Night Owls (26 page)

Chaz backed up, not wanting to get nicked by those filthy nails. “Why the hell would you want to be like them? Kiddo, from what I understand, they’re bottom-feeders. You turn into one of them, and you’re going to be
eating other people
for the rest of your life.”

“Says the guy who fetches and carries for a vampire.”

“Okay. Uh. Point. But all I mean is, you can do better than this. For yourselves.” He didn’t know
how
, exactly, and wasn’t about to suggest they go throw themselves on the mercy of the Boston vampires. Ivanov and Katya might wear fancy clothes and arrive in fancy cars, but all that money and they were just as big a bunch of assholes as the Jackals.

“Do better? Fuck you. The world’s been shitting on me—on all of us—for long enough. We’re going to be part of something bigger. Stronger. A
family
.”

“You don’t . . . You don’t have a family to go back to? A human one?”

Beth spat in his cereal. Bull’s-eye. So much for breakfast. “Fuck them, too. These guys accept us for who we are. They
need
us, and we need them.” Her voice took on the slightest singsong at this point, like something she’d learned by heart and recited often. The glaze crept back into her eyes.

It’s like Val’s Command.
He glanced at Slayer-Tom, and saw the same look on his face.
They’ve got these kids convinced it’ll actually get better for them. Those motherfuckers.

Beth was still talking. “We’ll live forever, and we can do anything we want. All we have to do is be patient a little longer. And be loyal. Like good packmates should be.” She drew breath to say something else, but a moan from another room distracted her, snapped her out of it.

“Is someone hurt?” From the glare she threw his way, he thought maybe he’d done some damage on his way in last night, but he didn’t feel like he’d been in a fight. Just like he’d been dragged behind a stampeding elephant.

Beth didn’t answer him. She spun away and strode out of the room, swiping the aspirin bottle and a pair of spoons on her way.

Tom watched her go. He didn’t resume the conversation, and Chaz got the sense that it would be bad form to keep prodding.

So the Jackals have promised to turn them, and Justin stymied that one when he read the book. Or Elly and Father Whatever fucked it up when they stole it. Either way, same thing.
Val had said they were carrion creatures, picking off the low and weak, scavenging and stealing. This house, even, probably belonged to someone else. These kids and the Jackals had to be squatters. And no matter what the kids believed, they were still the Jackals’ victims. It was just a different kind of preying going on here.

Tom’s gaze kept cutting toward the door. The moaning grew louder, punctuated by weak, hitching cries.

Chaz kept his voice low, trying not to provoke the big man. “If you want to go check on whoever that is. I’ll come with you and keep my mouth shut. I won’t . . .” He sighed. “I won’t try to run.”

It was a stupid offer. He knew it. But Tom was a kid who was clearly worrying about his friend. Chaz sympathized with that. Out of all of them, in fact, Tom seemed the most normal, or at least not as fucked-up as the others. Chaz tucked that away, too. Maybe he could use it.

Tom took his measure for another minute. “Okay. Come on, hands where I can see them and all that.”

“Yeah, I’ve watched cop shows, too. I know the drill.”

They headed deeper into the house. Beyond the kitchen, a short hallway led to what might once have been the dining room. The table was missing, but the chairs remained. The last room was the family room. It had been converted into a cramped, filthy infirmary.

The smell hit Chaz like he’d walked face-first into a wall: burnt flesh, blood, ash. Four people lay on mattresses that had been dragged out of bedrooms. The fifth was sprawled out on a table, surrounded by candles. As Chaz got closer, he realized this was the missing dining room table. They’d painted sigils all over it, surrounding the girl who lay atop it. Her skin was an alarming shade of red.

Beth was tending to one of the figures on the floor. She sprang to her feet as Chaz and Tom entered, throwing herself between Chaz and the girl on the table. “Don’t you touch her! Don’t you touch
anything
.”

Chaz held up his hands and backed off a step, but he couldn’t stifle the question. “The fuck’s going on in here?” He realized that, as bad as the girl on the table looked, the burnt-flesh smell wasn’t coming from her.

That particular stench belonged to the four on the floor, their faces marred like someone had splashed them with acid. The skin had boiled and bubbled; in places, the wounds were still weeping through the salve Beth had been applying.

Chaz struggled for something to say, but he could only repeat his first question: “The
fuck
?”

“Those ones are your friends’ fault,” said Beth. She hadn’t moved away from the girl on the table. “They used holy water last night.”

“I don’t understand. These are humans, not Jackals. Holy water shouldn’t hurt them.” He left off the
And what the fuck were they doing attacking my friends, anyway?
This wasn’t the time for a round of Serves You Right.

“They weren’t
there
,” she said, as if it were obvious. “They take on the wounds so the pack can keep fighting.”

He gaped. “You’re saying the Jackals get hit and these poor sons of bitches get their faces burnt off. Do I have that right?”

“They’ll be okay,” said Beth. “Marian will make them better.”

“Who’s Marian?”

“A friend. She fixes people.” She gestured to the girl on the table. “It doesn’t hurt us as bad as it hurts them. Caleb would burn up if he walked in the sun without a link to Ashley.” A look passed between her and Tom, one Chaz couldn’t decipher. Beth stepped to the side. “You can look,” she said. “But if you try to touch the runes, I’ll cut your fingers off.” She pulled a jackknife from her pocket and folded out the blade. It was pockmarked with rust. If she
did
go to hacking at his fingers, it’d take several chops, and he’d probably get tetanus.

“Nooooot going to risk that, thanks.” He peered at the runework from a good five feet away, well out of his reach. The markings were nothing like the circle Cavale had made for Justin yesterday, though Chaz thought he recognized the same style of eye-bending writing from the book. At last he stepped back, joining Tom back near the door. “So tell me something. You guys get the book back from my friends, let’s say. That will let you guys become Jackals, too?”

Beth paused in the middle of crushing up aspirin between her spoons. “Yes?”

“What about these five? Do they get to be Jackals?”

“Everyone who’s loyal does. They promised us.”

“Hmm.” Chaz scratched his chin. “So who will do the pain bearing for you guys? Or for the current pack?”

“What are you talking about?” She looked to Tom for help, but he was intent on Chaz, his expression troubled.

“I’m saying, if everyone in this house becomes a Jackal, there won’t be any more humans to take on injuries when you fight. No more going outside during the day while someone else lies here looking like they fell asleep at the beach in the middle of July.”

“There will be others. We’ll find people willing to serve.” She made it sound like it was a prestigious role.

“For what? What will you offer them? A lifetime supply of powdered milk? And who’d even pick this life? You’d have to have it pretty shitty to call this living . . . Oh.” There went his tongue again, full steam ahead of his brain.

These kids looked hungry. Not just haven’t-had-a-good-meal-in-a-month hungry, but broken down and weary, kicked in the teeth by life. Often. He thought about what Beth had said in the kitchen, about the world shitting on them. Maybe this
was
the good life, compared to whatever they’d been through before the Jackals found them. “Um,” he said, backpedaling furiously. “Do I get to meet this Marian?”

Sean came in just in time to hear the question. He dumped an armload of tattered blankets near Beth before turning to Chaz. “Maybe. If we don’t have to shoot you.” He paused, considering, and a sly, eager grin broke out. “Actually, wait. Probably
definitely
if we have to shoot you. Want to make a run for it?”

26

O
VER THE NEXT
few hours, Chaz did everything he could to avoid getting shot by Sean. Mostly that involved keeping his mouth shut and his movements slow. He also had to leave the bathroom door open when he took a piss, but since it was either that or pee in the sink, he opted for the lesser indignity. His headache receded from migraine strength to mild-hangover bad, which was good. He was pretty sure he’d lucked out and didn’t have a concussion.

Despite the glares she kept throwing in his direction, Beth let him help fix lunch. Mostly, Chaz wanted to be sure the plates he ate off weren’t crawling with germs, but part of him hoped he could get on the kids’ good sides in case the shit hit the fan later on.

Shortly after four, a key rattled in the front door lock. Tom planted himself between Chaz and the hallway, as though Chaz might be stupid enough to charge whoever was coming in.
I probably
should
make a go at it.
But the logical part of his brain suggested it was wiser to stay alive and learn what he could.

Bitch could have killed him last night, left him dead behind the wheel on Val’s street. She could have offed him on the way here, or tossed him down in the basement with the rest of the Jackals so they’d have a tasty breakfast when they woke up. Plenty of things she could have done, but instead she’d left him aboveground to be watched by the minions, and she must have given permission for him to be out and about. Otherwise Tom could have shoved him back in the bedroom and left him there. These were things he was meant to see, which meant she intended to give him back to Val when this was over.

Probably in exchange for Justin.

Well, fuck that. Val wouldn’t make that kind of trade. Much as he’d appreciate it, they couldn’t be given the power all willy-nilly to go around making new Jackals. So he’d wait and watch, and hope Val had some other plan in mind.

Two people came through the door: a mousy-looking woman in her midforties holding a tackle box to her chest like it had nuclear launch codes within, and a tall man wearing a sweatshirt with its hood pulled up. Chaz could smell the sunscreen on him and caught the glow of yellow eyes in his shadowed face.
This must be Caleb.

The Jackal moved wearily, pushing Tom aside to come and look at Chaz. He was in human form, his face bland and forgettable except for the places where someone had drawn the same sigils Chaz had seen around the girl on the dining room table. Was that eyeliner they’d been applied with? Chaz kept his teeth clamped together so he couldn’t be a smartass.

After a moment of silent scrutiny, Caleb grunted and turned back to Tom. “I’m going to bed. Tell Diane I delivered the message.” He lumbered over to the cellar door and, ignoring the
Do Not Open
sign, cracked it open enough to slip downstairs.

That left Marian in the kitchen, eyeing Chaz. “He’s not one of you,” she said to Tom. She barely spoke above a whisper and flinched when she finished, as if she expected to be hit.

“No, ma’am.”

“Am I treating him?”

Tom thought about it. “You probably should. Diane’ll want to have him in good shape for the meeting.”

She moved closer, but before she could set her tackle box down on the table, Chaz held up his hands. “I can wait,” he said. “There’s kids in the other room that are in a hell of a lot more pain than I am.” He was starting to suspect that “Diane” was Bitch’s real name; Val had said she was likely second in command.

He also wondered if Tom and his crew were being as hospitable as they were because Diane wanted to offer a good trade for Justin, or if
her
boss—her alpha—was afraid enough of Val that he didn’t want to risk pissing her off by roughing up her Renfield.
When I get home, she’s telling me what happened in Sacramento. No more hedging.
For years, she’d left it at “Things went bad, I left,” and he’d not pushed for more. Whatever it was still hurt her enough, he didn’t want to dredge up the old and the bad. The time for that was over now.

Marian glanced at Tom for confirmation. The big man’s expression went from surprised to relieved to faintly grateful. “Yeah, okay. That’d be good.” He led them into the parlor where Beth and Sean were tending to their friends. They backed away from the people on the mattresses and gave Marian space.

From her pocket, she produced a small pot of ointment and passed it to Beth. “For Ashley,” she said. “A little goes a long way.” Beth took it and moved over to begin smearing the sunburned girl with the stuff. Marian watched her for a few seconds, then nodded, satisfied, and turned to the other four.

As she set the tackle box down, Chaz realized he’d seen one like it before, at Cavale’s.
So they both shop at Walmart. It doesn’t mean anything.
Except, when she lifted the lid, he saw neat rows of hand-labeled vials and jars, just like Cavale’s. Runes covered the inside of the lid, the style similar to what he’d seen scrawled on some of the walls at the house in Crow’s Neck.

Marian selected a few jars and drew a small scalpel from the tackle box. She pricked the tip of her thumb with the blade and hovered over her first patient, a boy. She traced a bloody sigil on his forehead, murmuring as she did it.

Chaz watched, wondering if the burns would recede and the wounds would heal before his eyes the way Val’s did. But the kid’s face kept on looking like overcooked pizza cheese.

Marian set her scalpel aside and selected another from the box. She brought this one down through one of the raised, bubbly bits of skin. Chaz braced himself, certain the kid would bolt upright, screaming. Pus wept freely from the newly opened wound, but the kid on the mattress didn’t even flinch. The sigil on his forehead glowed a dull red. Marian’s murmurings took on a singsong quality.
Is she keeping him under? Like anesthesia?

She worked efficiently, cleaning out the wounds and applying her salves. Gross as it was, Chaz couldn’t look away. Blood and pus ran down the kid’s face. The sigil pulsed every now and then, but Marian kept him asleep. Then, after inspecting her work, she dipped a finger in the fluids oozing out of the kid and started drawing even more sigils on him.
I’m never running Finger Painting Night at the store ever again.

When she finished, she touched the mark on his forehead once more, changing it. Her chanting changed, too, into an intonation that sounded almost like Latin. She slapped her hand down on the floor near the kid’s head. Chaz and Tom both jumped at the sharp, sudden noise.

The kid had apparently heard it, too. His whole body bowed, arcing until only the crown of his head and his heels still touched the mattress. His hands spasmed at his sides, and his mouth opened in a wordless scream. The sigils glowed brighter, then with liquid, sinuous movements, they slid over his skin and into one another, joining together in a twisted kind of web over his face.

Now
the flesh knit back together, the dead, burned bits sloughing away to reveal fresh new skin beneath. After what seemed a long time, but must only have been a few seconds, the kid collapsed back onto the mattress, panting.

Marian sat back on her knees and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Help him up,” she said to Sean. “Let him go wash his face.” She scooted back while Sean obeyed, then fished around in the tackle box for more supplies. She rubbed her hands and forearms down with alcohol wipes and poured iodine over the scalpels.

Then she repeated what she’d done with the first kid three more times. While she was working on the second, Beth finished smearing the girl on the table with the salve. She smudged one of the runes. Chaz noticed that it bore a resemblance to the one Marian had painted on the first kid’s brow. The girl on the table, Ashley, sat up with a jaw-cracking yawn. Her skin was no longer lobster red, but had instead turned a deep tan, as if she’d spent the summer sprawled out on the beach. She stretched and peered around, frowning at Chaz and whispering to Beth.

“He’s not staying long,” Beth told her, raising her voice in reply. “Diane needs him.”

Ashley gave him the hairy eyeball for a little longer, then hopped off the table and crouched beside Marian. “Thank you,” she said. The older woman smiled tightly, but was too deep in her ritual to do more than nod.

Beth escorted Ashley out, their footsteps clumping on the stairs as they ascended. That left Chaz and Tom alone with Marian and her patients; Sean had yet to return.

Marian finished with her second patient, a slight Middle Eastern–looking girl who was maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Tom stuck his head out the door and hollered for Sean, who shouted back from the kitchen. When he ducked back in the room, he seemed to be weighing something. “I have to get her upstairs.”

Ah.
“It’s fine, man. I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t made a break for it yet, have I?”

“Sean’s in the kitchen. He’ll be back in here in a minute. His trigger finger’s kind of itchy today, so, y’know. In case the thought crosses your mind . . .”

“Scout’s honor,” said Chaz, “I’m staying right here.”

Tom stood there a moment longer, but when the girl on the mattress started chattering her teeth, he got moving. He scooped her up and left the room.

Chaz hadn’t made any other attempts at escape today, but not for lack of wanting to. The opportunity simply hadn’t presented itself. Now he had a handful of seconds to see how close he could get to freedom. If he could get outside, he’d see if Sean was any kind of a sharpshooter.

Marian had started in on the third kid, ignoring her own chance at escape.

He
should
run. But there was something he needed to know first: “You’re Brotherhood, aren’t you?”

She stiffened, but didn’t turn to look at him. “I was.”

“Seems like there’s a lot of that going around.”

That gave her pause. She snuck a glance in his direction. “What do you mean?”

“Just that I’ve met a couple of former members in the last few days.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “But those two
hate
the Jackals. So explain to me why it is that you’re helping them.”

“I’m healing these children,” she said, a tiny, haughty thread sneaking into her voice. “Not them.”

“Bullshit.” Chaz stepped over to Ashley’s recently vacated table. From there, he could see the floor around the mattresses. Carved into the wood were more runes and sigils. “Most of this is what a friend of mine calls Creepscrawl, but I don’t have to be able to read it to know that some of this lettering’s different. Matter of fact, the different stuff looks an awful lot like the writing inside your little doctor’s bag there, doesn’t it?”

She flinched. It was confirmation enough.

“You drew them. I don’t know how you helped, what blanks you filled in, but you did it. So I’m asking you again:
why?
”

She took her hands off the injured kid and folded them in her lap. At first, Chaz thought she was being stubborn and refusing to answer him. Then he realized she was fidgeting with something on her left hand: a plain gold band.

Suddenly, it made a lot more sense: they were holding him here to get what they wanted from Val; they held the kids here with the promise of Jackal-hood so they could have lackeys. So how else to coerce a member of the Brotherhood to do their bidding? Chaz moved around the table slowly, like he was approaching a skittish cat. He knelt beside her and stared down at her wedding band. “They have someone you care about, don’t they?”

Marian twisted around to look at him, her eyes brimming. “Yes. My husband.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He risked a glance down the hall. Sean was just visible in the kitchen, hunched over the countertop and eating peanut butter straight from the jar. “Okay. Is he here? Do they have him upstairs? I bet we could take these kids, you and me. They don’t have tricks up their sleeve like you do.”
Just guns in their waistbands,
he thought, but that didn’t seem too helpful. “And I’m, uh. Spry.”

She shook her head. “He’s not here. The alpha has him. To . . . ‘guarantee my services.’” She sneered the last, though whether the disgust was directed at the Jackal or herself, Chaz couldn’t tell.