Flameout (20 page)

The man who'd spoken was tall, dark-haired, and a little on the chubby side. The other was thin, blond, and holding a medical bag.

“We're here to collect some notes,” said the man, whose name was Brad Harvey, according to his badge. “And some blood.”

I stepped to one side and waved them in. “Jackson can help you with both. I've got to go downstairs and make a phone call.”

Brad frowned. “Your room hasn't a phone?”

“It has, but I don't want to risk the call being traced back to here. You guys knowing our position is dangerous enough.”

“I can assure you—”

I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Save it for someone who cares. Jackson, you want coffee?”

“And food.” He hadn't bothered putting his shirt on, and his skin glowed with inner heat. The minute he caught my look it was toned down, but the fact it was happening still worried me.

I didn't say anything, though, and simply headed for the elevators. I found a public phone in the 7-Eleven just down the road on Swanson Street, so I made the call to Rinaldo, apologizing for being late and giving him a rundown of all events. I did, however, omit the details of what was actually inside the satchel, instead saying it was illegible rubbish that he could view if he wanted. It was a dangerous ploy given there were lives at stake, but there was no way in hell I was going to give him anything that might be—in even the vaguest way—related to the virus research.

I just hoped there were no reprisals over our late check-in.

There wasn't much in the way of restaurants or takeouts open at this hour, but I eventually found a Vietnamese place and ordered some soup and a couple of beef and chicken dishes, then headed back to the hotel. Both men were gone by the time I returned.

“How did it go?” I asked as I dumped our food on the tiny excuse for a table.

He shrugged. “They're going to push the test through as a priority, so we should have an answer within a week.”

I began peeling lids off containers. “Well, at least you don't have to worry
too
long.”

“Actually, I do, because you didn't shift form after we'd made love.”

“Jackson, the virus can only be transmitted through a cut or—”

“We made an agreement,” he cut in gravely. “So kindly humor me and just shift form.”

“I can't do it here—”

“You can. I'll stop the flames setting off the alarm.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then caught the worry in his eyes, and simply shut up and became spirit—one second I was flesh, the next fire, and then I was flesh again.

Jackson blinked. “Wow. Fast.”

“Yeah, because I'm hungry.” I gripped the end of the chair and sat down before I fell down. Ripping through forms so quickly tended to make my head spin, but it was the safest approach given where we were. It was certainly safer than Jackson attempting to control my fire and shield the alarm.

I grabbed one of the soup dishes and a plastic spoon, and began tucking in. Jackson grabbed the combination fried noodle and moved across to the window. “Did you give them the USB we found at the gym?

He nodded. “There's little point in withholding
information from them now. Like it or not, we need to work with them for the time being.”

For the time being, I was more than willing to do that. It was the suspicion that PIT had something longer term in mind that worried me. “What time were we supposed to spot this ghost?”

“Midnight.”

I glanced at the clock. We had ten minutes to go.

Jackson leaned against the window frame, the streetlights casting a cool light across his skin. “So what do you think we're actually looking for? I'm guessing it won't be an actual ghost.”

“It could be. There are some creatures who can take on ghostly form, remember.” Hell, it was only a couple of days ago that we'd tracked down and killed a creature that could become little more than ash and shadow. And, if Lan was to be believed, things like that were about to become a whole lot more prevalent in Melbourne.

“Yeah, but Grace seemed to think their disappearances were linked to us—or rather, our investigations—and right now, that means the whole virus mess rather than some random creature.”

“Grace may think that, but the message came from the missing woman.” I exchanged the soup for the other noodle dish. “Grace has no more clue what she meant than we did. If she did, we wouldn't be here.”

“I'm not so sure . . .” He cut off abruptly, glanced at the time, then said, “Well, I do believe the ghost in question just appeared.”

I scrambled over to the window. Down on the street
below us, a solitary figure moved. He was dressed from head to foot in black and was almost one with the shadows and the night.

Only it wasn't a ghost, because ghosts didn't have death's scythe burned into their cheek.

It was a red cloak.

“T
hey generally hunt in packs, so why is one out on his lonesome?” I spun around and grabbed my coat.

“It's more than likely a trap.” Jackson opened the door and waved me out. “If it
is
, I guess we're about to spring it.”

I strode over to the elevator call button and pressed it. “I doubt it's a trap. They don't even know we're here.”

“Unless, of course, I'm telepathically connected to the hive queen himself.”

“Luke can't even read the thoughts of his own
brother
.” I couldn't help the trace of impatience in my voice. His worry about being infected was understandable enough, but I was nevertheless pretty certain he
didn't
have any form of connection to Luke. Things might not be going our way right now, but our situation would be a whole lot worse had Luke been getting a constant location update from Jackson. “He's only catching some of Sam's emotions, even though well over a year has passed.”

“And yet he has full mental control over the cloaks with the scar from the get-go.”

“Which is yet another reason to believe you're not infected. You're as sane now as you've ever been.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “I believe you just insulted me.”

“It's not an insult if it's the truth.”

He snorted softly and pressed a hand against my back, lightly guiding me inside the elevator as the doors opened. Once we reached the ground floor, I hurried through the foyer and stepped into the street. The night had become colder in the brief time I'd been indoors, and it had begun to drizzle again. I flipped the hood up over my head, which also had the benefit of hiding my fiery hair, and looked down the street. The red cloak was just crossing Russell Street.

“Let's walk down the other side,” Jackson said. “It'll be less obvious that we're following him.”

He tucked his arm through mine and we started after the cloak, though our pace was, by necessity, slow, simply because the cloak's was. And—though I hadn't noticed it earlier—there seemed to be some sort of hump across his back.

“I hope like hell that's
not
a body,” I said, keeping my voice soft. These things might now be pseudo vampires, but we had no idea what he'd been before he turned. If he'd been a werewolf rather than a human, there was a chance he'd have better hearing than a human. Infection might make them mad, but I doubted it robbed them of their sensory capabilities.

“Whatever it is, it's in a sack of some kind.” Jackson paused. “If it
is
a body, it's only a small one.”

“One of the missing women was rather petite.”

“Let's just hope it's not her.” He paused. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Amen to that. Besides, why would Luke have a red
cloak carrying a body through one of Melbourne's busiest streets? It might be midnight, and most of the theaters and many restaurants might now be closed, but that was still a hell of a risk.

“I think we can safely say we're not dealing with any sort of reasonable mind here.” Jackson's voice was dry. “He probably thinks he and his army are all but invincible.”

“He knows they're not. We've certainly proven that.”

“But we have capabilities most normal folk do not. Besides, the cloak would undoubtedly attack if stopped, and that's just more fodder for Luke's army.”

“True.” I eyed the figure ahead. He'd crossed Exhibition Street and seemed to be going even slower. “Wonder why he's using the streets? Sewers seem to be their more usual mode of getting about.”

“Might have something to do with the rain. Sewers can be a dangerous place to be when it's pouring.”

It wasn't pouring now, but I guessed it had been. Either Luke was showing some consideration for his people—which I doubted—or it was, as Jackson said, simply another part of the trap.

“The cloaks
can
drive, so why not use a damn car to get about?”

Jackson shrugged again. “The only person who can answer those questions is the bastard who controls them. And I'm guessing he'd be more inclined to kill than enlighten.”

Also true. The cloak turned right into a lane and disappeared. We quickened our pace, slowing again only once we'd reached the corner of the lane. Jackson peered round cautiously.

Halfway,
came his somewhat broken comment.
In cage.

Which didn't do a whole lot to enlighten me. I peered past him. The cloak had stopped just over halfway down the lane, just before a metal door that had a big, bold
TWENTY-FOUR-H
OUR ACCESS REQUIRED
sign on it. To the right of this were two further doors, both a heavy steel mesh. The cloak opened the right one and disappeared inside.

I scanned the buildings on either side, but couldn't see any form of security or cameras.
Shall we follow?

No choice.

He padded forward. I followed, keeping half an eye on the two Dumpsters positioned against the other building about a third of the way down the lane. Just because we couldn't see any guards didn't mean there weren't any. The cloaks certainly wouldn't have complained about being ordered into a Dumpster to keep watch, simply because they
couldn't
.

Jackson paused as we reached the first—unopened—mesh door. He cautiously looked inside.
Bins . . . black . . . no cloak.

His voice was even softer and more fragmented than before.
As you said, we have no choice here
.

Pain slithered through my brain as I said that, and was yet another warning that while we might be able to communicate telepathically, it wasn't without cost. Whether that would change as—or rather,
if
—the link between us deepened, I couldn't say. But for now, it was at least better than risking actual speech—even if it had the capacity to create a mind-blinding headache.

Wish gun,
Jackson said as he moved forward again.

If there's a pack of cloaks down there, a gun isn't going to be of much use.

I wasn't sure how much of that he heard, but he flashed me a smile.
Feel safer.

Old habits die hard, it seems
. Because he, like me, no longer needed to rely on guns. And while summoning fire to life
did
sap him of strength seriously fast, it would at least slow the cloaks. And I'd finish them.

The niggling ache in my brain got stronger.
We shouldn't use this method of communication anymore unless it's really needed.

He nodded and disappeared into the darkness. I followed; the ink closed in around us, sucking away any sense of light or life. I lightly touched Jackson's back to ensure we didn't lose each other. It was tempting to flame, but that would only warn the cloak—or anyone else who might be watching—that we were near.

The deeper we moved into the ink, the more certain I became that it was unnatural. While it
was
a miserable, rainy night, that didn't explain this. There'd been a light in the lane, and another above the roller door that had required twenty-four-hour access, and that meant at least
some
light should have washed into this place.

That it didn't could only mean there were other forces at work here. Magical forces, perhaps. I couldn't sense anything untoward, but if it was little more than a concealing veil, then I probably wouldn't.

Jackson continued to move forward slowly. After a dozen more steps, the ink fell away and the night became normal again. What it revealed was a dead end.

“There's got to be a doorway here somewhere,”
Jackson said. “Even red cloaks can't disappear into thin air.”

As he stepped forward and brushed his fingers along the wall, I turned around and studied the dark wall. It was so damn thick I couldn't see the lane, despite the fact it couldn't be more than twenty feet away.

“I'm betting if there's a doorway, it's concealed in that blackness somewhere.” Though I kept my voice soft, I doubted anyone was near; they'd have attacked by now if they were.

“Probably. There's definitely some sort of spell at work, because I was fighting a flight response as I moved through it.”

I glanced at him. “Really?”

He looked at me, eyebrow raised. “Interesting that you didn't. Maybe the spell was aimed solely at humans.”

“You're not human. You're dark fae.”

A smiled touched his lips. “You know what I mean.”

“If it
is
aimed at humanity, then they obviously don't want anyone in here. And that means we could have found one of their lairs.”

“Possible. Every good general knows it's never wise to keep your entire army in one place.” And though I doubted Luke could, in any way, be labeled a good general, he certainly wasn't stupid.

I called fire to my fingertips and pressed my hand back into the ink. Rather disconcertingly, the ink swallowed both my hand and my flames whole; there wasn't even a flicker of light evident within the veil. I increased the heat and the height of my flames, and still there was nothing. I extinguished the fire and withdrew my hand.

“There's no secret entrance along this wall that I can find,” Jackson said. “If there
is
a concealed doorway here, it's not in this area.”

“Shame you don't have your radar thingie with you.” I thrust my hands on my hips and glared at the wall. There'd been many a time over the centuries when I'd wished I'd had a working knowledge of magic, and this was fast becoming another on that list. “It might be the only thing that can see beyond whatever spell is being used.”

“Possibly.” He stopped beside me. “I guess there's only one thing we can do—dive in and search the area the spell is concealing. This place isn't vast—surely if we keep close to the walls it won't be difficult to find a door.”

“Except we may not be looking for a door.”

“One problem at a time, woman, please.” He grabbed my hand, his fingers thankfully a little cooler this time around. Whatever was causing his body to randomly emit heat seemed to have subsided. “If we walk at arm's length, one of us is bound to find something.”

“Probably a rubbish bin. Or a set of steps, which we'll fall down.”

He grinned. “Hence the joined hands. This way, one can stop the other falling and possibly breaking something.”

He tugged me sideways, placed his free hand against the wall for guidance. Then, as one, we stepped into the veil again. Given the darkness was temporarily robbing me of sight, I closed my eyes and tried to use my other senses. Our footsteps were light—cautious—and beyond the soft sound of our breathing, there was little other
noise. We might be in the middle of a major city, but with this ink in place, we could have been out in the middle of the bush. Which meant that although I wasn't feeling the
get out of here
vibe that Jackson was, the magic behind it was still having some effect on my senses beyond just robbing me of sight.

As we slowly shuffled forward, I swept my free hand back and forth, trying to find anything in our way before we actually hit it. There were bins here somewhere—we'd seen them when we were standing in the lane—and despite the lack of anything that would give us some idea of how wide this hidden area was, it hadn't actually looked that large from the outside. Jackson stopped suddenly, forcing me to do the same.

“What?” I whispered.

“Bin.” He edged around it carefully, but didn't immediately move on. Instead, I heard the sweep of his foot against the concrete. “And steps.”

“Nice of them to put a bin in front of them.”

“I doubt it was done out of niceness. Given the way it's positioned on the edge of the step, I'm thinking it was more an alarm.”

“Makes sense.” I stepped a bit closer and felt for the bin with my foot. It connected to hard plastic a second later, and just to the left of it was the step. “I'll lead the way, if you want.”

“The gentleman in me wants to object, but the reality is, you're more dangerous than I am.”

I snorted and edged forward. Once I'd found the wall on the side of the steps, I started down them. Jackson released my hand and touched my shoulder instead, keeping contact as we continued down. After
a dozen or so steps, the inky veil gave way to regular darkness, but I still couldn't see that much. A breeze stirred lightly past my skin, suggesting there was an opening here somewhere, and the air was musty and slightly odorous.

I hit the bottom step—something I knew simply because a sweep of my foot revealed the floor had flattened out—and paused.

Have halted
. Which would have been obvious given his hand on still my shoulder, but I didn't want to risk him running into me.
No body heat nearby. If the cloak did come down here, he's gone.

Risk fire,
came Jackson's reply.
Necessary.

If we wanted to find out where the hell the cloak had gone, that was certainly true. The darkness here might not be magic enhanced, but it was still pitch-black.

I raised a hand. Fire flared around my fingers and light rippled across the darkness, lifting the shadows and revealing a long, thin room. There were several large wooden boxes to our right, but little else. I glanced up. Electrical wires dangled from the concrete ceiling above us, but that was about it. Certainly there were no rotting piles of rubbish, old damp patches, or even any evidence that the place had been flooded at some point that would account for the odd smell permeating the room.

Jackson stepped around me and studied the room for a second. “It's rather strange that this place is empty. You'd think it'd make a good storage area, at the very least.”

“I guess it depends on whether the building above us has direct access.”