The Endangered (30 page)

“You think that was all of them? The vaccines, that is?”

“I think there’s a lot of humans who are going to be very unhappy about their flu shots being destroyed when they turn on the news tomorrow.”

“If they only knew.”

“But no, I doubt we got them all. But we made a pretty good dent. The rest we may have to track down; hopefully it’ll be a manageable number.”

“Keep us in business, I guess.”

The sirens are getting louder. Jiro starts up the van.

“That’s our cue.”

***

The flight back to England is a long, silent one. Crina watches over Marcus, who slips in and out of consciousness. Very little mention of what took place in LA.

LAPD will be calling in the cavalry. What would that mean for us? Was anything caught on camera? We knew BeyondBio was dark, but the surrounding buildings. These days cameras line the streets. And what about witnesses? Could any give a sketch artist enough for an accurate rendering?

We don’t dare speculate. I am the biggest liability. If “missing” photos are still out there from a lifetime ago and if my face was captured on camera…Catch would have dismissed me as paranoid. Accurately so.

At the end of the day it doesn’t matter. We are ghosts. All that carnage and nothing to point to the work of demons. Our acts of heroism were buried under the mask of a terrorist act. The media had managed to connect BeyondBio to S&D Pharmaceuticals, but otherwise they seemed clueless as to the motive.    

We enjoyed our unsung hero status. No wolf serum was dispelled to the masses. And no evidence of either’s existence remained. The news was not filled with stories of werewolves running rampant in the streets. Mass chaos would not throw the mortal world into a state of terror. Most importantly, those who made the ultimate sacrifice did not do so in vain.

Chapter 37

I stare at Marcus’s door. My eyes have not seen much else in the past hour or so as I work the hall carpet wafer thin with my pacing. Finally, I knock.

“Come in.”

His voice sounds strong. Reassuring. His door is unlocked and I enter with trepidation.

“Marcus?”

“I was hoping you’d decide to pay me a visit. I could hear you pacing outside. All I can say is it’s about time.”

Embarrassed, I give a sheepish grin and close the door behind me. It is my first time in his room. It isn’t much larger than mine. But the living room sure looks different. Not as many books as I’d expected, but then he did have two libraries for the job.

Swords, from sleek curved samurai to thick, double-edged steel of medieval origin, decorate the walls. A trio of shields are mounted dramatically on the far wall. Below them stand the focal point of the room: a free standing suit of armor, buffed and polished. Complete with a jousting pole.

Marcus sits, his thumb serving a place holder in the thick volume resting on his lap. He picks up a playing card from the side table, slips it in place of his thumb, and sets the book next to the chessboard on his coffee table. It takes effort to conceal the pain in his movements. He indicates the high-backed chair fitted with crushed velvet to his right. I nod and sit obediently.

I’d expected to find a mummified shell of a warrior behind the door, but in typical Marcus fashion, he is as dapper as his injuries allowed. He wears a fleece monogrammed robe over silk pajamas. The robe disguises the bulk of his injuries. Burn scars coat the skin on his hands and face. His body is fighting to rebuild, the long recovery period indicating the severity of his wounds. He’d shaved his head, though the blast had done most of the work for him. Now only his goatee remains. His hearing had apparently returned to full strength. Pretty soon he’d be good as new.

“I didn’t know what to say. How are you doing?”

“Not as well as I’d like to be. My skin is on fire and I feel nothing but thirst. I’ve depleted most of our supply.”

“Dade went to get more.” I try to sound comforting. “We’ll get you back on your feet.”

I let my eyes wander around the room. “Did all this survive the fire?”

He shakes his head.

“This collection has held residence here longer than I have.”

He regards my quizzical expression and continues without prompting.

“You see, this mansion belonged to Adrian. The libraries, the antiques, the artwork…it’s resided here for centuries. I made some contributions, particularly to the library, before The Covenant’s fire and even a few since…but yes, most everything in this mansion was Adrian’s.

“I think all the Purebloods resided here together at one point. He offered it up after the fire. I worked with Xan and Dade to remodel it. Then Jiro moved in and set up all the state-of-art technology.”

“I see.”

He points at the chessboard resting on the coffee table. Its small, worn pieces lined with precision across the board. A couple pawns and a bishop are absent.

“This is one of two items I recovered from the fire.”

Nodding to the wall directly opposite him where a single-edged sword with a slight bevel to its edge is mounted. It shows heavy use, subtle crimson staining on its edges, its handle a burnt wood stub.

“The chokut
ō
is the other.”

“Japanese?”

“Korean origin…” He points to a collection of single-bladed curved samurai swords stacked vertically to the left of it. “Those are Japanese. Katanas. Samurai. One of these days when I’m feeling like my old self again, I will teach you the art of iaid
ō
.
”

“Eye-eh-eed-ho?”

“I’m starting to sound like a museum curator.” The wistful gaze disappears as he turns from the wall of history to me.

“Did you see Striden die?”

Not big on transitions, I see.

“He was suspended over the bomb when it detonated. Took out his getaway chopper and blew us clear off the roof. Not to mention all the bullets he ate from Crina. Did I see him die? No. But that blast would be tough to survive, even for him.”

“Hmmm…”

“No body?” I gaze inquiringly at the tablet beside him, its screen displaying today’s news.

“Plenty of bodies recovered. No way of knowing at this point. Striden was the figurehead for a prominent corporation. If they do identify him, it’ll make the news.”

“His brother, Deacon, is one fatality we can be certain of.”

I point to the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.

“May I?”

“Help yourself.”

I am already up. I hold a glass to him, and he shakes his head, then changes his mind.

“Ehh…I could use a good painkiller.”

We sip in silence. The scotch’s distinct aroma gives the illusion of flavor.

I want to ask Marcus what had happened. But I know he’ll tell me when he is ready. It took him less time than I thought.

“We ran into Striden that night, Trent and I. We walked in on him standing at his computer. Probably downloading some files he did not want to destroy. He began firing the minute he spotted us. But the bullets didn’t slow us down much; we were on him. We had him and then we got jumped by a pack of wolves.

“They overtook us.

“In the chaos, Striden escaped up the stairwell, leaving his men to engage. Trent went wild with rage. Unfocused and reckless. Three wolves took him down. Tore him to pieces.”

He hangs his head and drinks from his glass.

“There was nothing left to save. I blew it. We should have cleared all the rooms on that floor. We should have sensed his team down the hall.

“And when the explosions started, I fled like a coward. The building was collapsing around me and I could barely see between the gas and the debris. I was blind, deaf, and badly burnt, but somehow I heard Jiro’s voice in the comm. He guided me out a rear exit. Next I recall, we were bumping along a dirt road in the mountains. Jiro and Trent. I owe them my life. All of you. I failed all of you.”

Marcus shakes his head, eyes lowered.

“And on a full moon. I wasn’t thinking.”

I place my hand on his. When I speak, the words come out softly but deliberately.

“I need to tell you what I saw.”

Marcus continues to study the chessboard as if an imaginary player had just checked his king.

“You know what really bothered me about the events that went down in LA? My inability to control my visions. To foresee what was about to play out. There we were, buried in a mess of bullets and bombs and my so-called abilities were useless.”

“We all have our limitations; your powers are not without bounds. You can’t fault yourself for that.”

I nod. “True.”

“But you said you saw something?”

“I did. When I was blown off the roof, I saw a flash of something very, very disturbing.”

“That so?”

“I saw you with Striden.”

Marcus stiffens, raises his eyes to meet mine, trying to read me.

“I saw you lashing out at him for his actions, his face showing contempt and betrayal. Betrayal because you broke off your alliance.”

The last part is a guess, but his reaction confirms my suspicions.

His eyes are now fixed on Catch’s sword, which sits propped against my chair, well within my reach. He saw me bring it in and probably figured I couldn’t let go. But I can. Probably figured I was still in mourning. But I’m not.

“Relax, Marcus. Let me explain what I’ve managed to piece together. Then we can figure out how to move forward.”

He sits back, his posture still tense.

“You and Striden, for reasons unknown to me, formed an alliance about three or four decades ago. You helped him orchestrate the firestorm. I believe you wanted someone specific taken out and you staged it to look like a werewolf attack. Or maybe you did want to kill a few dozen of the remaining vampires; I know that would have certainly pleased your partner in crime. That explains how the wolves got access to such a heavily guarded fortress as I’m to understand it. It also explains why the Purebloods abandoned us when we needed them the most. 

“Our sires left you and your little team, those I’ve come to call family, alone to fight our own battles. Even Adrian remained sidelined because of his distrust. Somehow he knew. Or he suspected. So he kept his distance. And I think, I’m almost certain, Vega knows the truth. Which explains that rift. And why he grimaces at the mention of your name.

“And you led us on a wild goose chase for years because you wanted to maintain some level of control over Striden’s operation, or feel like you had a handle on things; that his wolves would focus on their cause to infect the human and not turn their attention to your little clan. Some truce or pact was formed. That much I am certain.

“Then Catch did something he never does. He disobeyed your orders. He rebelled because you stopped putting him on a pedestal and he was desperate to reclaim his post. He was used to being your favorite. We all saw that. Catch had taken a few beatings too many and his scars were starting to show. I know firsthand that he was experiencing a form of PTSD…So yeah, he was struggling with his own issues, and when he finally scored a viable lead he was chomping at the bit to infiltrate Striden’s corporation, he was all too eager to prove something, as much to himself as to you and me.

“That’s when things went south. Striden was probably pissed you brought the war into his own backyard. You probably even warned him we were coming. But you were only able to give him short notice. That explains why his team was scrambling around, planting bombs to destroy what they didn’t have time to remove.

“Why they had crossbows…

“Once they killed Catch, that did it. You broke off the alliance. He was like a son to you. A line had been crossed. You came to realize the control you had, any power granted to you from your alliance, had long vanished.

“And then it was Striden’s turn to bring the fight to you. No wonder you were infuriated when Striden formed a new alliance. When those vamps showed up at our doorstep…Striden had to know you’d never reconsider. His real goal was to take us all out. Retaliation.”

Marcus lets out a long sigh.

After a stretch of silence.

“You got all that from a vision? You saw me and Striden in the same room and you assumed we must have been working together this whole time. Or at least until the last few months?”

“I saw the whole meeting clear as day. As if I were a fly on the wall. It started with a handshake and ended with Striden storming out in defiance.”

“Did you tell anyone? Crina?”

“No. And I don’t intend to. The past is the past. I don’t see any point in telling her you had a hand in the fire that killed Dominique. She got her closure when she took out Striden. No need to reopen that wound…”

“Have you been having visions this whole time?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“So what is this? Blackmail?”

I shake my head. Refill my glass.

“Years of treachery and backstabbing have ruined you in more ways than you realize. I believe you did what had to be done at the time. From what I know about you and from what I know about Catch—who would fall on a sword for you without hesitation and who trusted you emphatically—I can surmise that you did what you thought was right. And I’m sure you had your reasons. I do not need to know what motivated you to turn your back on your own kind. Only that it had to be something of significant magnitude.

“What I’m saying is that my having seen what I did, my sharing this knowledge with you, was not a warning or a threat. I am not your enemy. You do not need to react to this. I am not interested in more bloodshed. I am tired of the violence. And exposing you as a traitor would be counterproductive to that end.”

“You do not intend to retaliate? You trust me? After everything.”

“Well let’s not push it. Let’s just say that we both know that these accusations are mostly conjecture and I don’t intend to expose you without at least hearing your side. In due time.”

“So you don’t blame me for Catch’s death. That’s not why you’re here?”

I pick up Catch’s sword.

“Tell me, Marcus, why did a boxer carry a sword?”

“It was a gift from me, a token of my appreciation after he saved my life. I taught him how to use the sword as an extension of his arm.”

“The way of the samurai.”

“Something like that.”

“Well he adored it almost as much as he idolized you.”

Holding it with both hands, I extend it to Marcus.

Marcus, confused, waves his hand in protest.

“He would want you to have it.”

“Catch already haunts me enough. I want you to have it. I want you to display it somewhere prominent. So that when you lay your eyes upon it, you’ll be reminded of how it came to be returned to you.”