Stalking the Others (2 page)
Read Stalking the Others Online
Authors: Jess Haines
Chapter 2
(Days left to full moon: 23)
My options for transportation were not quite as slim as the pickings for places to safely hide until the next full moon.
Fingering the vials of Amber Kiss perfume in my pockets and absently dodging pedestrians, I scanned the streets for some inspiration. I could utilize the belt’s benefits for another half an hour or so and make good time getting across town—but I didn’t like the idea of being caught somewhere in the city without money, food, or shelter, not to mention tired enough to fall over. From experience, I knew all of the “little hurts” that didn’t hurt so much now would make themselves known as soon as the spirit inside the rune-branded leather was banished for the day.
Flickering neon lights dragged my attention to a tattoo parlor across the street. Aside from a regret-filled pang—I’d never again hear my mom telling me not to even think about getting inked—it sparked an idea. Jack the White Hat had an illegal weapons emporium under a tattoo parlor not far from here.
As much as I disliked Jack, he had a decent hideout, weapons, and a safe place to avoid authorities. We hadn’t parted on the best of terms the last time I’d seen him, but I was willing to bet he’d set aside his personal dislike of me if I let him use me the way he’d so obviously intended to from the beginning. While willingly going along with his plans wasn’t a fantastic idea, I felt certain that he would welcome me if he knew I wanted to use his hunters and their resources to track and kill werewolves.
Imbued with a new sense of purpose, I picked up my pace, intending to hoof it the rest of the way.
The cops waiting for me when I rounded the corner had a different plan in mind.
Two boys in blue had double-parked and waited in that I’m-doing-my-best- to-look-casual-and-failing-miserably stance just to one side of a newspaper stand. The one on the left spoke up, his voice smooth and deep, nonthreatening.
“Ms. Waynest? We need to talk.”
I turned and ran.
“Hey! Halt!”
I kept going and didn’t look back. The belt was elated by this sudden action, flooding my limbs with enough energy to make my speed kick up a notch, leaving the cops far behind. Jumping over or darting around obstacles was a breeze, and most everyone moved out of my way, but I was attracting too much attention.
Stairs leading down to the subway appeared on my left. I cut across the street, dodging honking, swerving cars with ease. Strangely, I didn’t feel in the least frightened of being hit by one of those cars—they were zooming by fast enough to send my hair flying and to clip the trailing hem of my jacket—but I was worried about being caught by one of the cops. Priorities, eh?
As soon as I hit the sidewalk on the other side, I bolted down into the darkened stairwell, sending people flat against the rails as I shouldered aside the ones who didn’t immediately get out of my way. Ignoring the curses and threats and even the switchblade one of them pulled on me, I took the stairs two and three at a time until I hit the bottom, jumping over the turnstiles and launching myself down the platform.
There were shouts, but I dismissed them and went to the edge. Some of the people milling around waiting for the next train were staring at me, but most of them didn’t seem to care that I’d drawn the ire of one of the few security guards on the premises. Probably because the majority of them were not pleased to be awake at this hour.
The guard was headed my way with a glare and her hand settled firmly on the butt of a canister of mace attached to her belt. Just my luck to be spotted by a rent-a-cop on the one day I decide to jump the turnstiles instead of paying my fare.
With a surge from the belt, I ignored the shouting security guard and jumped onto the tracks— taking care to avoid the electrified third rail—hightailing it into the tunnel. It was dark and disgustingly grimy, infested with rats and roaches, but there was no rumble of an approaching train or sounds of pursuit that I could detect. My eyes watered from the combined stink of hot metal, grease, and old piss no doubt left behind by the homeless who roamed these tunnels. Once I was sure I was in the clear, I slowed down just enough to take a look around, searching for any doors or stairwells to maintenance rooms that might have street access.
‘Why don’t you just head to the next platform? You were trying to get across town, remember?’
“Security is probably waiting for me. Can’t risk it. Jack’s place isn’t far, maybe a mile or two from where the cop stopped me.” I rolled my shoulders, groaning as the first hints of strain bit into my muscles. The spirit was fading. Daylight must be creeping over the horizon. “I’ve got to get out of here before you go. How much longer?”
‘Not long.’
Crap. With that helpful tidbit in mind, I sped up my pace, eyes searching. It wasn’t my imagination either—the tracks had started vibrating, warning of an approaching train. Using some of my remaining energy, I leapt with a distinct lack of grace onto the narrow service walkway, digging my nails into the thick crust of dirt coating the walls to find purchase as I slid in an oily puddle.
A roach the size of a VW Bus crawled over my fingers in its haste to scuttle into a crevice I hadn’t seen.
I shrieked and danced back. The sound echoed dimly, lost in the eerie screech of a distantly braking train.
That, and the laughter of the belt.
Scowling, I stomped down the walkway, rubbing my grimy hand on my jacket to rid myself of that skin-crawly feeling. Though I’d felt its approach, I gasped and flattened myself against the wall as the train coming from behind me lit up the tunnel. I watched with wide eyes as it raced by only inches away, lights flickering and blinding me as it passed.
Heart pounding, I resumed my trek down the tunnel once the train was gone and I was no longer blinded by bright spots. The belt had almost completely faded when I found a recessed door. Locked. Using what little extra strength it could give me, I kicked it just to one side of the knob, splintering the wood around the handle. It jarred the lock, but didn’t force the door open as I’d hoped. Five minutes earlier, I could have blown it off its hinges.
Aches and pains worked their way from my feet up my legs, reminding me that I’d been sitting in an uncomfortable crouch for most of the night when I wasn’t playing at being a marathon runner. I got the door open with one more kick and, with a wince, hobbled inside.
It wasn’t much to look at. There were a few old electric panels and some lockers looming in the shadows, and the only light drifted in on dust-laden cooler and less humid in here. The floor was cleaner than the tunnel, and someone had left an empty bottle of soda on a bench, but otherwise it didn’t look like anyone had been by in a while. I wasn’t too worried about the tracks I was leaving—walking was too painful for me to focus on much else.
Limping, I made my way to the lockers. All locked or empty. Though I was tempted to settle down and rest on the bench for a few minutes, I knew I wouldn’t get up again if I gave in to temptation.
Exhaustion was settling in right next to the pain, dual sensations guaranteed to haunt me the entire way to the tattoo parlor. If only I’d thought to bring some money with me before I ran out of Royce’s home, I could have caught a cab and saved myself the pain.
Muttering under my breath, I searched for a light switch, running my hand along the wall next to the lockers. It wasn’t necessary to flick it once I found it; it was right next to a door that clearly led outside, since I could hear sounds of traffic and voices behind it. The knob turned easily under my hand, and I was greeted by a set of litter-strewn steps leading up to a narrow, street-level alley. A gated fence topped with barbed wire kept out any intruders.
Every step burned like hot knives being shoved into my heels and calves. Holy mother, I’d have to remember to tone it down next time I used the belt. Even my fingers ached when I gripped the railing.
By the time I reached the top, I had to stop for a breather, my eyes watering with pain. I had no idea how I was going to make it to the tattoo parlor like this, but I couldn’t sit down to rest yet.
I shuffled across the alley like an old woman with arthritic knees. The gate didn’t give me any trouble, opening silently on oiled hinges. No one paid me much mind as I crept out into the pedestrian traffic. This part of midtown wasn’t far from where I needed to be. My run had taken me closer than I’d thought. Thank goodness.
Huddling into my trench coat, I popped the collar and ducked my head. Though every step was torture, I doggedly kept my speed to a decent clip, nearly matching that of the people around me. Every time I passed a deli or bakery, my mouth watered at the scent of fresh coffee and pastries. At this point, I wouldn’t be above begging Jack for food, either.
As intent as I was on reaching my destination, my body was equally intent on slowing the hell down and curling up for a nap. Despite my need to hurry, I had to stop a few times to rest. People looked at me askance when I paused to lean heavily against cars or walls or telephone poles to catch my breath. These breaks came more and more frequently, and my eyes were starting to feel like they had bricks tied to the lids.
By the time I reached the store, it must have been past eight. Some kid with a Mohawk and a faded T-shirt with a logo for some band I’d never heard of was bustling around in the back, moving some stuff around. He looked up from behind the counter, his mouth falling open as he took in my hair flying in a frizzy red halo around my head, my no doubt haggard expression, and the three silver stakes lined up in a neat row on the belt around my waist. I lightly tapped them with my free hand, and his expression shifted from shock to unease.
“I need to see Jack,” I said. Well, I meant to. What came out was more like a raspy smoker’s growl.
“Excuse me?”
I cleared my throat, trying again. “Jack. Is he here?”
“Jack who?”
I gave him a look. The kid blanched, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. He’s not around, but Nikki is.” His shifty eyes and nervous behavior could be put down to nerves due to my appearance, but I was willing to bet he was lying to me. “Do you want me to get her for you?”
My pain-addled brain fumbled with this mystery for the ages. Nikki was one of the hunters, I recalled. A blonde with a penchant for sharp weapons and guns who’d only made an impression on me because she was the lone female hunter I’d met in Jack’s cadre of White Hats. Her attitude toward me didn’t make me inclined to think she’d be willing to play nice, but if Jack wasn’t around, I’d take what I could get.
“Yes,” I managed, gesturing weakly for the guy to find Nikki for me. There were a couple of plastic chairs set up around a table with books of tattoos. I sank into a seat and buried my face in my hands before remembering all the gross stuff I’d touched. Ugh, my face and hair were probably caked with grime.
A few minutes later, Nikki came striding out of the back, her hips swaying in low-slung jeans. A small jewel glinted at her navel, framed by the cropped T-shirt she was wearing. She wiped sweat from her brow with one arm, her free hand resting ever so nonchalantly on the handle of a hunting knife as long as my arm. The kid didn’t come with her; he was probably hiding in the back. Wise move.
“I thought you were done with us, corpse-bait. What are you doing here?”
Well, nice to know I’m still loved by some people.
“Nice to see you, too, Nikki,” I said, putting in an extra effort to keep my words from slurring. “Listen, I need a favor—”
“That’s a laugh. How will you repay us this time? Walk out again as soon as you get what you want?”
I scowled, flushing.
She stalked closer, resting one hand flat on the glass display case holding an array of silver studs and plugs. The other circled the hilt of the blade in a clear threat. “Listen, bitch. My brother didn’t have to help you. He risked everything to—”
“That’s enough, Nikki.”
Jack was in the doorway, his icy blue eyes rimmed in red, his cheeks a little more sunken than I remembered. His face had always been made of sharp angles and planes, but those cheekbones were now razor sharp. His frame was thinner than I recalled, too. Almost corpse-like. An illness? Nikki dropped the attitude and immediately went to his side, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder.
Then it hit me.
The two of them were related? I hadn’t picked up on it before, but the family resemblance was obvious seeing them next to each other now. Using violence and threats to solve all of their problems must run in the family. Jack’s expression was decidedly unamused. He didn’t appear happy to see me at all. Not that I was much surprised by this.
“Shiarra, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Not in daylight.”
I forced a thin smile. “No need to worry about that. I’m not planning on turning into a walking corpse anytime soon.” No, I just might turn into something else. Something worse.
“Why are you here?”
What at an excellent question. I wasn’t about to tell him it was because I could no longer afford to hide with Royce. The vampire most likely would have tried to prevent me from carrying out the plan I had formed to get rid of Chaz and his pack, and I didn’t have enough time to risk being detained. The White Hats were my best shot at ensuring the Sunstrikers were destroyed before the next full moon.
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