Darkyn - Incarnatio Part 3

Chapter Four.

On the fourth floor of the Coral Palm Weekly Rentals building, an alarm clock went off. A thin hand knocked over a smeared bottle with an inch of cheap wine in the bottom as it groped for the off b.u.t.ton, disturbing two c.o.c.kroaches and an overflowing tin ashtray.

Once she'd shut off the G.o.dd.a.m.n noise, Alisa crawled out of the frayed, torn coc.o.o.n of bed sheets and tottered her way across the scuffed linoleum to the bathroom. There she reached under the sink for the bottle taped to the back of the pipe, and shook out the contents into her palm. Three white oval pills were all that tumbled out, even after she banged the empty bottle against the sink.

By her count, she should have had at least six left. Her f.u.c.king source had shorted her again.

She popped the last of her stash, bending over to get a mouthful of water from the tap to help them go down. Three were just enough to take the edge off and get her a.s.s in gear. As she straightened, the bulb over the mirror illuminated the wide white and gray stripes on either side of the part in her hair. Four inches of her real hair color couldn't have grown out since her last dye job; the stupid hairdresser must have used a temporary color last time instead of the permanent stuff. She didn't have a wig, but after fumbling a bit she was able to hide the worst of it by drawing it back in a loose ponytail.

"Go see that b.i.t.c.h tomorrow," she promised her reflection. "Make her do it again the right way."

She peed before she searched through the clothes scattered around the floor for something she could wear for her nooner.

She hated getting up this early, especially after working until sunup, but one of her regulars had called in and wanted her at his office downtown. He was only a half-mile from her source, the stingy c.o.c.ksucker, who had put her on COD since September.

She could give up the Vicodin anytime; that wasn't a problem. The synthetic s.h.i.+t was always easier to kick than real morphine. But Christmas was next week, and she'd promised herself a little wine-and-vike vacation for the holidays. As soon as January first rolled around, she'd wean herself off, go after some better trade and start saving for a new place. This rent-by-week dive had gotten old, fast. The manager, a skinny redneck named George, snapped at her when she came downstairs. "Where's my money, Red?"

Alisa kept walking, so of course he trotted after her so he could cut her off and get in her face. "I'm going to pick up my paycheck now," she told him. "I'll give you what I owe when I get back."

He sneered. "Wh.o.r.es don't get no paycheck."

"Some guys want me for a party," she lied. "That all right with you, or you want me to wave a magic wand and make the cash appear?"

"Don't you get fresh-mouthed with me." He shoved her back a step. "You owe me for three weeks. I want the money."

"I'm sorry, okay?" She gave his raw-boned arm a half-hearted rub. "We can work it out, George, huh? Like always."

"You can't even suck d.i.c.k worth a d.a.m.n anymore," he told her. "I want the money, tonight, or I'm tossing you and your s.h.i.+t out."

He'd never turned her down before this. Alisa felt her throat tighten, but then remembered the young s.k.a.n.k who'd just moved in with her kid last week. That made sense he was probably getting it day and night off her. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

If she'd had enough cash for a taxi she would have flagged one, but the downtown buses ran every half hour and that was all she could afford until her nooner settled the tab. It made her a few minutes late getting to his building, but it would do him good to wait. He always worked himself up while he did, and since she hadn't done him in a month or two, he'd be primed.

Larry met her in the lobby as usual, but after staring at her for a minute he turned her around and walked her back out of the building.

"We going to a motel?" she asked him.

"You can't come here looking like this," he said, his jowls waggling.

"What's wrong with how I look?" Her dress needed ironing, sure, and she'd forgotten to put on stockings, but he was acting like she was naked.

"Jesus Christ, Alisa. You look like a frigging skeleton." He lifted her arm to show her where his fingers overlapped around her wrist. "When was the last time you ate something?"

She couldn't remember, but that didn't matter. "You know a lady can never be too rich or too thin."

"You're not a lady, and you smell like you haven't had a shower in a week." He stopped and took out his wallet.

"Here." He thrust a twenty in her hand. "Thanks for coming by."

"Wait a minute." She hurried after him. "Our arrangement is two hundred."

He wouldn't look at her. "That was when you were worth it. Maybe you should check into some rehab place. Get some intervention or whatever they call it."

"I am not a junkie," she screamed at him. When he didn't answer her, she trotted after him. "Okay, okay, Lar, I'm sorry.

I've had hard times lately, and I got up late this morning. I'll go to the ladies and clean up." He wouldn't stop walking. "I'll do whatever you want. You wanted to try a.n.a.l with me on your secretary's desk, didn't you? We'll do that."

At the door he turned on her. "Don't come around here again, or I'll call the police on you."

Alisa stood outside the gla.s.s doors and watched his fat a.s.s twitch as he waddled away. She was tempted to go after him again twenty bucks wouldn't buy her s.h.i.+t, and he was married with a couple of kids but there was no time for that. She could already feel the edge coming back, and if she didn't turn over some fast cash, by tonight she'd have the sweats and the shakes.

She hadn't turned tricks on the street since she was a kid, but it was a short walk down to the beach. Too d.a.m.n early for serious trade, of course, but there were always tourists looking for a cheap f.u.c.k.

Once she found a stretch of sidewalk not being worked by one of the regular street girls, she unb.u.t.toned the front of her dress down to her sunken waist and slowed her pace to a seductive saunter. She'd always been good with the street trade, cheap p.r.i.c.ks that they were. Guys who cruised the beach liked skinny redheads who could suck hard. Today they must have been down in Miami, she thought after an hour with no takers. The only drivers who braked gave her a look and then took off. After another wasted hour she moved further south, but soon discovered that this end of the beach was almost deserted. Alisa sat down on the edge of a short driveway wall in front of an abandoned building and swiped her hand over her sweating face. All she needed was another fifty bucks. That would get her twenty Vikes, enough to take care of her for the night.

She'd give George some jewelry to hold as security until she made enough to pay the rent. She was almost sure she still had that strand of real pearls one of her johns bought so she could shove it up his a.s.s. All she needed was fifty. Two tricks, maybe three.

A young, dark-haired wh.o.r.e in a sparkling red c.o.c.ktail dress came from behind Alisa and sat down beside her.

"I'm working this end of the strip, kid," she told her, but the girl only looked at her with her big dark eyes. "Get lost."

The girl reached out and brushed a trickle of sweat from Alisa's cheek. Normally she would have knocked the kid on her a.s.s for daring to touch her, but Alisa didn't feel so good now.

"I'm sick," she complained as she turned her head away. "I need my pills but I don't have enough money to pay for them." She took out her cigarettes, lit two and pa.s.sed one to the girl. "You got any cash? I'm good for it."

The girl took a drag, released the smoke and smiled.

What do you want?

Alisa could have sworn she didn't hear the girl speak, but the words echoed inside her head, bouncing back and forth like the throb of the vicious headache she'd gotten from all the walking.

"I want my pills." She jumped as the girl took hold of her arm, but the cool hand felt good on her feverish skin. "I need money. You got any cash I can-"

What do you want? The voice asked again, and this time Alisa was looking straight at the girl, and saw that her lips didn't move.

Some animal instinct inside her told her to get up and run, but other feelings welled up and quickly smothered the panic.

"I want to forget," she heard herself say. "The money. The booze and the drugs. All the things I've done for them. I can't stand it anymore."

The girl touched the side of her neck, running her fingers over the tiny twin scars there. At the same time, the voice in her head asked Do you remember who gave these to you?

"The best trick I ever had," Alisa said, and sighed. "He had a thing for biting me. And he dumped me for a cop, if you can believe that."

If you tell me what you know, I will give you what you want.

Alisa felt a confusing sense of relief. She didn't mean pills, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. "You want to know about Lucan?"

Yes. The girl leaned forward and gave her a soft, sweet kiss before taking her by the hand. Come inside and tell me everything.

During his human life, Jamys had taught to track and hunt game by his uncle, Gabriel Seran. Gabriel had taken him into the forests of Provence, and shown him how to use his senses and his intuition, and think like the creatures they pursued. In a few years Jamys had become so adept that he brought meat to his family's table every time he returned from the hunt.

"Honor the hunt and take down only what you need," Gabriel had cautioned him. "To kill for pleasure wastes what G.o.d provides and defiles your talent."

That talent had changed after he and Gabriel had risen to walk the night. While he and his uncle had been given other abilities, both of their senses had also been enhanced, become almost painfully acute. Whether G.o.d had cursed them, or they had been infected and altered by what Alexandra Keller called the Kyn pathogen, Jamys and his uncle remained two of the best hunters among their kind.

Tonight Jamys set out to find the nameless Kyn who had desecrated the helpless dead, and cast doubts over his own reasons for coming to Lucan's territory but first he had to deal with Lucan's seneschal, Rafael, who had been tracking him since he'd left Infusion.

Kyn scent was nearly impossible to erase, but Jamys knew how the Kyn tracked each other, and began his ruse by doubling back over his own steps in order to confuse the direction of his path. After retracing his steps several times, he ducked into an alley that stank from mortals using it to relieve themselves, where he deliberately walked through the two standing puddles of urine. From there he jumped up onto a third-floor fire escape, where he opened the window and shed enough scent to make Rafael believe he had entered that room.

Again he leapt to a window ledge in the opposite building to do the same there, then to the fifth floor of the first, and continued to leap back and forth and mark each landing until he reached the roof, where the wind coming from the ocean blew steadily. He didn't walk across the flat tarred roof panels, but jumped from the building's edge to the top of a cooling tower, then from there to the roof of the next building.

It took jumps to and from six other buildings, but by the time he had finished he felt sure that the wind had scoured away most of the scent he had left behind in the air. By the time Rafael finished searching the rooms in the buildings where he had left his scent and moved onto the roof, Jamys felt sure even the slightest trace of his scent would be gone.

Once he climbed back down to the street, he hailed a cab and had the driver take him to the bistro where Samantha had found the dead mortal. He didn't make the mistake of trying to enter the restaurant leaving any scent trace there would only reinforce the lady's belief in his involvement, but had the driver stop a block away. As soon as he paid and got out of the taxi, he realized two things: he couldn't smell any trace of Kyn scent but what Samantha and Rafael had left behind, and this was the same spot where he had seen the beautiful female who had tried to approach him.

Jamys went to stand where the girl had, and crouched down beside the postal box she had touched. Many, faint mortal scents clung to the painted metal, but one stood out, strong and distinct, a mixture of a single female's musk mingling with several males' seed. There was also something else in the scent, something that he didn't expect the bitter, metallic aroma of very old blood.

Jamys breathed in to fix the complex scent in his head, and turned until he picked up the trace. It did not lead toward the restaurant; from here the girl had abruptly changed direction and walked south.

"You know if they find you down here," a wry voice said, "they're going to think you did it."

Jamys turned to see Chris parked at the curb in a much smaller car than the one she had driven from the train station.

"Don't look so surprised," she added as she leaned over to open the pa.s.senger door. "If someone accused me of doing something this nasty, the first thing I'd do is prove that I didn't. Get in." He would have to send her away, and climbed into the car to do so. Before he touched her, however, she held up one hand.

"Don't try to shazam me and send me home," she said. "I'm not here because of Sam or Luc. I'm here for you."

He set his jaw and stared through the winds.h.i.+eld.

"You think you don't need help, fine. But I've got wheels, I know the beach, and I'm the only person who knows for real that you're innocent." She nudged him with her elbow. "How hard would it be to think of me as your tresora for the night?"

He took hold of her wrist. The one who did this is dangerous.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I work for the most dangerous lord in these parts." She watched his face. "Tell you what. I'll stay in the car and drive you where you need to go. I won't even get out."

He needed to return to the walkway, where the scent trail was strongest. But as he opened the car door, he knew she would simply follow him. To protect her, he would have to compel her to leave him and forget everything she had seen but he couldn't bring himself to send her away. Back in the club, she had defended him. In this strange territory, she was the only friend he had.

"You think that girl in the red dress who stepped out in front of that cab is part of this, don't you?" she asked, startling him again. "I saw her when it happened; I just didn't make a big deal out of it because I know how you guys attract women. I think you're right, too. She was with a young guy in a retro suit. Sam said the dead guy was wearing the same thing."

Chris's eye for detail had made the connection between the girl and the victim, and that decided the matter for him. He closed the door.

"Which way did she go from here?" she asked. When Jamys pointed south, she said, "Okay. When you need me to stop, just put your hand on the dash, and I'll pull over." She put the car in drive and merged back into traffic.

Jamys opened the window and leaned out, letting the air wash over his face. It was more difficult to track from a moving vehicle, but not impossible, and the scent of the girl in the red dress was so unusual that he followed it easily. When the trace began to thin, he placed his hand on the dashboard and Chris pulled over. Beneath streetlights that weren't working, Jamys studied the tall building beyond the empty walkway. It appeared to be a hotel that had been closed; the lawns were a tangle of overgrown gra.s.s and weeds, the outside walls had been heavily painted with graffiti, and sheets of plywood had been nailed over the windows on the lower floors.

"That's the Sunset Sails." Chris told him. "I didn't know it was still here. It was supposed to be demolished over the summer."

Abandoned buildings made excellent hiding places for rogue Kyn. Jamys opened the car door but turned back to put his hand on the girl's shoulder. Keep your promise and remain in the car.

"You're not going in there alone," she told him. "You don't even have a knife on you."

I will not enter the building. I have but to see if she did.

Chris didn't look happy. "You better stay where I can see you, or I'm calling the boss."

As soon as Jamys stepped over the rusted chain stretched across the long drive, the fresh scents of other mortals bombarded him. He stood, breathing and sorting through them until he found the one he wanted. She had sat for a time on a wall to the right of the chain. Her scent led from there toward the abandoned building's front entrance.

Slowly he trailed the girl's scent, until he felt something else and stopped halfway to the hotel's doors.

The air around him pressed in, and unseen hands caressed his face. As he jerked back, he heard a laugh, and words in a low, guttural language, which suddenly changed to the ancient French he had spoken during his human life.

There is nothing you want here, dark one.

Jamys staggered back as the invisible hands slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. Both the hands and the voice belonged to a Kyn with a talent something like his. He could feel it, although his unseen attacker had much more power to draw on. They both might be able to speak through their minds, but the strange Kyn was using something else, a power unlike anything he'd encountered among his kind.

The girl in the red dress came walking down the drive, halting a few feet away from him. Run away now, the voice in his head commanded, and I will not send my children after you.

Who are you? Why have you come here? Jamys seized the girl's arm. Tell me.

Her dark eyes widened. "I'm Luce," she choked out. "My name is Luce."

Jamys realized that her speaking voice did not match the tone of the one in his mind in fact, that voice had gone silent.

Did you kill the man found in the restaurant?

"No. Heresabat did. The boy was almost all used up anyway." Tears spilled from her dark lashes. "It still has me and all the others."

How does he use you? How is he controlling you?

"Heresabat takes our blood and our strength. It keeps it young. It traps us inside and uses us. I can't fight it."

The girl spoke of the Kyn as an it, not a he. Jamys had the feeling it was not because to the girl the Kyn seemed like a monster. Is Heresabat a male or a female?

"I can't tell." She staggered a little as his talent began to affect her balance. "You have to help us. It won't-" she stopped as soon as he took his hand away from her, and the fear disappeared from her face. Without another word she pulled out a copper dagger and slashed at his face.

Jamys turned just in time to save his eyes, and felt the burn of the blade slice through his scalp. As he brought up his arms to protect his face, someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him around.

"Come on." Chris wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him away from Luce. Jamys picked her up, holding her against his chest as he ran for the car. He didn't look back until he pushed Chris inside, but as he turned to face Luce he saw dozens of other humans had joined her on the driveway, and more were pouring out of the front of the hotel. Most were dressed in red jackets, dresses or pants, which for a moment made Jamys think of the enormous crowd of customer representatives used in commercials and advertising by a popular mobile phone company.

"Get in here." Chris slid over to the wheel. "Hurry." He climbed in, and she took off before he could close the door.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" she panted as she glanced back. "Why did she cut you? Are you okay?"