The Nine Lives of Chloe King (61 page)

What now?

Chloe kept running but forced herself to
think—
something her cat instincts didn’t like.

She had spent the last several weeks at home, recovering from a previous attempt on her life, integrating the relatively sudden manifestation of her new abilities, two death-resurrections, and the Order of the Tenth Blade, the Mai, and their relationship for the past thousand years into her normal teenage life.

But what
hadn’t
she done?

“Prepare, make a safe room, dig out a Cat Cave,” Chloe answered to the night air as she leapt across the gaps between buildings, ignoring the hundred-foot drops below. “Actually train myself in fighting. Come up with some sort of defensive strategy. Initiate an emergency or panic routine for me, Amy, and Paul to follow. And Kim. And Alyec. COME UP WITH A PLAN.”

She cursed herself for not having done it sooner.
Complete denial mode does not save lives,
Chloe thought.

“A little late, Chlo,” she muttered.

At least the Rogue probably wasn’t following her. As strong and skilled as he was, Alexander was still human and couldn’t make the sort of jumps or move at the pace she could. For a moment Chloe allowed herself to picture him in a Rogue-mobile, with an evil grinning face on the front like a blond Joker. Even if he did have a car, he was probably driving it as fast as possible away from the police without any regard for her.

“Thank God for the police,” Chloe muttered, for once without irony. How did they know what was going on? How did they know that anyone was there?

She made for the tallest point on the local horizon before her, a large satellite dish that was screwed solidly but inexpertly to the top of a chimney. If anyone was coming after her—the police or the Rogue or whomever—she would see them coming.

Once carefully balanced on top, one claw wrapped around the rim of the dish, she pulled out the one weapon she had available to her.

Her cell phone.

First she dialed Firebird.

“’Allo, Firebird LLC,” the receptionist’s voice came over.
Someone should really tell her to cut the Russian accent on outside calls,
Chloe thought. She
knew
Alexandra could speak almost perfect English; at this point anything else was an affectation.

“It’s Chloe. Get me Olga.”

“She’s out at the moment—can I take a message?”

“No. Get me Igor.”

“Honored One, he is in a meeting,” she responded deferentially but promptly.

“Get him out,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes at the strange incongruity of the other woman’s words. “It’s
very
important.”

“Yes, Honored One,” Alexandra said, putting her on hold. Chloe was still amazed; the other girl obviously hadn’t liked her from the beginning, and now she did whatever Chloe asked without hesitation and only a little sarcasm.

After a surprisingly short wait, Igor got on.

“Hello?” He sounded a little irritated and snappish.
Not so much into the whole spiritual leader thing.
Which was going to make what she had to say next that much worse.

“Igor, Sergei’s dead.”

There was a pause, as if he was wondering if he had heard right. Igor’s English wasn’t perfect, so that was understandable. “What are you talking about?” he finally said.

“The Rogue just killed Sergei. I was with him at the theater you guys are looking at.” Later she would burden him with the details about how she was there so that Sergei could have her
killed;
for now she just wanted the news out.

“Wait, wait. The Rogue is still alive? I thought you killed him.”

“No, in fact, I tried to
save
—oh, never mind.” Chloe sighed. Someday she would straighten that story out, too. “Apparently he did
not
die falling from the Golden Gate Bridge. Somehow he lived. And he just killed Sergei at the theater.”

“What theater?” Igor demanded, his voice rising.

“The theater you guys were thinking about buying and tearing down for apartments or something or other,” Chloe said, exasperated he had chosen to fix on that particular point.

“We weren’t about to buy any theater…. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chloe sat back on the rim of the dish, stunned. It was bad enough that Sergei had been trying to kill her, but the lengths he had gone to plan it … Having keys to a property that no one at Firebird knew about just to have a convenient place for Chloe to be killed. Having Olga look for Chloe’s dad to give her a reason to meet them there. Was there anything Sergei didn’t lie about—or anyone in the Pride he didn’t lie to?

“Where is this theater?” Igor prodded. “I’ll get there right away—”

“No,” Chloe cut him off. “The place is crawling with police. They showed up right after the Rogue and I began going at it. Stay away—tell
everyone
to stay away, even the kizekh. We can’t risk the exposure.”

She couldn’t believe she was talking like this.

“Are you sure he’s dead?” Igor said in almost a whisper.

“I’m pretty sure, Igor,” she said as gently as she could. “If there’s any chance he’s alive, they’ll bring him to a hospital. But he looked pretty gone. I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause.

“Did you kill the Rogue?” Igor finally asked with a deadly calm to his voice.

“What? No,” Chloe said, knowing it was a mistake as the words came out of her mouth. “In front of all those police?”

“Did you pursue him at all?”

“No, Igor, I fled the scene. Did I
mention
the cops? With the guns?” She tried to sound equally calm and directed, not cowardly, like he probably thought she was. “Listen, I’ll explain it all to you later, okay? There is a
lot
to explain. I’ll come over tonight. But I have to go now.” She hung up.
Why couldn’t it have been Olga?
She was terrified, adrenalized, and now she felt like cowardly shit just because of Mr. Sergei’s ultratestosterone Padawan.

Who was out there who would
sympathize
with her? Not accuse or question?

As she dialed, a police car sped by a hundred feet below her, its siren howling. Chloe turned to watch, but it didn’t stop.

“Chloe!” Amy chirped on the other end. “What’s up?”

“Remember Sergei? The old guy who was trading insults with the other old guy at the Presidio …?”

“The leader of your Pride, yeah,” her friend answered. Sounding smug that she knew all that.

“He’s dead. Killed by that assassin who tried to kill me on the bridge.”

“Oh my God!”

“But he was actually trying to have
me
killed by the Rogue; it was kind of a setup—”

“Holy shit,” Amy interrupted. “What are you going to do?”

“I think …” Chloe thought about it. She had no desire to go over to Firebird immediately; it was probably a mess. And in the interest of full disclosure—since she was probably going to see it on the news anyway—it was probably best to come clean to her mother. “I think I’m actually going to go home. If anything weird is going to happen, I want to be able to protect her.”

“Good thinking. Paul and I will go over, too. We might as well be all together since everyone already knows about us.”

“I—okay, yeah, good idea.”

“Absolutely. See you in a little while.”

And now the last call. It was even set for speed dial.

“Hello?”

“Alyec.” She took a deep breath. “Sergei’s dead. The Rogue killed him.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m going home to make sure Mom’s okay and everything. Don’t know
what’s
going to happen next.”

“Do you need me? I’m kind of in the middle of band practice—but I’ll drop everything and come if you want. …”

“No.” Chloe smiled and shook her head, forgetting he couldn’t see it. “I’m fine. Call me when you’re out.”

“Okay. Be safe, Chloe.”

“I will.”

Chloe clicked her phone off and shoved it back in her pocket. When she first was hunted by the Rogue and had developed her powers, she always took circuitous routes home to confuse anyone who might be following her. Since her mom’s kidnapping it was obvious that
everyone
knew where she lived—now it was just important that she get there first. She took one last long look around, enjoying the view and the moment’s respite from the horrors of what was to come next.

Then she leapt down to the rooftop and hurried home through alleys and back ways, invisible to everyone—including the police.

When she heard her mom jingling her keys at the door, she opened it but forgot to retract her claws and Anna started at the sight. Chloe had spent the hour before her mom got home from work patrolling the house, making sure the windows and doors were locked, and listening for the sounds of an intruder. Amy sat in front of the TV, flipping between
CNN Headline News
and local channels (and reruns of
Invader Zim).
Paul wasn’t there yet.

“Not dipping into the catnip, are you?” Anna King asked a little nervously as she came in and put her attaché case on the counter.

“Not exactly,” Chloe said with a wry smile.

“Hey—it’s on again!” Amy called from the couch.

Mother and daughter moved farther into the living room. A grim-faced young newsman talked while the words
Local Businessman Murdered
lit up the corner of the screen in red, yellow, and blue.

“Local real estate magnate Sergei Shaddar was found dead today in an abandoned theater. Connie Brammeier in Inner Sunset has the story.”

The camera switched to a female reporter, younger and serious, on the scene. Things were going on behind her, but it was hard to tell what exactly. There were policemen, a tired-looking detective who frowned over her clipboard, and flashes going off.

“Earlier today police were alerted by a local about suspicious activity in the condemned building. Inside they found the body of Sergei Shaddar, owner of Firebird Properties LLC, gruesomely—and possibly ritually—covered in stab wounds.”

“Covered? There was only one,” Chloe said before she stopped herself.

“… his throat also cut. Whether this was some sort of gang-related activity or a random attack remains unknown. Shaddar was a reclusive but popular businessman who donated ten thousand dollars every Christmas to local charities.”

That’s news to me,
Chloe thought. Like inverse variables and people who liked Avril Lavigne, it was hard to wrap her mind around someone who was so absolutely evil—
and
gave to the poor.

“Investigators say there is no trace of the two suspects who fled the scene, but police are looking into it. Anyone with information on this crime is encouraged to call the number at the bottom of the screen. All tips are kept anonymous. Bob?”

“Why do I get the feeling that one of the ’suspects’ is
you,
Chloe?” her mom asked in what was dangerously close to a growl. Amy turned down the volume.

Chloe took a deep breath. “Sergei told me to meet him at that theater because he had information on Dad.” Her mom’s eyes widened. “He was setting me up to be killed by the Rogue, who was also there waiting for me.”

“I thought that person—the Rogue—fell from the bridge,” her mother said slowly.

“Two percent of suicides survive the fall every year,” Amy said, not tearing her eyes from the television.

“Anyway, he’s still alive,” Chloe continued as her mom frowned. “He and Sergei were working together to kill any potential ’Chosen Ones’—for different reasons, obviously. They’re the ones who killed my biological sister a few months ago. But the Rogue turned on Sergei and killed him before attacking me—just another Mai he wanted dead.”

Anna King looked at her daughter for a long moment, unblinking, just like Kim. Her eyes were much harder and flintier than the cat girl’s, and her blond hair wasn’t as wispy as she usually kept it. When she finally spoke, it was as calmly as Igor.

“That’s it. We’re moving.”

Chloe had to replay what she said several times before accepting it.

“What?”

“We’re moving. San Francisco is way too dangerous. It’s ridiculous.” Anna King took her glasses off and turned away, getting a notepad. “I shouldn’t have any trouble finding a job in Seattle or New York. …”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Chloe followed her around. Amy sort of wilted back onto the couch, just peeping over the top.

“In the last few months, there have been
two
attempts on your life.” Her mother ticked things off on her fingers.
“I’ve
been held hostage,
you’ve
been basically held hostage, I have personally witnessed a gang war, no matter what you want to call it.”

“We can’t just run away—the Mai have looked for me for so long—they won’t just give up. And the Rogue will, too!” Chloe protested.

“Then we’ll go into hiding. I’ll tell the authorities about what happened to me and we’ll go into a federal protection something or other. Start over. I don’t care.”

“I can’t just
leave
everyone!” Chloe wailed, wishing she sounded less teenage-y.

“And
I
can’t just let you die!” her mother shouted back. Her eyes blazed; her jaw was set with frustration.

Suddenly Chloe understood. Her mom felt helpless that she couldn’t protect her daughter. She felt ignorant and left out; her daughter’s life was suddenly flooded with ancient cults and mythological races and Anna was angry because she had no control. And that was one thing she treasured more than almost anything else.

Of course, the whole situation really
was
out of control: Sergei was dead, the Rogue was still on the loose, Brian was probably still on the Order’s hit list, the Mai were leaderless and lost, and, Chloe slowly realized, there was only one person who could fix it.

She squared her shoulders and kept her voice calm. “Mom, I know this is all upsetting, but running away really won’t fix anything. The Mai can track me like bloodhounds. And … I
can’t
leave them. I’m their only leader now.” When her mom opened her mouth, Chloe gently cut her off.
“You
saw me die and rise from the dead. You see my claws. This isn’t just a high-school varsity club or something—this is serious. And I’m the only one who can stop this cycle of violence,” Chloe found herself saying.
Wow, do I really believe that?
When she thought about it, she realized it
wasn’t
a “belief”; it was a truth. She
had
to be the one who stopped it. Or else it would keep on going. Forever.