Requiem for the Dead

Chapter Ten

After a long shower and a change of clothes, I went down to the infirmary and was immediately denied visitation rights with Milo.

"He needs rest, not visitors," Dr. Reid Vansis said. He was an intimidating doctor, not because of his physical appearance—which was actually kind of bland, almost meek—but because of his gruff manner and the fact that he shifted into an enormous grizzly bear. We were alone in the infirmary's outer office, and I wasn't getting any farther.

"But he's okay?" I asked.

"The boy has serious contusions on his back and ribs, and some deep bone bruising on both legs. He's being kept sedated for now, while I try to reduce the swelling. He'll be in a great deal of pain when he wakes up."

"Nothing's broken?"

"No, no broken bones, but he's still looking at a minimum of several weeks before he's fully mobile again."

"Because of his legs."

"Correct. Now if you'll excuse me?"

He didn't have to ask twice. Milo's condition could have been much worse, but he was still in bad shape, and I hated that. Hated seeing any of my friends suffer, like so many were suffering over Baylor's death. My chest seized, and more tears threatened to show themselves. I tamped down on the unwanted emotion as I sought out the one person I really wanted to talk to about all of this.

I found him at the other end of the Watchtower, past the gym, in the old department store we were renovating into a training obstacle course. A frozen escalator took up space directly ahead—one of the few internal structures that hadn't been torn down yet—and Wyatt was sitting on the bottom step. He didn't say anything when I sat next to him. He simply turned and folded me into his arms. I pressed my cheek against his shoulder and slipped my arms around his waist, absorbing his warmth, breathing in his scent. Enjoying the beat of his heart so close to mine.

We didn't say anything for a while; there was no need.

"I'm sorry we lost the vampires' cure," he said.

"So am I." I'd been so excited to present Horzt's gift to Eulan, and now it was missing, along with the ancient elf scroll. Five minutes in my possession, and I lost a Fey artifact. That had to be some kind of record. "Reilly says the Frosts are still up his butt about talking to me."

Wyatt snickered. "Serves him right."

"Yeah. Astrid's putting together some hunting teams for tonight."

"Goblins?"

"Yes, among other things."

He pulled back enough that he could look me in the eye. "Don't make this personal, Evy."

"How can I not, when Nessa's making it personal? We need to get out there and fight back before more innocent people are mutilated and murdered."

"You're right, but we need to be smart about it."

"I know, and we will. That's why you'll be with me, so I don't do something impulsively stupid."

Wyatt smiled. I loved seeing him smile, because he did it so rarely, and he was so handsome when he did. I kissed him, just a gentle press of lips. Should have known better, because he angled his head to deepen the kiss. My tongue flicked out to meet his in a quiet, intense dance that filled my mouth with the flavor of him. It had been less than twenty-four hours since our lockup in the bank vault, but it could have been months for how my body responded to his touch.

His cell phone rang, and I laughed as we pulled apart. "Your phone hates me," I said.

"Hates me, too," he said with a huff. Wyatt held up the offending object. Unknown Number. He answered it anyway. "Truman."

A voice squawked over the other end, and Wyatt's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Yes, this is Wyatt Truman. Who is this?" He mouthed the word Lupa at me.

Well, I'll be damned. The pups called.

"Hello, Peter." He listened, and I really wished he'd put the phone on speaker. "All right, I can be there in thirty minutes. I'll have one person with me, and that's not negotiable. I trust her with my life."

Road trip.

"The same goes for you boys. I'm coming in good faith, so no tricks." After he hung up, he didn't wait for me to ask. "They want to meet at Sunset Terrace."

That made sense, since Sunset Terrace is where we'd first seen the Lupa pups and where Wyatt had been infected. It was also once an apartment complex that housed the Coni and Stri Clans, before the whole thing was razed by the Triads and the Clan murdered to near-extinction. So many bad memories there.

"And I'm going with you, right?" I asked.

"Of course."

"Are we telling Astrid first?"

"Maybe after we're on the road…."

Snagging a Jeep and getting on our way took less than five minutes, and it was twilight by the time we parked next to the vacant lot that had been Sunset Terrace. Unlike yesterday, we weren't alone as we walked toward the center of the cement and asphalt lake that took up the entire block.

Three teenage boys with identical red hair stood in a cluster in almost the same spot where I'd confronted one of their brothers five weeks ago. A surge of hatred for these boys hit me with gut-wrenching force. They'd nearly killed Wyatt, and they'd willingly worked for my greatest enemy. But on the heels of that hatred was a cold splash of pity. They'd been raised by a madman and taught to do wrong. I couldn't heap all of the blame for their actions upon their own shoulders. The Fey had given the Lupa pups to Thackery, and he'd manipulated them. Thackery had made them into monsters.

The tallest of the three broke away and came a few steps forward. His clothes were filthy, his eyes sunken. He looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in a month—which was very likely, since the boys had been fending for themselves for a while. I doubted Thackery had taken the time to teach them basic life skills, like getting a job and managing money. They were relying on instinct, and instinct had pushed them to contact an older, more experienced Lupa.

"Peter?" Wyatt asked.

"Yes," Peter replied in the squeaky voice of someone who hadn't quite finished puberty.

"I'm Wyatt. This is Evy."

"I know."

"Are any of you sick or injured?"

"Not really." His wide, silver eyes shifted from me to him. "Do you have any food?"

"Not with me," Wyatt said gently, "but we can get some. When was the last time you ate?"

"A while. We eat what we can find."

Like mustard packets. My God. Despite my better sense, I started feeling sorry for them.

"And you live in the apartment on Cottage Place?"

Peter shrugged a bony shoulder. "Sometimes." He looked over at his brothers, who hadn't stopped surveying the lot. They were a twitchy bunch.

"What do you want besides food?" Wyatt asked.

"Help." He seemed one sharp word from bursting into tears. "I'm the oldest now. I have to protect them but I can't by myself. Because of our father… humans fear us." He gave me a nasty glare. "They want us dead."

"I don't want you dead," I said, and I meant it. "I want to know you won't bite and infect anyone else."

Peter gave Wyatt a guilty look. "We didn't know that would happen. Father told us after, and it was too late."

"I believe you," Wyatt said. "Have you or your brothers infected anyone else besides me?"

The Lupa pup shook his head so hard I thought it would snap off his skinny neck. "No, never. We've been very careful."

"Good, that's important. None of you have attacked humans, but you did participate in the kidnapping and detention of other Therians. That's a serious crime."

Peter hunched his shoulders. "Are you going to kill us?"

"Of course not. And I won't allow the Assembly of Clan Elders to kill you, either."

Oh, Wyatt, I don't know if you can keep that promise.

These boys had been complicit in so many crimes, and they'd kept Aurora and Ava captive in silver cages. The Assembly had barely granted Wyatt leniency, and that was because of his value to the Watchtower, half-Lupa or not. The three teenagers in front of me were an endangered species, sure, but the Clans had ordered them murdered once before.

Centuries ago, maybe, but did fear like that ever really die?

Wyatt must have seen something in my expression, because his own face went utterly blank—not good. "Evy, I need to ask you for a favor," he said.

"No good conversation ever started like that, Wyatt."

"I want to talk to them alone for a while, and I don't want to put you in an awkward position with Astrid."

I opened my mouth to argue, but his expression stopped me. He could be as stubborn about things as me, and he wasn't going to budge. Letting him have his way (this time) was a better move. "Fine."

"There's a coffee shop two blocks from here. I'll drop you off—"

"I can walk." The exercise would help burn off some of my temper.

"Thank you. I'll call you in an hour."

"Okay. Just be careful? Please?"

"I promise."

My trek to Carter Street Bakery only took a few minutes. It burned up some of my concern over leaving Wyatt behind. The pups were scared and starving, but I didn't trust them one bit. I did trust Wyatt, though—to know what he was doing, to talk to them in a way that got them on our side, and to be careful when I wasn't there to watch his back. Mostly I hated being out of the loop.

I bought a cup of coffee and a Panini sandwich to try and alleviate some of my persistent hunger, then settled at a sidewalk table to wait. Halfway through my sandwich, Tybalt called with an update.

"We took Brett Lewis out to the building where you guys were held," he said without wasting breath on a greeting. Or asking where I was.

Brett had never been a Hunter, but he was a Gifted human whose specialty was post-cognitive psychometric readings. He could walk around a space and "see" events that had occurred. Sometimes he could sense strong emotions around an object, too. Brett at the jail was a good call.

"What did he find?" I asked.

"He mostly poked around upstairs. He saw some of what they did to Wyatt to get him to turn. Besides the four Felia, there was a fifth person present."

"Who?"

"Brett couldn't see him or her. Said the mystery visitor was blocking any kind of psychic signals, or whatever, but it basically screwed with Brett's reception. They were all fuzzed out, like something censored on television."

A nugget of worry settled cold and hard in my stomach, and the sandwich no longer seemed appetizing. Two other tables near me were occupied, including one with a young, Hispanic boy who kept glancing at me—exactly what I needed. Someone checking me out while I was having a private conversation.

I lowered my voice before asking, "So are we thinking someone is pulling Vale's strings?"

"It wouldn't be the first time the person we're looking for isn't actually the one in charge."

"Tell me about it. Anything else useful?"

"No."

"Thanks for the update."

"You up to anything exciting?"

"Just having dinner."

"Uh huh."

"Bye, Tybalt."

I didn't put the phone away, in case Wyatt called before his hour was up. I sipped at my coffee and watched traffic flow by for a while, until the little hairs on the back of my neck told me I was being watched. The young man three tables away was still there, observing me poorly over an unfolded newspaper. He wasn't a Halfie, that was for sure, and I didn't get a Therian vibe. He was interested, though, and doing a bad job of hiding it. But was he interested in me as a semi-attractive woman out alone? Or as someone who saw my photo on television and wanted the Frosts' reward money?

Damn them for making my life more complicated than it needs to be.

Time to test the level of this guy's interest.

I dumped the rest of my sandwich, took my coffee with me, and headed for the sidewalk. Strolled in the opposite direction of where I'd left Wyatt. A glance in the reflective windows of the businesses across the street told me Stalker Guy was following me. Too closely, too, which also told me he was an amateur at this. Should be easy enough to scare him into staying the hell away from me.

At the end of the block, I turned left, then quickly ducked into a pay-by-the-day parking lot that was only half-full of cars. Even over the sounds of traffic on the other street, I heard his footsteps approaching. As soon as his shadow fell on the sidewalk, I moved.

I grabbed his arm and shoulder, and then spun him face-first into the brick wall that bordered the parking lot. He hit with a pained noise that got louder when I twisted his trapped arm up high against his back. He quit fighting when he figured out that only made me twist his arm harder.

"Why the fuck are you following me?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," he replied in a softly accented voice.

"That wasn't an answer to my question."

"Please…please…."

Another twist on his arm. "Still not an answer, junior."

"Please, stop. I was a trainee at Boot Camp."

I froze as his words registered. When Boot Camp was destroyed several months ago, not every surviving trainee had agreed to join the Watchtower. Most had, but not all. Junior here could very well have been one of the deserters. Not that I was taking him on his word.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Sure you do. You're Evy Stone, right? I saw you fighting there. You killed that beast in the Pit."

"Who was your Weapons instructor?"

"Lena Donaldson. She died."

He had good information, but I didn't quite believe him. "Who recruited you into Boot Camp?"

"Bastian. He died too, later that day."

I loosened my grip, then spun Junior around so his back was to the wall. He gaped at me with wide eyes. He seemed younger than eighteen, barely an adult, but I saw the truth of the horrors he'd witnessed in the hardness behind his eyes. I knew those kinds of eyes too well. "What's your name?"

"Alejandro Gomez."

"Why were you following me, Alejandro?"

He had the good sense to look embarrassed as he said, "I remembered you when I saw the Frosts on TV this morning. I thought I could get them information. I need the money."

"The Frosts have seen and spoken to me, so good luck with getting reward money."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Why don't you do us both a favor? Forget you ever knew me, forget you were ever at Boot Camp, and go start your life over somewhere else."

"Could you forget the things you saw and did at Boot Camp?"

Hot damn, Alejandro found a spine. I liked that. "No, I can't, but I've been at this a few more years than you. You can still get out."

"To do what? I have no money, no real skills other than what I was taught at Boot Camp. Please, may I join your Watchtower?"

"That's not my call."

"You can recommend me." He seemed ready to drop down to his knees and beg, and my heart went out to him. Life wasn't easy when you had no one to help you out, nobody to turn to when times got rough.

I thought of the three Lupa pups, finally desperate enough to ask for help. "Look, Alejandro, I can't—"

"I have information!"

I flinched at his sound level. "Information on what?"

"I've been tracking a female goblin for the last four days. I can show you where she went yesterday."

A female goblin moving around the city. It could be Nessa, or one of half a dozen others. Goblin females were not only very rare, they were also able to pass as humans—with a little makeup and help from their clothes. They didn't tend to pass for fun, though. Goblins only showed up in the city for business reasons. Alejandro could be bluffing, but I didn't think so.

"You can show me right now?"

"Yes. In exchange for a job."

"I can't guarantee a job, but good information will go a long way toward pleading your case with the people who can." I thought back to my half-eaten sandwich and the desperate, hungry look in Peter's eyes. Might as well try to help Alejandro out. "We do pay our informants, though. In cash, not in employment."

"It's a start."

He showed signs of a good Hunter and he probably would have made a passable one someday, had Boot Camp survived. I finally let him go, stepped back, and dug out my phone.

"Who are you calling?" he asked.

"Backup. We're not going goblin hunting alone, Junior."

"Ale."

"Fine, Ale." The Spanish pronunciation didn't exactly roll off my tongue, but I did my best.

The other line only rang twice between Tybalt picked up with a grumpy, "Monahan."

"It's Stone. You busy?"

"Not at the moment. What's going on?"

"Grab some people and meet me at the Carter Street Bakery. I've got a lead on a goblin."