"Thanks," I said woodenly. I didn't even know myself if I meant it or not. Bracing a foot on the edge of my bed, I strapped on an ankle holster. "Want a gun? I have some extras."
"No, thank you. I'm happy with the weapons I already have."
I thought she meant her natural ones, fangs and uncanny agility, but when I looked up it was to see her holding a small but wicked-looking crossbow that had materialized from behind her. The weapon had been slung on her back with a tooled leather strap. It was an odd choice and I said so. "I thought that's what people used on vamps, not vice versa."
"True." She hefted it and sighted a distant spot on the wall. "But back in the day there tended to be so many lying about. Free. No self-respecting woman could pass up a bargain like that." Unsaid was that there were the same number of dead vampire hunters lying about as well. "Of course no one believes in us in this enlightened age and I now have to purchase them, but it's difficult to give up the familiar."
"Just don't puncture Goodfellow's ego with it," I said as I jerked the leg of my jeans down over the holster.
"I heard that," snapped Robin's voice from the living room. He then said in disbelief, "You did what?"
I assumed he wasn't talking to me with that last bit and I was right. When I entered the room, he was standing by the couch with his face shoved inches from Flay's. The wolf was sprawled on the cushions acid seemed unimpressed. "Over two hundred thousand dollars, you mangy cur. That tacky conglomeration of metal and plaid costs over two hundred thousand dollars, and I am not eating that wad of cash."
Flay gave an exaggerated yawn. "For Slay."
"Yes, I heard you the first time, and while I appreciate your desire for a playpen on wheels, I'm not footing the bill. Now where is the hrithia RV?" Goodfellow might have believed English among the best languages to curse in, but he made Greek sound nasty enough in its own right.
About equally as nasty as the growl spilling from Flay. "For Slay. For son."
I had thought all along that Flay was showing a remarkable equanimity regarding his son's kidnapping, and Caleb had had the kid for weeks longer than George. But it seemed that the wolf was simply good at hiding his pain. He was leaking emotion now, though. There were serious contents under pressure and they were about to explode all over Goodfellow.
"Children, let us save our violence for someone more deserving." Niko's hand fastened on Robin's shoulder and steered him firmly away.
"I always have more than enough violence to share," the puck informed us haughtily, but he allowed himself to be ushered off. He was still limping, but his leg had improved enough that he was going with us. Not that he didn't bitch and moan and profess undying cowardice. He did… at great length. We paid no attention. It was just the Goodfellow way. In a fashion, it was calming. I wouldn't say it compared to a lullaby or anything, but it was dependable. And in the knife-edged world we lived in, the dependable could be reassuring, soothing.
It didn't last. The bitching did—there was an infinite supply of that. But by the time we pulled up blocks away from Moonshine, I wasn't in the mood to be soothed by anything or anyone. We'd driven past the werewolf club once and it was dark. We'd thought that there would be a crowd for Caleb to use against us, but the place appeared to be closed. Not surprisingly, I wasn't reassured. I tightened my grip on my knife. I'd unsheathed it the second we'd gotten in the van and hadn't turned loose of it yet. The van itself was the same one Robin had obtained for us previously, wolf dents and all. From behind the wheel, he'd given Flay a glare that burned with the searing power of a green-tin ted laser. "In case you get any ideas, you leg-humping thief," he'd offered between clenched teeth, "there's a LoJack on this one. Drive all you want. I'll find you." I was beginning to think Goodfellow was more annoyed that someone dared steal from him, he who considered himself the ultimate thief, than at the actual loss of goods.
After we parked, I was the last one out of the van. From the curious quirk of white eyebrows, I could tell that Flay had thought I would be the first… or, at the very least, fighting him for the honor. Sorry, Snowball, think again. In my mind, good things didn't come to those who waited. No, I was more of the opinion that bad things couldn't find you if you didn't show up. Stupid and impractical, but for a second I embraced the theory. Maybe, deep down, you wanted them over, those things couched in bad expectations, but what would happen when expectations became reality? Caleb needed George alive, but who was to say what he might do if his back was to the wall? I had hundreds of guesses and not one of them was pleasant.
I didn't want to face the way this might go. I wasn't too sure how long my little trip to denial land would last then. All that great, fun-time counterfeit calm that surrounded me might give up the ghost. No one wanted to be around when that happened—most especially me.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out onto the asphalt. One step and it felt like jumping from a plane with only the spit-handshake promise of a parachute. "Let's go."
On the phone to Niko, Caleb hadn't bothered to tell him to come alone. He was too wily for that, knew it wasn't going to happen no matter what lies we told him. That combined with the closed club didn't bode well. Caleb was a confident son of a bitch behind that literal shark grin, but he had the right to be. He'd turned Flay into a lapdog and had manipulated us from the beginning. Neither of those were particularly easy tasks, but he sure as hell made them look that way. Just because the club looked empty didn't mean it was. Even if he didn't know we'd found out what the crown could do, he would know we weren't leaving without George and Flay's kid.
It was too bad he was somehow watching us so closely. It would've been nice to have Flay held in reserve… As it was now, we had to hope Flay didn't find his kid in the first two seconds and leave us in the lurch. And he'd probably take the van with him, LoJack or no.
Promise took out the streetlights ahead of us as we moved. There would be the subdued twang of the crossbow, followed immediately by an explosive pop and the bell song of falling glass. It didn't make it dark. In the city, nothing could do that, not a true darkness. But it did spread the shadows and we disappeared into them. By the time we reached the club no one could've seen us coming. Smelled us, yeah, if that's the way you were built. Heard us? Possible, but not as likely. Seen us? No. Not even pale Flay, who was dressed in all black including a jacket with a hood pulled down low over his face. We were all good at hiding. Training, genetics, the skills of a hunter, the habits of a thief—whatever the reason, we knew our way around the night.
Niko was going in the front carrying the crown. Flay and Promise were in the alley and Goodfellow and I were taking the back. Before I slithered off, my brother barred my path with his sword. Designed for night combat, the blade was coated black and I felt it rather than saw it. The flat of it rapped my shins smartly, halting me in my tracks. I had only the shine of his eyes to zero in on. The olive skin didn't show and the lighter hair was covered by his own hood.
"Do not do anything stupid," came the warning, so faint it could only hope to grow up to be a whisper.
Easier said than done, but I nodded and reached over his shoulder to tap him on the shoulder blade. He got the message instantly. Watch your back. I felt the familiar tug on my ponytail as his agreement and then he melted away. If anyone needed to watch his back, it was Caleb. Given the faintest of opportunities, Niko would cut him down like wheat. I only hoped I got to see it.
In the back Goodfellow had already jimmied a window. There was no alarm system that I could see, but if there were one, Robin would have handled it and probably without breaking stride. He disappeared inside and I followed on his heels. I slid through and carefully placed feet on what felt like the surface of a desk. It was darker in here than outside and I relied on my sense of touch to find my way to the floor. I didn't bother to try to catch the scent of anything. The place was so soaked with alcohol and the imprint of thousands of different creatures over time that there was no way to pick out one. Maybe Flay could—a wolf's nose was more discerning than mine—but if Caleb was here, I couldn't tell.