She hung up and tucked the phone away. “Ira is alive and he’s here.”
“Good thing,” Paige said. “Especially since I wasn’t about to make the drive back empty-handed.”
“Sophie and our clan are the ones who are at risk. We’re supposed to get the permission of at least two other clans before bringing anyone to this place. Considering you are Skinners, we probably would have needed agreement from all of the clans to avoid any problems.”
Cole turned away from the continuous loop of trees flashing past his window. “We still don’t even know where here is.”
“You wanted to see Chuna.” Using a short sweeping motion with one hand to encompass everything in front of them, Nadya said, “Chuna is here.”
“What is Chuna?” Paige asked. “Nobody will say anything other than he’s the one who has a direct connection to the Torva’ox. Is he one of your blacksmiths? Is he even a he?”
“Not blacksmith,” Milosh grunted from the passenger seat. “Chokesari.”
“You were so much better when you were asleep.”
“How can I sleep when you keep talking about one of the most sacred members of the Amriany like they put shoes on horses?”
“So anyway,” Cole said, “the nymphs talked about Chuna as if he was more than just a choke-a-sarry.”
Milosh wanted to correct his pronunciation but didn’t. Cole figured he was close enough or the Amriany was just tired of griping.
“Chuna is a spirit of the earth,” Nadya explained. “Some call him a demon. And no,” she said to Paige, “I’m not sure if Chuna is really a he or she. What I do know is that he is very old. Older than humans. Older than Full Bloods. The only thing older than Chuna and the others of his kind may be the Torva’ox itself.”
“What’s the connection between the choke . . .” Knowing he couldn’t pull off the pronunciation without making it sound like a bad Bela Lugosi impersonation, Cole switched gears by saying, “Between Ira and Chuna?”
“Ira’s craft requires him to be close to the Torva’ox,” Nadya replied. “To forge things like the Jekhibar or even a Blood Blade, he must use what Chuna has left behind.”
“Gross,” Paige muttered. “And you call Skinners savages for putting blood into our mixtures?”
“That’s fair enough,” Nadya said. “But you should know that the first to break away from the clans and make the voyage to the New World, the first who would become Skinners, were fluent in this craft as well. It’s how they got started in putting these things to use. And it’s not as gross as using blood or wearing skins with flesh still attached.”
Milosh sat up and adjusted his seat, abandoning all hope of drifting back into sleep. “And not nearly as savage as swinging sticks embedded with teeth and claws.”
After scolding him with a short-lived glare, Nadya slowed down so she could follow the vehicle in front of her onto an even rougher stretch of ruts worn into the cold dirt. “In recent years, Chuna has become angry. Impatient. Still, Chuna knows where the Torva’ox flows, and when it flows close to buried metals or certain kinds of stone, a skilled Chokesari can use those in his craft. A Chokesari must know where to find Chuna. Since the Vitsaruuv were sent after him, the closer to Chuna he goes, the safer Ira would be. The Weshruuv keep their distance from Chuna’s kind.”
“But you guys have a working relationship?” Paige asked.
“No. We keep our distance as well. But this is an extreme circumstance for all of us. After what the Weshruuv did during the last Breaking Moon, I have a feeling Chuna will not mind helping us extract some form of payback.”
They drove for another half hour before the ruts simply wandered into the forest as if the grooves in the ground had grown sick of running side by side. The Amriany parked and climbed out of the SUVs. After emerging from the second vehicle, Waggoner looked over and received a reassuring nod from Paige. It was going to be a long hike, so each person only took what they could carry on their back.
Cole wondered if Daniels was making any progress. He hadn’t been able to connect to a network for some time. The Amriany’s phones held out a bit longer, but even they’d become nothing more than glorified clocks. With no modern conveniences to distract him, he carried his gear as well as all the thoughts racing through his head into the woods. It was tough to decide which was heavier.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Schaumberg, Illinois
The Nymar had torn through the entire building. Guided by Steph via cell phone, Tara led the group of shooters from the top to the bottom of the structure. Even though the Half Breeds hadn’t hit the Chicago suburb as badly as other places, people still barricaded themselves into their homes behind multiple levels of chains, dead bolts, and bars set directly into the floor. Because of that, when the vampires started pounding on doors, they had a tough time getting in. Half an hour later the cops arrived and were promptly ripped apart by Tara and her crew. It would be a while before they were missed, and even then it was a safe bet that nobody would look any further than the werewolves to explain their disappearance. Yet another advantage of life after the apocalypse.
“So,” Steph said when she got the call from Tara, “did you find the bald little jerk?”
“Not yet. Are you sure you told us the right building?”
“Do I have to do everything for you?” Before the inevitable demand came, Steph added, “The address I gave you is on the first floor. Try the apartment directly over it. Sometimes we’ve seen him peeking out of that window too.”
“He’s friendly with the neighbors?”
“Either that or he just moved up a floor. It’s worth a shot, though. Just remember to leave whatever he’s working on in one piece. That stuff still belongs to me.”
Tara hung up and tucked the phone away. The building was a shambles. The parking lot was filled with empty cop cars that were spattered with blood from the people who’d driven them. Two Nymar had been killed in the fight as well, adding to the mess on the vehicles and pavement. One set of lights still flashed, but the radios were eerily silent, since gutting them had been the Nymar’s first move. The building’s front door had been torn from its hinges, along with two of the five doors on the first floor apartments. The door to one second floor apartment had been ripped off and was lying on the landing halfway between the first and second floors. Terrified voices could still be heard behind the doors that withstood the assault, but they quieted down as the remaining Nymar walked up the stairs.
Tara approached the apartment directly above the first floor address she’d been given. Of all the doors they couldn’t knock down, this was one that hadn’t even budged. Standing to the side to avoid any potential gunshots that might be fired through the door, she shouted, “I know you’re here, Daniels! I also know about your connection to the Skinners. Steph might have tolerated it before, but that’s over now. Hand over whatever you’ve got on them and we walk away.” After a few seconds of silence she added, “Make us work any harder to get in there and we’ll tear you apart and then search your place to find what we wanted anyway.”
Still no response.
“So far we’ve done this the easy way,” she went on. “Plenty of noise. Plenty of warning. Plenty of chances for you to see how serious I am. Even though you work with the Skinners, you’re one of us. Steph overlooked your transgressions because she was afraid of retaliation and you were useful. After the uprising, you stopped mattering and weren’t worth the effort of destroying. You matter again, but have no protectors. The Skinners abandoned you, which means you have no reason to protect them. Hand over your work and contact information so you can matter to the right people. What happened before the uprising is history. All that’s left is the future. Same for you as it is for the rest of us. Don’t throw yours away by maintaining loyalties to the losing side.”