The Endangered (15 page)

Catch shrugs. Offers a kiss as a distraction.

“I want to thank you for tonight. Even though you are one crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

“Anytime, love.”

“How’s it feel to be in command?”

“I’d prefer to be in the field, not delegating, but I enjoy bossing the lot of you around,” he teases.

With dawn approaching, we reluctantly retreat indoors.

“I hope I can get some sleep for once.”

I’d consumed enough blood to heal my wounds, but my body is yearning for a hot bath and a soft mattress. 

Catch, who’d clearly had something plaguing his mind this whole time, finally manages to find the words he craved.

“I want to show you all that is beautiful in this world. I’m afraid to admit that for now all I’ve managed to show you is the grotesque and unspeakable.” His dangerous eyes show a vulnerable side, a side I hardly know but love him for having. To know that he longed for something outside these walls…a longing we shared…

“I dream of an island. With sand bleached from the sun, so hot we have to burrow our toes below the scorching white crystals long after the sun has set. We lie in each other’s arms under coconut palms and watch the reflection of the moon on still turquoise waters…”

“And freeze time.”

“We will escape the world and be free of its burdens.”

I kiss him.

“Do you think one day you can forgive me for playing God with your life?”

At that I pull away and give him a quizzical look.

I want to say that I already had. But I can’t.

He persists, “We share a connection. Inexplicably powerful. You have to feel it."

“Deep down I feel drawn to you more than I’d like to admit. I’m well aware of what you did to me. And of Adrian’s part in it. I’m also aware that you stood where I stand now, though you had a choice. Adrian gave you a choice and you wanted this life. Then you chose it for me. Or he did. It doesn’t matter because in the end every fiber of my being longs to be by your side, to find myself in you, then lose myself in you.”

He meets me with hopeful eyes and a relieved expression.

“But I need time. Time to figure out who I am…now…time to get past who I was and the life I rather abruptly left behind.”

“I want to help you find closure. I can make you forget.”

We walk in silence for a while.

“Will you let me?” His tone is imploring but understanding.

“Eventually.” I kick at some stones. “Eventually, I will need you to.”

***

I do sleep. Finally. And when I awake it is long past dusk. I go down to the main library hoping to find Marcus nestled in his velvet armchair, eyes lost to another reality. But he has not returned. And while I know it is too soon to expect him back, it is still odd to find his chair empty.

The library sits dormant, its collection at my disposal. The shelves soon unveil my true motives, whether known to me or not. Clueless as to where to start, I scan the books hoping to find something that points toward the werewolves’ plan. History does often repeat itself. Maybe there is something buried in these volumes that could point us in the right direction.

Catch enters the library as if knowing he’d find me here. He is holding up a small slip of paper.

“Ready for your next assignment, love?”

Eyebrow raised, I point to the paper.

“It’s an address and a name.”

“From who?”

“Xan pulled it off Alex’s phone. This address belongs to a nightclub in Amsterdam. A club run by vampires. It’s a rather notorious vampire brothel of sorts. Not known for entertaining wolves or anything more than a place to drink freely, but she had Hanson’s name in here. He’s the owner. And he doesn’t just go around giving his info to wolves. Something’s up.”

“That so?”

“If Xan’s intel is good. And you know it is.”

“Vampires and wolves working together? Sounds messy.”

“Want to find out?”

“Goddamn right I do.”

I walk over to him and slip the paper from his outstretched fingers. Just then a girl appears in the doorway. She stands about my height, hands on her hips.

“So which one of you is going clubbing with me tonight?” She speaks with a thick Latin accent that doesn’t match her porcelain skin.

“Lori meet Quinn. She’s a new recruit Crina met in Argentina.”

“Hi Quinn.” I throw Catch a puzzled expression. “Didn’t know Crina had returned.”

“She didn’t. I came at her request. She didn’t exactly have to twist my arm. She told me what your clan was up to and I’m all about killing me some wolves.”

To Quinn, Catch explains, “Lori will be leading this mission. I have to brief her. Jiro was readying some equipment. Why don’t you check in with him?”

She gets the hint.

“Okay, but don’t be too long or I’ll leave without ya.”

“I’m taking a newbie? Doesn’t this seem like a big leap?” I whisper once she is out of earshot.

“Not a newbie, exactly. She’s a rogue. Originally from Costa Rica. Claims to have taken out all sorts of demons, werewolves included. Crina got her to agree to come aboard. She’s not big on our rules, but she doesn’t kill humans, only goes after—” Catch throws up air quotes “—‘worthy adversaries.’ She’ll no doubt give us some resistance initially, but she’s agreed to play nice and we need the manpower. I’m hoping you two can learn from each other. You know, if you’re up for it.”

I shrug. At least I’m not babysitting.

“I’m game.”

Chapter 19

Quinn sports a black ska hat with a checkered sash tied around it. She wears an off-shoulder shirt with a matching checkered pattern and a metallic silk vest, cut a little too tight for her body; the same could be said of her skinny jeans. To complete the look, she wears a thin silver hoop in one ear and a peacock feather in the other.

Short, choppy crimson locks of hair stick out from the hat. Her eyes are mischievous and dance around anxiously as she shares stories of her expeditions. In a Brazilian rainforest she’d tracked down a one-eyed monster that sounds more like an alien than a demon. It all sounds a little Sasquatch-ian to me.

“Right through his eye.” She reenacts his impalement.

She is certainly entertaining. Then, upon learning where I am from, excitedly spews out question after question about New York City. I politely oblige her curiosity.

“Have you been back?”

I shake my head. “And I hope I never have to.” Uncomfortable, I turn the conversation back on her. “Who turned you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She shifts restlessly in her seat at the question.

“No clue. About three years ago I woke up in an alley. My last memory was dancing with some friends in a nearby bar. My guess is that whoever turned me didn’t think he’d done it right or thought he’d killed me in the process and left me for dead.”

She shrugs. “I made do. Encountered this old vamp, called himself Vega. You know him?”

I shake my head. “He’s a Pureblood, right? I’ve heard of him.”

“Well, Vega confirmed what I’d already learned, for the most part, and gave me some advice on the laws of vampirism or whatever. He invited me to join his clan. I declined. Haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

I resist the urge to pursue the subject further, at least for now.

A quick plane hop and a twenty-minute train ride dump us at Amsterdam Central Station on the outskirts of the Red Light District. Besides giving me some insight into her background, the hyper, kill-hungry Quinn outlined her conspiracy theory—a whole crew of vampires working with werewolves to wipe out humanity plot.

I can see no reason vampires would ally themselves with wolves.

What could possibly be gained?

But Quinn believes this trip will blow her theory wide open. Perhaps a theory she’d picked up from Vega. I can’t help but wonder.

We walk past the Oude Kerk, a 13th century church and without doubt the most magnificent gothic architecture I’ve ever laid eyes on. We pause briefly to marvel at its massive stained glass windows and dramatic bell tower. It carries a strong, unmistakable air of death. A postcard forms in my mind, a colorless image of drowsy grey stones with shrouded figures lurking in its crevasses.

The presence of the impressive structure has quieted Quinn, at least until we reach the dilapidated building that serves as our destination.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Quinn stops, folding her arms in disgust. She throws her head sideways as if to spit.

***

The building is begging to be condemned, the type you cross the street to avoid in daylight and don’t dare approach after sunset unless you are in worse shape than the rotting walls holding it together.

The venue serves as a host for wannabe rock stars and washed up has-beens. This decrepit club’s true purpose (and also why it hasn’t been converted to a pile of rubble) can be found in the floors above ground, which serve as a host for the undead to come and feed.

A blood brothel.

We enter the main door. We have to buy tickets for the show, which turns out to be a Marilyn Manson cover band. The main floor is packed and hopping with life. If you can call it that. The exposed bricks and pipes shake from the base. I follow Quinn as we make our way to the back door, where a hefty guard makes for an effective road block.

I slow my pace when we make eye contact, swallowing.

Quinn, however, shows no apprehension. One look at us and he nods, opening the door for our entrance. A simple wordless exchange. Easy. Too easy.

We ascend the stairs, Quinn taking confident strides. A regular in for her nightly fix.

Vampires dressed to play the part of Dracula sit around an open room drinking blood from wine goblets. Humans are scattered among the undead. Most are here of their own free will, voluntary enslavement for the chance at immortality; some are not. Did any make it out alive?

I suppose, after a sizable donation. I strongly doubt any are ever granted their wish, assuming they abide the laws. 

Quinn surveys the crowd. I should be less disgusted than I am. A crack house for demons. This dank place reeks of death, of humanity, of old blood, of the weak and ineffectual. I hate my job. No wonder Catch didn’t want to join us.

“Ugh. Let’s find this Hanson guy and get out of here.”

“Sheesh, don’t be so sensitive. They don’t have brothels in New York?”

My gaze is locked appallingly at a vampire drinking from a half-naked woman.

“Can’t say I made a practice of frequenting them.”

Unmoved by the sights before us, Quinn makes her way through the maze of plush velvet couches and sheer black drapes.

I respect her resolve but can’t help but peg her for a little on the crazy side.

We reach another stairwell. A vampire, larger and meaner looking than the one on the first floor, glowers down at us.

“We’re here to see Hanson,” Quinn states with confidence.

His expression is stoic and menacing, eyes not wavering from Quinn’s. She matches his forceful stare, cocking her head playfully.

“Hanson?” he finally concedes. “Don’t know a Hanson.”

“Well I didn’t say you would. But he knows us and we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He doesn’t respond. She persists.

“We’re not looking for trouble. We were, uh—” She looks at me.

“We were sent here by Alex. Hanson’s expecting us, or her rather. Alex wanted to come herself, but circumstances…” I let the words drop off.

I’ve just taken a big risk and can see by Quinn’s expression that she isn’t pleased I’ve connected us to a wolf, concurrently labeling us traitors. Like it or not, you go undercover, you got to commit.

His expression changes at the mention of Alex and his eyes dart around. Then he gives a reluctant nod.

“Jonas!”

A vampire emerges from the sea of bodies we’d just crossed.

“These vamps say they were sent by Alex.” His English is masked in a thick Slavic accent, but Jonas’s English is surprisingly American.

“Alex? Dunno an Alex.”

Great, full circle. This game gets old fast. He eyes us suspiciously.

“Sent for who?”

“Hanson. Alex said it was too risky to come herself.”

“Risky, huh?” Jonas gives a sneer. “I’ll take them to Hanson.”

The Slav nods and steps aside. Quinn shoots me a sly, victorious smile. I can’t shake the feeling we’ve just doomed ourselves.

Jonas leads us up the stairs to another long corridor lined with doors. We can still hear music from the club pulsating through the crusty walls.

He stops at a door, a dim light emitting from the floor. He holds up a hand. We stop a few feet back. He opens the door while knocking.

“Hey Hanson, couple chicas here to see you. Say you’re expecting them.”

My skin crawls even more so than it had downstairs. Jonas gives a big grin, which doesn’t help matters. He gestures toward the door.

“He’s all yours, ladies.”

With that he disappears down the hall.

We don’t have a game plan. The door stands ajar and Quinn steps into its frame. She motions for me to do the same. We peer into a draped room with padded circular couches, a scaled-down version of its counterpart one floor below. There are two male vampires dressed lavishly in aristocrat costumes and joking around with their three human female companions. All appear drunk, rolling around on the overstuffed lounges, spilling their goblets.

“Hey, if you’re not going to join us, kindly shut the door,” calls out one of the vampires. Quinn obliges by shutting the door.

“So what’s our next move? We go in there and confront him?”

“No, I was thinking something more effective.” Quinn gives a devilish grin.

“Effective how?”

“We get him to admit what he’s up to and then eliminate him in a more private setting. And by
we
I mean
you
,” Quinn jests.

“And how do you propose we—I—accomplish that exactly?”

“Did you see all those empty bottles? Hanson and the others are three sheets to the wind. And those women didn’t exactly look spunky.”

She pauses as if it were obvious. The apparent tact isn’t my first choice, or even my second, so I keep up the confused expression and make her tell me.

“Seduction. You go in and talk him up, put on a little charm, show a little skin—”

“Whoa. How come I have to do the seducing? I’m no good at—isn’t this more your kind of thing?”

“Well I wanted you to have some fun. You’re so—sour about this whole outing.”

“I vote for a different approach. One where my clothes stay on.”

“You’re no fun. What then? We go in, pretend we work for Alex. See how long we can keep up the act before he calls our bluff. Senses our lies. Confrontation, fighting, lots of energy expended…This is his turf; the odds aren’t exactly on our side.”

She is making sense, but we’d made it this far by name dropping, why not take our chances? I go against my instincts and give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay, let’s do it your way, but you can have all the fun you want with this one.”

Quinn feigns a frown then smiles playfully. “Your loss.”

She starts to open the door. “Hey, we can take him out together; two is always better than one.”

“Darling, that’s the kind of bonding we don’t need to be doing.” I indicate her earpiece. “Take your comm out. It’ll give you away.”

She nods, handing it to me.

“I’ll keep watch.”

The door swings open and she steps inside. “Which one of you guys is Hanson?”

I retreat down the hall a few paces and light up a cigarette.

Before my cig is kicked, she exits, a vampire’s—presumably Hanson’s—arm around her. She winks as she passes. I casually follow them around the corner, then watch them ascend the stairs to the fourth floor.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” I mutter.

Perhaps I should have thought this through better. I debate calling into base with an update and positive ID on Hanson. Could I risk using my comm in here?

Quinn’s fortitude tells me to hang tight. I keep reassuring myself that she is fine, no one knows who we are.

A few long minutes pass. I pace the main corridor. A vampire walks by with a tray of blood goblets and I take one off his hands. Sipping the blood, trying to look casual, I am suddenly and rather uncomfortably aware of eyes on me. At the end of the hall stands a tall vampire. He is about ten yards from where I wait, close enough for me to catch a glimmer of yellow as our eyes meet briefly.

He quickly looks away and pretends to busy himself on his Blackberry. But I saw his expression—it was full of distrust. Now it is his turn to act casual. He turns the corner into another hall. I follow, but stop when I get close to where he’s standing. Sensing his presence, I peer cautiously around the corner. His back turned to me, he is typing frantically.

The suspicious and accusing expression on his face…could he somehow know who I was?

Something is off. I panic. It is irrational, but I don’t care. I quietly set down my glass and remove the stake from my boot (an afterthought I am now grateful for bringing). I don’t want to kill a vampire. Dare not think of the repercussions. But given the circumstances…it feels like a necessary action. This vampire is definitely not on my side. By that logic, he is working against us and thus a traitor.

Right? Had to be.

Drowning in the murky gray waters I constantly tread. Maybe I do just want to kill a vampire.

The hall is momentarily empty; the coast is clear. I come up behind him and jam the stake through his back, swiftly and forcefully piercing the heart. He gasps and bursts into dust at my feet.

Wow. Yikes.

I hadn’t known quite what to expect. Thought it’d be messier. Bloodier. I look around, confirm the lack of witnesses, and push the ash around with my feet. In this dim lighting, no one will notice some dust on the ground.

I pick up the Blackberry. Nothing on the screen. I open sent messages. The last was to Hanson.

“Vamp that killed Alex is here. What’s the move?”

Shit.

It was not just paranoia.

Sometimes I hate being right.

They know Alex is dead. And they clearly suspect us to have had a hand in her demise. There is a whole network thing going on here I cannot make heads nor tails out of.