The Endangered (3 page)

Chapter 3

The persistent thumping of drum and bass can be heard (and felt) throughout the house. Downstairs video game gunfire feuded with the bass.

I make a mental note to invest in noise cancelling headphones as I throw a tattered notebook and what has to be at least a five pound textbook into my backpack. I heave it over my shoulder and open my bedroom door.

A thick cloud hangs in the hallway.

I knock on Jeff’s door as I pass. Hard.

The music level drops slightly.

“Hold up.”

He opens his door and I am immediately struck by a wave of pot fumes.

“Recovering from a particularly stressful day?”

“Calc exam tomorrow. I’m freaking out. It helps me relax.” Jeff smiles, eyes glazed. Clearly he’d passed the relaxation point a few joints back.

“Well I’m getting a contact high down the hall and it’s making me sleepy. Which would be welcome if I didn’t have an economics exam to cram for.”

“Want a Red Bull?”

“Nah, I’m going to hit up Thirsty’s.”

“Okay cool. Good luck with the studies.”

“Yeah, same.”

I start down the steps.

“Hey Lori,” he calls after me.

“Sup?”

“You okay? I mean after—uh…”

I nod.

“All good, Jeff, thanks.”

“You uh—talk to Rachel?”

Again, I nod.

Figuring I should offer up more, I add, “She’s fine. She’s freaked, but she’s fine.”

“Well just know we’ve got your back. Sasha, Kylie…even Brett. He told me he totally buys your story, he’s seen how that creep—Anthony, right?—how he treats women. I bet you can get him to testify for you as a character witness or something if the, like, charges and shit stick.”

“Thanks, but he’s a brother; he’s not going to betray his fraternity. But your support and all—it means a lot.”

I force an appreciative smile. 

He nods and disappears back into the haze of his room.

***

Thirsty’s is a little pub near campus. It is one of many local watering holes in Greenwich Village. The only reason this bar is open on a weekday afternoon is the modest lunch crowd it draws from the school and the local shop owners. Their food is good and reasonable and they don’t need a website to promote it. By two the crowd has thinned to a few stragglers and will remain dead till happy hour.

Greg stands at the far end of the bar hunched over a book. His only customer sits at the opposite end, closer to the entrance, ignoring the full beer in front of him, pretending to care about whatever is on Sports Center.

Greg unglues himself from his book when he spots me.

“Hey, Lori, how’s it going?”

“Eh, okay.” I gesture to my backpack. “Exam tomorrow. Mind if I grab a table in the back? Too many distractions at home.”

“Don’t mind at all. This time of day it’s quieter than a church in here.”

“What are you reading?” I ask.

Greg is a fifth-year senior. Art history major, I think. He’d changed majors a lot. It was tough to keep track.

“Roman history. I have an exam Friday and I just opened the book for the first time last night. Tried to get some studying in before my shift, but I swear there were more drunks at the library than here. Either drunk or delirious from sleep deprivation.”

“Yeah, half the students bring flasks and spend their time socializing. Makes it hard to be productive.”

“Why bring the bar to the books when you can bring the books to the bar, right?” He flashes me a wide smile.

He has a warm, handsome smile. He probably does really well with the ladies. I find myself wondering why I don’t find him attractive. Maybe too cookie-cutter. He has that generic clean-cut look that makes him hard to pick out of a lineup.

I laugh harder than I should.

“On that note, I’ll just take water for now. And some coffee if you have it.”

“No problem. I’ll put a fresh pot on.”

A few hours and a few cups of coffee later I have a better handle on economics. Not enough to ace the exam, but enough to know I won't bomb.

People start to trickle into the bar and I don’t want to hog the table much longer.

“Study break? It is happy hour.”

Greg places a beer on my table and shoots me the same big grin.

“You read my mind.”

More patrons come in and he returns to the bar. I resume flipping through pages, now with a beer in one hand.

“Well look who it is.”

The arrogant voice is aimed in my direction but is easily ignored.

“Lori Black.”

The voice is closer now, and I look up at the mention of my name.

“I know you?”

Three guys approach my table. The one running his mouth is flanked by two of his friends.

They all look athletic and wear some version of NYU branded Under Armor.

“We’re friends of Toni’s.”

“And you what? Wanted me to sign your bats?”

“You are one crazy bitch, you know that?”

“You’re defending a rapist, and I’m the crazy one.”

I stand up and lock eyes with the alpha asshole. He stands nearly a foot taller than me so it’s kind of hard.

“You know he didn’t do shit to your friend. You came to his house and lost your shit. Seems like jealousy issues to me. Word is he rejected you and you couldn’t handle it.”

I down the rest of my beer and dump my things in my bag.

“Table’s all yours boys. Try not to rufi anyone,” I say dryly.

They step in front of me as I move to push past.

“Answer me this. If your friend was raped, why didn’t she report it? Why isn’t she defending you?”

Truth is Rachel isn’t comfortable talking about it, not to me or anyone. She was unconscious, she did not see what happened, and she even went so far as to suggest that she may have encouraged him. Said she’d been flirting with him earlier in the night. Which she had. That he might have just taken her to his bed to “sleep it off.” Well shit. Thanks for having my back. The only reason she could pretend nothing happened was ’cause nothing did. At least to her. But I am receiving the wrong kind of recognition for what I considered to be fortunate timing on my part.

“You know why. She’s not trying to make any enemies or risk expulsion. I, on the other hand, don’t give a shit.”

That was not true. I am so close to graduating I can taste it, but if found guilty I’d be expelled, scholarship revoked, all that hard work for nothing.

Greg comes over, deliberately stepping between me and them.

“Can I get you guys a drink?”

I pat his back in appreciation and make my exit.

***

Catch wakes just after sundown. He takes a packet of blood from the mini fridge and pours it into a glass, which he then pops into the microwave for two minutes flat. He’d relieved a store called Campus Lofts of a microwave, mini fridge, several sets of black-out curtains, and a few mattress pads. He’d had to run extension cords from a neighboring building, but he’d gotten his makeshift hideout up and running.

The microwave beeps and Catch consumes his breakfast while peering through the curtains. After a moment he spots Lori returning home, backpack slung over her shoulder.

Another day of classes. Another day reminding him why he didn’t go to college when he was human. He was not known for his patience and was already growing weary of his assignment. After an excruciatingly mundane week or so of stalking, he had yet to find anything curious about this college student. She appeared to be living a very normal mortal existence.

The daily routine of humans makes him nearly suicidal. He is beginning to suspect Adrian had given him this assignment as some sort of test or to keep him distracted while something significant was occurring with the war. The latter thought makes his body ache with anticipation. He hates missing any action. He decides he is going to steal a heavy bag to work off his cabin fever. He watches her walk up to the landing in front of her house and, finding the door locked, dig her keys out of her bag.

Lori’s chestnut hair is marked with blonde highlights and extends past her shoulders. Her face is pretty, amiable in appearance and expression. Standing at 5’5”, her petite figure is toned and athletic, shoulders broad, back forming a triangle down to her narrow waistline. She has the strong, lean legs of a New Yorker, calves having seen many a trek through the city streets. She walks with intent, her stride long and purposeful.

Most striking perhaps is the contrast between her gentle disposition and the torment conveyed by subtle, intrinsic mannerisms. There is an anger in her eyes that cannot be mistaken for anything else.

Catch is contemplating an errand run when a black town car pulls up in front of Lori’s house. And for the second time this week a tall man in a dark suit steps out of the backseat. Catch figures him for a lawyer, an accountant, or a very persistent salesman.
Maybe she’s under investigation from the IRS
, he muses. After a moment Lori emerges and they have what appears to be an intense conversation. Catch can make out several words here and there, but not enough to make sense of the context. He’d have to get closer.

His usual work involves tracking and monitoring werewolves, so he’s quite good at the art of stalking, but he views these talents as wasted on this ordinary human. And he is not used to being stuck out on assignment for such lengths in a country he rather dislikes, far from the base and far from the action.

But Adrian is one of the oldest and most dangerous of his kind, a Pureblood and a creature not to be defied. That should be reason enough to honor his request. So, out of the utmost respect, Catch would carry out his orders. He would watch Lori and, after sunset, anywhere she goes, he goes. Class. Bar. Class. Library. Class. Gym. Yawn. He observed her interactions, listened to her conversations, studied her demeanor.

***

The sky darkens as twilight surrenders its hold on the evening. Catch sits on the hood of a booted 90s sedan, watching passersby as he takes long drags from his cigarette. Lori emerges from the gym across the street, her Tae Bo class let out right on schedule. Catch snuffs out his cig on the hood of the junker and proceeds to maintain a safe distance as she heads predictably home.

Class, gym, home to shower and change for a night on the town, or a night consumed in study. Nothing unusual or unexpected about this routine. He never attended college. Academics weren’t his thing back then and  after two weeks of watching her, he is convinced he did not miss out on the “college experience.”

Lori abruptly falters and reaches out, clutching a lamppost for support. She lets her bag fall from her shoulder and brings her free hand to her face. Catch slows his pace. Probably light-headed after her workout. His nostrils flare as something sweet triggers his senses. He spots drops of blood on the sidewalk. They lead right to her. Catch inches closer. Sniffs the air for the scent of fresh blood. It’s faint, but it’s there. So is something else.

***

The hairs on Catch’s neck stand on end as a presence pervades his room, causing him to turn from his stakeout by the window. Adrian is right behind him.

“Adrian.”

“Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Adrian picks up a telescope from the flat’s only table and tinkers with it.

“You didn’t.”

Catch studies Adrian as he looks around the condemned building in which Catch has taken residence. Its location across the street from Lori’s house makes it convenient for voyeurs like himself. He acquired a collection of binoculars, infrared scopes…a regular starter kit for aspiring stalkers.

“Nice digs.”

“Took some gettin’. Had to run off a couple of squatters.” Catch smirks.

“How’s progress?”

“Fine, I guess. Today a car pulled up and Lori emerged from her house wearing a suit, greeted the older bloke, also sporting a suit, and they got into the vehicle and drove off. This has happened sporadically throughout the week. The older man looks like a lawyer or government official. She takes courses at the Criminal Law building. Maybe a work-study thing. Either that or she’s going to court.”

“She’s facing assault charges.”

Catch’s smirk fades.

“But you shouldn’t have to guess. There was an incident the night I put you on assignment. I was privileged to arrive in accordance with the cops. The story behind it should remind you of someone with similar proclivity to violence. There’s a Jekyll and Hyde state beneath the surface. Similar to—”

“Me?”

“I was going to say Marcus. But yes, and you. And most of our kind. You need it to thrive in our world.” Adrian’s expression sours. “You realize I’m not supposed to be the one providing you with Intel; it’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“Sorry…I—”

“Tell me what you’ve learned.”

“Well, let’s see, her routine seems as ordinary as any college student. She attends classes in the afternoon and evening. There are a handful of pubs she fancies. Eats lots of pizza. Never rises before noon, to which I can relate. Interesting mix of mates. Smokes. Drinks. Studies…