Marcus Pelegrimas: Vampire Uprising

Cole sighed. Even though Paige wasn’t with him, he half expected to feel the swat of her hand against the back of his head. He hadn’t forgotten the other man was a professional bounty hunter, but he did allow Prophet’s more unusual talent to overshadow ones that had been honed through years of tracking people down the old-fashioned way.

They stood in a field ten miles south of Salem, New Jersey, and about an hour’s drive from Philadelphia. It was a calm stretch of flat land that was close enough to the Delaware River for them to catch a whiff of briny mist if the wind blew just right. Cole had picked the spot after riding in the passenger seat of a pickup truck that bottomed out with every bump it hit along County Highway 624. Since they’d stopped digging, the only sounds were the two men’s voices, the rustle of wind against tall grass, and the occasional rumble of engines from the highway. Despite their relative solitude, Cole lowered his voice when he said, “The journals are supposed to be a secret.”

“Then why mention them?” Prophet asked in a matching whisper. Straightening up, he motioned toward the pile of dirt under his boots and asked, “Why mention any of this to me? I’m not even a Skinner!”

“That’s why.”

Prophet’s dark brown eyes narrowed intently as he said, “Just because I help you guys every now and then doesn’t mean I come when I’m called.”

“You got here pretty quickly when I called.”

“Because you said it was important. I believe the exact words were ‘really, really’ important. You call burying some dead animal important?”

“You know Henry was more than just some animal.”

“Sure, I was there when he tore apart that little town in Wisconsin. You told me what he did since then. Hell, I think some of that Mind Singer garbage may have interfered with my dreams. They’ve been coming a lot easier since you two finally put Henry down for good. That doesn’t explain why you need my help burying him.”

“Fine,” Cole said. “What’s the standard Helping Me Move fee? Pizza and beer? I’ll buy.”

“Jesus. I wish I was taping this conversation. That way I’d have something to give to anyone who wonders why I refuse to join up with you guys. Hope you brought that useless touch-screen phone of yours because you’ll need it to call yourself a cab.”

Before Prophet could take more than a few steps away from the earthen mound, Cole said, “I made a promise to Henry that I would give him a proper burial. I couldn’t drag him out of that basement on my own and you’re the only one I trusted to help me.”

“And that’s because I’m not a Skinner?”

“Yeah. Another Skinner wouldn’t let that body out of their sight. They also wouldn’t have helped me distract all the out-of-towners who’ve come along to grab what they could after Paige, Rico, Daniels, and I did the hard work.”

Prophet couldn’t take his eyes away from the patch of overturned soil. “What the hell would they want that mess for? It’s damn near stripped of parts as is. We had to carry it out in pieces.” Just thinking about it caused something to rise at the back of his throat, but he pushed it back down again with a few well-timed swallows.

“Henry’s still a Full Blood,” Cole said. “There’s more that can be done to him. Trust me.”

“What about Paige? Can’t you trust her with a job like this?”

Cole knew that he and Paige had pulled each other through too much hell for him to say the first words that flew through his mind. Instead, he opted for others that were just as true. “She’s got her own problems right now.”

“And the vultures that have been coming and going through that basement?” Prophet asked. “What about them?”

“They’re Skinners too, but I’ve never met them and I doubt they’d be willing to part with the mother lode of all dead werewolves. I promised Henry a burial. That’s what I’m giving him. I can’t afford to lose what little sleep I get by being haunted by him.”

Prophet let out a wary sigh. “From what I heard of the Mind Singer’s voice, I don’t blame you one bit for not wanting any more of that shit. So that covers this job. What about the journals?”

“I didn’t distract you enough to forget about them, huh?”

“Nope. I also didn’t forget how you said they were supposed to be a secret. If Paige is your partner, maybe you should tell her.”

“I did. She’s the one who wanted me to read through them before anyone else. I’ve already transferred as many of his computer files as I could to my laptop. Took the whole hard drive.”

“And?”

“And,” Cole grumbled, “for a man who’s supposed to be old school in every sense of the phrase, Lancroft knew a whole lot about encrypting files. The journals were the first things I found, but there were other things too. Formulas for chemical compounds, techniques behind rune writing that verge on black magic—”

“Oooh,” Prophet hissed. “Don’t use the M word around Paige.”

Cole smiled as he shifted his eyes toward the general direction of Philadelphia. “She still insists those runes are a set of ‘complex rituals that tap into natural energies,’” he said while using the appropriately placed finger quotes. “Not magic in the slightest.”

“Guess I see what she’s saying there. When someone calls me a fortune-teller, I damn near wanna rip their head off.

Cheapens the craft, you know?”

“Call it whatever you want, there’s some scary stuff in that computer, and there’s got to be more I haven’t found yet.”

“Not to mention whatever’s squirreled away in that house,” Prophet said.

“Exactly. Ever since we put the word out that Lancroft was killed, the other Skinners have been coming out of the woodwork to loot that place.”

“Why’d you mention anything about it if you’re so worried about them?”

When Cole removed the shovel from where it had been stuck, he started walking toward a ridge that overlooked a stretch of peaceful terrain to the south. “Between the nymphs and all the folks who were infected by that flu, there’s too many out there who already knew something was going on. Someone would have done some digging and found out about the house in Philly eventually. As long as there’s an Internet, there’ll always be someone out there using it to dig stuff up that shouldn’t be found.”

“Kind of like those specs for Hammer Strike 2?”

Hearing someone from his new life make a reference back to his old one was jarring. It took a moment for it to sink in, and when it did, Cole still had to wonder if he’d heard the other man correctly.

Obviously enjoying the jolt he’d given Cole, Prophet laughed and swung his shovel over his shoulder. “I heard about it on a forum. Ever since you claimed to leave Digital Dreamers, I been keeping an eye on what comes out of there.”

“I didn’t just claim to leave. I was fired.”

“I saw your name attached to some smaller projects that are supposed to be in the works. Or was that more Internet bullshit?”

“Damn, you really have done your research.”

“Part of my day job is knowing what phone calls to make and which names to run searches on.”

Since the alternative was to try to deceive a man who was not only experienced at dealing with liars, but legitimately psychic to boot, Cole said, “It’s not bullshit. I’ve been knocked down to a minor consultant. Every now and then Jason will farm out some work to me. Jason’s my boss.”

“I figured.”

“Compared to what I used to do over there, I might as well be fired from Digital Dreamers. Hammer Strike and some of my other stuff is still doing well enough to earn royalties, so that sends a check my way every now and then.”