Then realized neither was his for the taking, so what did it matter.
Standing in the alley with his nine pressed into the liver of a Brother, Mr. D was barn-cat alert. He would have much rather put the business end of his weapon to the vampires temple, but that would have required a stepladder. Honest to heaven, the bastards were huge.
Made big ol cousin Tommy seem no taller than a can of Bud. And just as crushable.
You got hair like a girl, Mr. D said.
And you smell like bubble bath. At least I can get a trim.
Im wearing Old Spice.
Next time try something stronger. Like horse manure.
Mr. D pressed the muzzle in harder. I want you on your knees. Hands behind your back, head down.
He stayed right where he was while the Brother complied, making no move to get out his steel cuffs. Sissy shit on his silo notwithstanding, this vampire was not the kind of thing you wanted getting away from you, and not just because a Brother captured was a feat for the history books. Mr. D had a rattler by the tail, and well he knew it.
Reaching into his belt to get his wristies, he-
The tide turned quick as a twitch.
The Brother spun around on one knee and punched a palm up into the muzzle of the gun. Mr. D pulled the trigger on reflex and the bullet kicked out to the sky, flying uselessly to heaven.
Before the popping sound stopped echoing, Mr. D was on his back on the ground, doing the dazed and confused, his cowboy hat once again off his head as he was overcome.
The Brothers eyes were dead as he stared down, lifeless in a way that their bright yellow color couldnt change. But then it made sense. No one in his right mind would pull a spin deflection when he was on his knees like that. Unless he was already flat lined.
The Brother lifted his fist over his head.
Sure nuff, this was going to hurt.
Mr. D moved fast, slipping free of the hold on his shoulder and twisting to the side. In a quick jab, he kicked both feet into the right calve of the Brother.
There was a snapping sound and holy shit, a part of a leg went flying. The Brother teetered, his leathers going loose from the knee down on that side, but there was no time to do a lot of what-the-fuck-ing. The big bastard fell over, crumbling like a building.
Mr. D scampered out of the way, then jumped on the wreckage, damn sure that if he didnt take control of the ground game he would be eating his own chitlins. He threw a leg over the Brother, grabbed a fist full of that sissy hair, and yanked back hard as he went for his knife.
Didnt make it. The Brother done went bronco on him, popping off the pavement and rearing up. Mr. D latched on with his legs and threw an arm around a neck thick as his thigh-
In a flash, the earth tilted wildly and-fuck-the Brother turtled round and fell backward, turning Mr. D into a mattress.
It was like having a granite slab fall on your chest.
Mr. D was knocked stupid for a split second, and the Brother grabbed the advantage, shifting to the side and using his elbow as a gut ram. As Mr. D grunted and started to heave, there was a flash of a black dagger being unsheathed, then the Brother rose up onto his knees.
Mr. D braced himself to get stabbed, thinking that hed had less than three hours of being the Fore-lesser, and wasnt that a sorry showin.
But instead of getting stuck in the heart, Mr. D felt his shirt get pulled out of the waistband of his pants. As his belly flashed white in the night, he looked up in horror.
This was the Brother who liked to slice before he killed. Which meant there was no simple death a-comin. This was going to be a long, bloody process. Sure, it wasnt the Destroyer, but this bastard was going to make Mr. D work for his ride to the Pearly Gates.
And lessers might be dead, but they felt pain like everyone else did.
Phury should have been catching his breath and finding his lower leg, not getting ready to go Sweeney Todd on the pint-sized slayer. God, youd think his near miss with that bullet with his name on it would have juiced him to close the deal and get the fuck out of the alley before more of the enemy showed.
Nope. As he exposed the lessers stomach, he was both frozen to the core and animated by heat, buzzing as if he were walking into his room with a bag full of red smoke and nowhere to go for ten hours.
He was like the addict whod run away, all Ive-won-the-lottery high.
The wizards voice cut into the anticipation, as if the excitment had drawn the wraith like spoiled meat. This butchering thing is one bloody way to distinguish yourself, but then, being a mere rank failure is a bit pedestrian, isnt it. And you were from a noble family until you ruined them. So bash on, mate.
Phury focused on the undulating skin hed revealed and let the feel of the dagger in his hand and the paralytic, bracing terror of the lesser seep into him. As his mind calmed, Phury smiled. This time was his. He owned this. There would be, for however long it took him to do what he wanted to this evil, peace from the chaos of the wizards voice.
In doing this damage, he healed himself. If only for a short while.
He brought the black dagger to the lessers skin and-
Dont you fucking dare.
Phury looked over his shoulder. His twin was standing in the mouth of the alley, a big black shadow with a skull trim. Zsadists face wasnt visible, but you didnt need to eyeball a furrowed brow to know the drill. The pissed-off came off him in waves.
Phury closed his eyes and fought a vicious anger. Goddamn it, he was being robbed. He was absolutely being robbed.
In a quick flash, he thought of the number of times Zsadist had demanded that he beat him, beat him until Zs face ran with blood. And the brother thought this shit with a lesser was wrong? What the fuck? The slayer had no doubt killed his fair share of innocent vampires. How was this worse than asking your blooded brother to pound you to a pulp, even though you knew it made him sick to his stomach and it scrambled his brains for days afterward?
Get out of here, Phury said, tightening his hold on the lesser as it squirmed. This is my biz. Not yours.
The fuck its not my biz. And you told me you would stop.
Turn around and walk away, Z.
So you can get cracked when backup comes?
The slayer in Phurys grip heaved to get free, and he was so small and wiry it almost worked. Oh, hell no, Phury thought, he wasnt losing his prize. Before he knew what he was doing, he plowed the dagger into the things belly and dragged the blade through its intestinal playing field.
The lesser screamed louder than Zsadist cursed, and in that moment, Phury didnt feel bad about either noise. He was sick to fucking death of everything, including himself.
Attaboy, the wizard whispered. Just where I like you.
Zsadist was on him in the next breath, yanking the dagger out of his hand and throwing it across the alley. While the lesser passed out cold, Phury shot to his feet to confront his twin.
Problem was, he didnt have his lower leg.
As he fell hard against the bricks, he knew he must look like a drunk, and that pissed him off even more.
Z picked up his prosthesis and tossed it across the alley. Put that the fuck back on.
Phury caught the thing with one hand and let himself slide down the cool, raspy exterior of the dry cleaners building.
Shit. Busted. So fucking busted, he thought. And now he was going to have to deal with his brothers crawling all over him.
Why couldnt Z have just gone down another alley? Or this one at another time?
Damn it, he needed this, Phury thought. Because if he didnt let out some of his rage, he was going to go fucking mad, and if Z, after all his masochistic bullshit, couldnt understand that? Fuck. Him.
Zsadist unsheathed his dagger, stabbed the first lesser back to the Omega, and then just stood over the burn spot.
Shit of ten horses, his twin said in the Old Language.
The new aftershave of the lessers, Phury muttered, rubbing his eyes.
I think yall need to think bout this here, a strangled Texas twang pronounced.
As Z spun around, Phury lifted his head. The little lesser had his gun again and was pointing it at Phury while staring at Z.
Zs response was to level his SIG at the slayer.
"Wall are in some bind, the thing said as it bent down with a groan and picked up a cowboy hat. It arranged the Stetson on its head, then went back to holding its stomach in. See, if you shoot me, my hands gonna tighten on the trigger and Im gonna pop your friend here. If I shoot him, youre gonna lead me up. The lesser took a deep breath and released it on another groan. I do believe this is a standoff, and we dont have all night. One shots already gone off, and who knows who heard it.
The Texas bastard was right. Downtown Caldwell after midnight was not Death Valley at high noon. There were folks around, and not all were of the drugged-out human variety. There were also cops. And civilian vampires. And other lessers. Sure, the alley was secluded, but it offered only relative privacy.
Way to go, mate, the wizard said.
Shit, Phury cursed.
Yes, suh, the slayer murmured. I do believe that is where we be.
As if on cue, police sirens flared up and grew closer.
No one moved, even when the patrol car swung around the corner and came barreling down the alley. Yup, someone had heard the shot when Phury and John Wayne-ette had been going at it, and whoever it was had let his fingers do the walking.
The frozen tableau between the buildings was spotlit by the police car as the thing heaved to a stop with a screech.
Two doors were thrown open. Drop your weapons!
The lessers drawl was soft as the summer night air. "Yall can take care of this for us, cant you?
Id rather cap your ass, Z shot back.
Drop your weapons or we will shoot!
Phury stepped up to the plate, willing the humans into a semi-dream state and making the one on the right duck into the car and turn off the headlights.
Much obliged, the lesser said, as it started to shuffle down the alley. It kept its back to the building and its eyes on Zsadist and its gun on Phury. As the thing went past the cops, it took the gun from the officer it was closest to, peeling what was undoubtedly a nine-millimeter right out of the womans unresisting hand.
The slayer leveled that gun at Z. With both arms busy, its black blood positively streamed out of its gut. I would shoot yall, but then your little mind-control games wouldnt work on this here matched set of Caldwells finest. Guess Im going to have to be good.
"Goddamn it. Zs weight shifted back and forth on his feet, like he wanted to haul ass.
Please dont take the Lords name in vain, the slayer said when it got to the corner the police had come around. And have a good evenin, gentlemen.
The little guy was gone quick, not even his footsteps sounding out as he tore off.
Phury willed the cops back into their patrol car and made the female one call into the station and report that their investigation showed no altercations or public disturbances in the alley. But that missing gun that was straight-up trouble. Goddamn slayer. No memory imprint could solve the fact that there was a nine missing.
Give her your gun, he told Zsadist.
His twin popped the sleeve of bullets out as he went over. He didnt wipe the weapon before he dropped it in the womans lap. No reason to. Vampires left no identifying fingerprints.
Shell be lucky if she doesnt lose her mind over this, Z said.
Yup. It wasnt her gun and it was emptied. Phury did the best he could, giving her a memory of buying this new piece and trying it out and tossing the clip because the bullets were faulty. Not a great cover. Especially considering that all the Brotherhoods guns had the serial numbers removed.
Phury willed the officer who was behind the wheel to throw the squad car in reverse and back out of the alley. The destination? Station house for a coffee break.
When they were alone, Z cranked his head around and met Phury in the eye. Do you want to wake up dead.
Phury checked over his prosthesis. It was undamaged, at least for regular use, just knocked free from where it plugged in under his knee. It was not safe to fight with, though.
Pushing up the pant leg of his leathers, he reattached it, then stood up. Im going home.
Did you hear me?
Yeah. I did. He met his twins eyes and thought it was a helluva question for the guy to ask. Zs death wish had been his operating principle up until he met Bella. Which was, comparably, like ten minutes ago.
Zs brows came down over a stare gone black. Go straight home.
Yeah. Right home. You got it.
As he turned away, Z said roughly, Havent you forgotten something?
Phury thought about all the times he had chased after Zsadist, desperate to save the brother from killing himself or killing someone else. He thought about the days he couldnt sleep for wondering whether Z was going to make it because he refused to drink from female vampires and insisted on getting by on human blood. He thought of the aching sadness he had every time he looked at his twins ruined face.
Then he thought of the night hed faced off at his own mirror and cut off his hair and dragged a blade down his own forehead and his own cheek so he could look like Z so he could take his twins place and be at the mercy of a lessers sadistic vengeance.
He thought of the leg hed shot off to save them both.
Phury looked over his shoulder. No. I remember everything. All of it.
With no remorse whatsoever, he dematerialized and re-assumed form on Trade Street.
Facing off at ZeroSum, his heart and his head screaming, he was called forth to cross the road like hed been chosen for this mission of self-destruction, tapped on the shoulder, beckoned forward by the bony forefinger of his addiction.
He couldnt fight the invite. Worse, he didnt want to.
As he approached the clubs front doors, his feet-the real one and the one made of titanium-were serving the wizards mission. The pair of them took him right in the front door and past the VIP areas security guard and by the tables of highfliers to the back, to Rehvenges office.
The Moors nodded and one of them talked into his watch. While waiting, Phury knew damn well he was stuck in an endless loop, going around and around like the head of a drill, digging further and further underground. With each new level that he sank to, he tapped into deeper and richer veins of poisonous ore, ones that spidered up through the bedrock of his life and enticed him down even farther. He was heading for the source, for the consummation with hell that was his ultimate destination, and each lower plateau was his malignant encouragement.
The Moor on the right, Trez, nodded and opened the door to the black cave. Here was where little bits of Hades were dealt out in cellophane Baggies, and Phury went in with twitchy impatience.
Rehvenge came out of a pocket door, his amethyst stare shrewd and slightly disappointed.
Your usual gone already? he asked quietly.
The sin-eater knew him so well, Phury thought.
Its symphath, remmy? Rehv slowly went to his desk, relying on his cane. Sin-eaters such an ugly degradation. And I dont need my bad side to know where youre at. So how much is it going to be tonight?
The male unbuttoned his flawless double-breasted black jacket and lowered himself into a black leather chair. His low-cut mohawk glistened as if hed just gotten out of the shower, and he smelled good, a combination of Cartier for Men and some kind of spicy shampoo.
Phury thought of the other dealer, the one who had died back in that alley just now, the one who had bled out while reaching for help that never came. That Rehv was dressed like something off of Fifth Avenue didnt change what he was.
Phury looked down at himself. And realized that his clothes didnt alter what he was either.
Shit one of his daggers was missing.
Hed left it back in the alley.
The usual, he said, taking a thousand dollars out of his pocket. Just the usual.
Chapter Seven
Upstairs in her bloodred bedroom, Cormia couldnt shake the conviction that by going outside, she had triggered a chain of events, the culmination of which she couldnt begin to guess at. She only knew that destinys hands were moving things around behind her stages velvet curtain, and when the two halves opened again, something new was going to be revealed.
She wasnt sure she trusted fate to have the next act in the play be one she would enjoy. But she was stuck in the audience with nowhere to go.
Except that wasnt entirely true, was it.
Going to her door, she cracked it open and looked down the Oriental runner to the head of the grand staircase.
The hall of statues was off to the right.
Every time she came to the second floor, she caught a glimpse of the elegant figures in their windowed corridor and was fascinated. In their formality and their frozen bodies and their white robes, they reminded her of the Sanctuary.
In their nudity and their maleness, they were utterly foreign.
If she could go outside, she could go down and see the statues up close. She absolutely could.
Whispering down the runner in her bare feet, she passed the Primales bedroom, then Rhage and Marys. The kings study, which was at the top of the stairway, was closed off, and the foyer far below was empty.
As she rounded the corner, the statues stretched out for what seemed like forever. Positioned to the left, they were illuminated from above by inset lights and separated one from another by arching windows. On the right, opposite every other window, there were doors that she assumed opened into more bedrooms.
Interesting. If she had designed the house, she would have put the bedrooms on the window side so they would have enjoyed the benefit of garden views. As it was now, if she had triangulated the layout of the mansion correctly, the bedrooms overlooked the opposite wing, the one that bracketed the far side of the front courtyard. Attractive, true, but better to have architectural landscapes in hallways and vistas of gardens and mountains in bedrooms. At least, in her opinion.
Cormia frowned. Shed been having odd thoughts like that lately. Thoughts about things and people and even prayers that werent always of an approving nature. The random opinions made her uneasy, but she couldnt stop them.
Trying not to dwell on where they came from or what they meant, she made the corner and faced off at the hallway.
The first statue was of a young male-a human male, going by its size-who was draped in rich folds of robing that ran from his right shoulder to his left hip. His eyes were trained on the middle ground, and his face was composed, neither sad nor happy. His chest was broad, his upper arms strong yet sleek, his belly flat and ribbed.
The next statue was similar, only his limbs were arranged differently. And the next was in yet another position. The fourth as well except that one was fully nude.
Instinct made her want to rush by. Curiosity demanded that she stop and stare.
He was beautiful in his nakedness.
She looked over her shoulder. No one was around.
Reaching out, she touched the neck of the statue. The marble was warm, which was a shock, but then she realized the spotlight up above was its heat source.
She thought of the Primale.
They had spent one day in the same bed, that first day she was here with him. She had had to ask if she could join him in his room and lie beside him, and as they had stretched out beneath the sheets, awkwardness had been a blanket of thistles over them both.
But then she had fallen asleep only to wake up to a huge male body pushing into her, a hard, warm length against her hip. She had been too stunned to do anything but acquiesce as, without words, the Primale had stripped her robing from her body and replaced it with his own skin and the weight of his strength.
Indeed, speech was not always necessary.
With a slow caress, she ran her fingertips down the statue s warm marble chest, pausing at the nipple on its flat base of muscle. Down farther, the ribs and stomach were a lovely pattern of undulations. Smooth, so smooth.
The Primales skin was just as smooth.
Her heart beat hard as she reached to the statues hip.
The tingling heat she felt wasnt about the stone in front of her. In her mind, it was the Primale she was touching. It was his body that was beneath her fingers. It was his sex and not the statues that called her.
Her hand drifted down farther until it hovered right on the top of the males pubic bone.
The sound of someone bursting into the mansion ricocheted up from the foyer.
Cormia jumped back from the statue so fast she tripped on the hem of her robe.
As heavy footfalls stormed to the stairway and pounded up to the second floor, she took cover in a windows alcove and peeked around the corner.
The Brother Zsadist appeared at the head of the stairs. He was dressed for fighting, with daggers on his chest and a gun on his hip-and by the hard set of his jaw it looked like he was still in combat.
After the male stalked out of sight, she heard knocking on what had to be the doors of the kings study.
Moving silently, Cormia went down the hall, pausing at the corner next to where the Brother was.
There was a barking command, and then the door open and shut.
The kings voice resonated through the wall she leaned against. Not having fun tonight, Z? You look like someone s shit on your front lawn.
The Brother Zsadists words were dark. Has Phury been home yet?
Tonight? Not that I know of.
Fucking bastard. He said he was going home.
Your twin says a lot of things. Why dont you four-one-one me on the current drama bomb?
Flattening herself in hopes of being less visible, she prayed that no one came down the corridor. What had the Primale done?
I caught him making California rolls out of lessers.
The king cursed. I thought he told you he was going to stop.
He did.
There was a groan, as if the king were rubbing his eyes or maybe his temples. So what exactly did you walk into?
There was a long pause.
The kings voice dropped even lower. "Z, my man, talk to me. I gotta know what Im dealing with if Im going to do anything about him.
Fine. I found him with two lessers. His leg was knocked off, and he had a burn mark around his neck like hed been strangled with a length of chain. He was leaning over a slayers belly with a dagger in his hand. Goddamn it he wasnt aware of his surroundings at all. Didnt look up at me until I said something. I could have been another fucking lesser, and if I had been? Hed either be getting tortured right now or hed be deader than dead.
What the fuck am I going to do with this guy?
Zs voice took on a tight tone. I dont want him kicked out.
Not your call. And dont look at me like that-Im still your boss, you hotheaded SOB. There was a pause. Shit, Im beginning to think your twin needs to be airmailed to a goddamned shrink. Hes a danger to himself and others. Did you say anything to him?
Wed just gotten jacked by the CPD-
There were cops involved in this, too? Christ-
So, no, I didnt gum-flap.
The voices grew muffled until the Brother Zsadist said more loudly, You consider what that would do to him? The Brotherhood is his life.
Youre the one who brought this to my attention. Use your head. A week off rotation and a little vacay is not going to be enough to fix this.
There was another silence. Look, I need to go check on Bella. Just talk to Phury before you burn his house down. Hell listen to you. And give him this back.
When something heavy hit what was likely a desk, Cormia ducked into one of the guest rooms. A moment later she heard the Brother Zsadists heavy footsteps as he went down to his room.
Danger to himself and others.
She couldnt picture the Primale brutalizing their enemy or putting himself in harms way because he was careless. But why would the Brother Zsadist lie?
He wouldnt.
Suddenly exhausted, she sat on the corner of the bed and idly looked around. The room was done in the same shade of lavender as her favorite rose.
What a lovely color, she thought, letting herself fall back against the duvet.
Lovely, indeed, though it did nothing to soothe her agitated nerves.
The Caldwell Galleria was two stories of Hollister, H amp;M, Express, Banana Republic, and Ann Taylor, located in the exurbs of the city. With JCPenney, Lord and Taylor, and Macys anchoring the ends of the floor plans three spokes, it was solidly in the middle tier as malls went, and the crowd it drew was three parts teenage and one part restless soccer mom. Food court had McDs, KuikWok, California Smoothie, Auntie Annes, Cinnabon. Kiosks down the center aisles sold knitted shit, bobble-head dolls, cell phones, and animal calendars.
The place smelled like stale air and plastic strawberries.
Holy shit, he was in the mall.
John Matthew couldnt fricking believe that he was in the mall. Talk about your trippy full circles.
The place had been given a surface upgrade since hed last seen it, the shades of beige having been replaced with a pink and ocean green Jamaican theme. Everything from the floor tiles to the garbage cans to the fake potted plants and the fountains screamed, We be jammin.
It was kind of like a Hawaiian shirt on a fifty-year-old man. Cheerfully and unattractively out of whack.
God, how things changed. The last time hed been here, hed been a scrawny orphan tagging along behind a bunch of other unwanted kids. Now here he was, with fangs in his mouth and size-fourteen shoes and a big body that people didnt want to get in the path of.
He was still an orphan, though.
And speaking of orphans, man, he could remember so clearly those field trips here to the mall. Every year, St. Francis had taken its charges to the Galleria before Christmas. Which had been kind of cruel, as none of the kids had had money to buy any of the shiny, pretty stuff that was for sale. John had always been afraid that theyd get kicked out or something, because no one carried any shopping bags to validate the groups use of the bathrooms.
But that wasnt going to be a problem tonight, he thought, as he patted his back pocket. In his wallet was four hundred dollars hed earned working in the training centers office.
What a relief to have green to burn and to belong amid the strolling masses.
You forget your wallet? Blay asked.
John shook his head. Got it.
Up ahead by a number of feet, Qhuinn was in the lead and moving quickly. Hed been in a rush since theyd walked in, and as Blaylock paused in front of Brookstone, the guy looked at his watch with bracing impatience.
Lets hustle it, Blay, he snapped. Weve only got an hour before closing time.
What is your damage tonight? Blay frowned. Youre tight as hell, and not in a good way.
Whatever.
They walked faster, passing groups of tweens that hung together like schools of fish, each by species and sex: Girls and boys didnt mix; Goths and preps didnt mingle. The lines were very clear, and John remembered exactly how all that worked. Hed been on the outside of every group, so hed been able to watch all of them.
Qhuinn stopped in front of Abercrombie and Fitch. Urban Outfitters too core for you. Were going to A-and-F your flow.
John shrugged and signed, I still dont think I need a ton of new clothes.
You have two pairs of Levis, four Hanes T-shirts, and a set of Nikes. And that fleece. Fleece was pronounced with the same enthusiasm as fresh roadkill.
I also have workout sweats.
Which will abso put you on the cover of GQ. My b. Qhuinn headed into the store. Lets do this.
John followed along with Blay. Inside, the music was loud and the clothes were crowded in tight and the pictures of the models on the walls showed lots of perfect people in black and white.
Qhuinn started flipping through rows of hanging shirts with vague disgust, like the shit was something his grand-mother would wear. Which made sense. He was definitely an Urban Outfitters man, with a thick chain swinging from the blue-black jeans and the Affliction T-shirt with the skull and wings on it and the black boots that were big as your head. His dark hair was spiked up, and he had seven gunmetal studs in his left ear running from lobe to upper cartilage.