’re the only one with authority to do this kind of thing. Do you want me to burn the warehouse down? Because that’s the only way we can handle this ourselves.”

There was a pause.

“Michael, that was a joke. I’m not burning down the warehouse.”

Another pause.

“Finally. Thank you.”

Jane hung up.

Kristen’s brow wrinkled. “What was that all about?”

“We don’t have to deal with the bodies and we have plenty of time to find what we’re looking for. You think you’re up for it if another one of these guys decides to get up?”

Kristen bounced on the balls of her feet, suddenly energetic. “Oh, hell yeah. I could go for round two. Punching that thing in the face was awesome.”

Jane pursed her lips. She began taking a step away, then reconsidered and turned back. “I have to ask you a question. Don’t take it the wrong way.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Where do you buy your sports bras?”

Kristen landed on the flats of her feet, deflated. She rolled her eyes. “Way to ruin the moment, asshole.”

“No, I’m serious.” Jane made the sign of a cross over her heart. “I promise. There’s a gal I work with that’s about half your size and could seriously use the help.”

Kristen narrowed her eyes. “You’re not bullshitting?”

“Promise. Double promise.”

She sighed. “I buy them online. I’ll show you later.”

“Cool. Thanks. Help me find a box with a serial number that ends in one-seven-seven.”

With two of them scanning the crates, it didn’t take long to find it. “Here!” Kristen called out.

Jane jogged over from the far end of the warehouse to look at it. “Get it down for me?”

Kristen tilted her head back, staring up at the crate on the top shelf. She chewed her lip, considering it for a moment. “Oh yeah, I can do that, can’t I?”

She jumped to the middle shelf, then jumped again, hoisting herself to the top. Setting her feet, she worked her fingers beneath the crate, this one only half the size of her makeshift bulldozer. She lifted its edge, got her shoulder beneath it, and dropped down with the monster on her back. “Where do you want it?”

Jane stammered, eyes wide at the spectacle. “Uh…anywhere. Just, just set it down. Right there is fine.”

Kristen obliged, dropping the crate to crack the concrete. She couldn’t claim to have a delicate touch. “Now that I got it down for you, can you tell me what’s in it?”

“Open it for me, and I might consider it.”

Kristen walked a circle around the crate, finding a padlocked latch on one side. She wasted no time taking hold of the padlock and wrenching it free with a flick of her wrist. She lifted the latch, a reinforcing bar groaning with the sound of metal on metal within the box until it popped free, the crate’s door swinging open on hinges badly in need of oil. Past the door, she tore through myriad layers of packing material, each at least six inches thick. Jane moved behind her and shone a flashlight into the box. Kristen had expected something massive in a crate of that size. It struck her that it hadn’t felt heavy enough for that, but her strength—the extent of which she didn’t yet know—made accurate estimates impossible.

Finally, Jane’s flashlight illuminated a small, wooden box at the center of the foam. A gold latch glimmered in light. Kristen turned back, face screwed up in confusion. “A jewelry box?”

Jane pushed past her without a word and snatched the box, a sudden hunger in her eyes. She tucked the flashlight under her arm, flipped the latch, and lifted the lid. Hot anger rose in Kristen’s chest. Instinct told her to push back, grab the box, and go. Who was this woman, asking for all this help and snatching the prize?

“Damn it!” Jane snarled, spiking the box like a football. The pieces bounced, splinters skittering across the concrete. She walked to the shelf nearby, slamming her forearm against another crate. She leaned her head against it. Her posture sagged, all energy gone in an instant.

Kristen looked between her and the shattered remnants of the box. “Empty?”

Jane’s head banged against metal. Her voice went flat. “Yep.”

As if on eggshells, Kristen tiptoed to gather the pieces of the box. Moving with caution seemed right just then, though she wasn’t sure why. She turned the pieces over in her hand. They seemed…mundane. She remembered picking through her grandmother’s jewelry box as a little girl, and it’d clearly been crafted with more care than this one. Her lips pursed. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. For all of the effort and secrecy, their prize was little better than a box a kid might make for Mother’s Day.

She noticed writing on the piece that had once been the bottom.
Too slow, Jane.

Kristen glanced at the woman. “It wasn’t even here?”

Jane pushed off of the crate and turned, rubbing her face. “It was. I know it was. I tracked it here myself; I had my own people watching the building.”

“You might have been wrong. Or maybe they didn’t see it get moved. I mean…it’s a big warehouse and you didn’t have anyone inside, right? If I were hiding something super important, I wouldn’t keep it in the box it’d been traveling around in.” Kristen swept a hand in a vague gesture across the warehouse. “At the very least, I’d have put it in a different crate.”

Jane paced nearly at a jog, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, you don’t know me very well, so I’m not going to be offended. But I know what I’m doing, okay? This isn’t my first rodeo. This couldn’t have been the changelings. It isn’t their style. They only hunker down until they can move something again; if it wasn’t here, they wouldn’t be here.”

Kristen eyed Jane warily. “Like I said, maybe it’s in another crate. If your people—whoever they are—bought us time, then why don’t we look for it?”

Above all else, she wanted to know what it was.

“The Sea People don’t play games. They don’t leave messages. They show up, they take what they want, they leave. That’s it. If they were here, they thought it would be here. Obviously, it isn’t. Someone’s screwing with me.”

Kristen blew out a harsh sigh. “At least tell me what was supposed to be in the box. You can do that, right? It isn’t here. I don’t have it. Telling me what it was can’t hurt anything.”

“It was a ring.”

“A ring?” Kristen’s brow knit. “You made me do all of this for a ring? What, was Temple repo-ing someone’s wedding ring?”

Jane looked her in the eyes. “Knowing what you are—and seeing what you have tonight—you really think this was about someone’s wedding ring?”

Kristen shrugged. “Probably not, but I haven’t figured this out yet. And you haven’t helped. I don’t get it. You work for a bank. How the hell does a bank fit into this? Banks are just… money. I’m not convinced I’m not helping you make a stack of cash somehow. For all I know, these guys are just rich werewolves or some bullshit.”

“They’re changelings, Kris. Not werewolves. Their blood can assimilate the blood of other living things. When that happens, they can take the form of anything they’ve assimilated.”

“So…” Kristen rubbed her neck. “Werewolves are a thing?”

Jane’s lips twitched the start of a response, but she hesitated and started over. “That wasn’t a werewolf, okay?”

“But they’re a thing?”

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose again. “Look, you are a thing, okay? Just consider that. That’s going to answer pretty much every question like the one you just asked me.”

Kristen looked at the pieces of jewelry box in her hand. She tossed them over her shoulder. “I still don’t get this. Why do you want this ring? And if it isn’t about money, then I want to know who you actually work for. Before you refuse to answer my questions again, remember: I’m a thing.”

“Was that a threat?”

“You’re the one blackmailing me.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I’m not blackmailing you.”

“No, I guess it’s pretty normal for a stranger to show up at someone’s house uninvited with their fucking medical records. It’s definitely not blackmail when you wave my identity in my face and show up in the company car to make me kill werewolves or whatever.”

“I’m sorry, okay? There’s no good way to make introductions when it comes to these things. People in your position treasure their secrets. No matter what I do to earn trust in these situations, people react—” Jane stopped, looking down. She pointed her flashlight at the ground to illuminate spots of blood. Her light followed the trail until it settled on Kristen’s stomach. Kristen twisted her body and held back her chest to see it.

Jane cursed. “Holy shit. Why didn’t you say something?”

Kristen touched her stomach and held up her hand. Blood. “Is this mine?”

“Judging by the holes…” Jane’s voice trembled. “Yeah. Pretty sure.”

As if her body had been waiting for the confirmation, a flood of sensations hit Kristen like a wave on a breakwater. Pain. Wet blood. Exhaustion. Panic. Her hands trembled. Her legs failed, dropping her to her knees. She felt warmth drain from her face like an emptying funnel. “I don’t—” A wave of dizziness made her sway, and she fought for balance. “What’s going on?”

Jane ran to her, tucking away her flashlight. She laid Kristen back, putting pressure on her wounds with one hand, the other snatching a radio from her belt. She held it to her mouth and the words raced from her lips. “Gabby, I need you in here ASAP. Just learned Muscles can’t deflect bullets. It’s bad.”

Chapter 3

Kristen bolted upright. Her eyes fought to take stock of her surroundings: a bedroom with puke-yellow walls and furnished with items that seemed too small, like miniature versions of the real things or those meant for a child. Against the far wall sat a little writing desk with a matching chair. Next to it, a squat cabinet made of dark wood. Along another wall stood a low chest of drawers that matched the rest of the furniture. Every piece looked beat to hell with nicks and notches that testified to long life. The wooden blinds on the window—the old-fashioned type made of swinging wooden slats—carried the same sense of age.

A duffel bag in faded military green blocked the door. On top of it, a folded notecard stood at attention with Kristen’s name scrawled across it.

So creepy.
She shuddered.

She shifted to crawl from the bed—and it was a bed, albeit an exceedingly soft bed—and froze as it rocked dangerously, as if on legs too thin to hold itself up. Inching to the edge of the mattress, terrified the entire thing would collapse beneath her, she cast away the blanket. Mind still fuzzy, she realized she was naked save for a layer of bandages wrapped around her stomach. She whimpered, heart racing, breaths rapid. Rushing to the door, she turned the lock, closing herself in before snatching the card from the duffel. She turned it over in her hand.

Don’t be afraid. You’re the badass. You’re healing super-fast. Don’t get any ideas, though. You aren’t immortal.

I left you in good hands. Everything you need is in the bag. Call me when you’re ready. No rush. I know I was an asshole. Don’t use your phone. Use the one in the bag. There’s cash for lunch in there, too. Load up on calories. I’m serious.

Kristen doubled over, struck by hunger at the mention of food. She clenched her jaw to stifle the reaction. It didn’t make any sense; she hadn’t felt hungry at all until she read the note, but now she was so hungry it hurt. She gingerly felt the bandages again. She hadn’t noticed the bullets until Jane said something, either.

She slumped to the hardwood floor.
Jesus Christ. They shot me. I got shot. I didn’t even know. That’s something you’d notice, right?