Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

“Second, seven Therians were kidnapped from their homes, and it is confirmed that the wanted human Walter Thackery and several Lupa are involved. At least three more Lupa are currently at large in the city, and it’s possible there are more.” She paused, wetting her lips. “We have a working theory on how they’ve remained concealed from us for so long.”

They did find something out from the lawyer, and it wasn’t good. That much was evident in Astrid’s expression, and in the way Marcus stood a little straighter.

“Third,” she said, “is the threat these Lupa present to humans. No other Therian’s bite has proved harmful to humans in the past, but the Lupa is the exception, and its bite is still harmful now. One of ours is fighting for his life against this Lupa virus, so my warning to the humans here is this: do not let them bite you. As of now, there is no cure.

“Fourth, we know where to start looking for Thackery, the missing Therians, and all the half-Bloods we’ve been hunting these last two weeks.”

A murmur ran through the room. Apparently, this tidbit hadn’t yet made the rounds.

Baylor stepped forward, and attention shifted to him. “Reliable intel places our target along the Black River waterfront, roughly between West Chestnut Street and Cottage Place.” He touched the laptop’s keyboard, and a satellite image of that section of the river appeared. “Our research has narrowed that field down to three possible locations. First is the old Waylander Shipping Company building.”

He clicked again, and a photo of that particular site blinked onto the wall. It was a four-story white-walled cement block building, at least a hundred yards long and no telling how wide. It butted right up to the river, its visible wall dropping straight to the water below. A few remnants of the old pier remained. I mentally checked it off my list. Too stable; none of the rocking motion that Token had mentioned.

“Waylander’s size and location make it our most likely target,” Baylor continued. “It has a large parking lot around it, and no neighboring buildings currently in use. Second possibility, just north of Waylander’s, is Snyder’s Marina.” I perked up as he switched images. I knew that area, had hunted there a few times my first year in the Triads.

The Marina had been carved out of a natural curve in the river. It had eight piers, six slips each, and a boat-house anchoring it onshore. According to people who knew and cared about local history, it had been a busy place for locals who wanted to go out on the river to fish or simply putter around in their shiny new boats. Until about forty years ago, when pollution kept fish away from this length of the Black River and the Marina closed.

The current satellite image showed a boat boneyard—speedboats, small yachts, some pontoon boats, even a few fishing boats. Nothing seemed singularly large enough to house dozens of Halfies and a couple of kidnapped Therians.

“South of Waylander’s is the third possible target, the old Black River Ferry port.”

As soon as the photo appeared, a mental lightbulb went off in my mind. Until the Wharton Street Bridge was completed some sixty-odd years ago, the only way to cross the Black River from the north was via the ferry system. Three boats were in operation at its peak—two passenger and one freight. Each boat had three levels, excluding the upper deck and lower engine deck. The pier-level deck on the passenger boats held up to forty vehicles and up to five hundred foot passengers, all interior except for the aft and stern balconies. The freight ferry ran for about a decade after the passenger lines shut down, but now all three boats were permanently anchored at the old port. Someone tried briefly to turn the port into a museum, but the project quickly fizzled. One boat had been refurbished into a seafood restaurant for a couple of years, but nothing ever stuck because it was in the middle of a mostly abandoned industrial portion of the city that just didn’t draw the traffic needed to sustain any real business.

It was absolutely perfect.

“Daytime isn’t ideal for recon, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch,” Astrid said. “We’ll get as close as we can with surveillance equipment on land, but meanwhile I have some volunteers from the Pinnia Clan reconning by river.”

I glanced around the room, and sure enough most of the human faces wore the same question mark mine had to display. Baylor coughed softly.

Astrid puckered her lips, not thrilled with letting another bit of information slip out. “Their true forms are seals. They should be able to move undetected.”

Were-seals. Okeydokey. One more of the fourteen Clans whose name I finally knew. For as much as the Assembly preached cooperation, they still liked to keep some things to themselves.

“I want four teams prepped and ready to go in thirty minutes,” she continued. “Three are tactical advance teams, one outfitted and briefed for each specific target. The fourth team is backup for whoever strikes gold. Marcus will remain and run Operations here. Myself, Phineas, and Baylor will lead the three advance teams. Kismet will lead the backup team.

“Volunteers?”

Except for Rufus, everyone in the room had a hand up. A small niggle of pride warmed my chest to see humans and Therians coming together over this crisis—not something I ever expected to see just a few weeks ago.

Astrid’s mouth twitched. “Good. I’ll have team assignments in five minutes.”

I met Phin’s gaze from across the room, those bright blue eyes staring holes in my head. He mouthed the word “ferry.”

I nodded.

Time to get his family back.

The crowd broke up, most of them wandering out of Operations to wait in the hall. I cornered Baylor after the majority of them had left. “What did you get from the family lawyer?” I asked.

His intense frown soured even more. “Nothing Astrid wanted to share with everyone quite yet.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Zeigler’s estate was managed by Johnson and Crown, one of the oldest established law firms in the city. Only two partners, but they handle a lot of the wealthiest families, and their associates are hand-picked, usually with connections. Including the junior associate assigned upkeep on Zeigler’s house, who went over once a week to water the houseplants, monitor lawn care, and collect the mail. And apparently knew that seven teenage werewolves were living there, because that would be damned hard to miss.”

Wow. “Who is this guy?”

“Her name is Edwina Fair.”

“Seriously?” It was the most ridiculous name I’d ever heard. Okay, maybe not ever, but it definitely ranked.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t the reason why Baylor looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon, though. “And?”

He glanced at the few people lingering in the room, then plucked a folder off the conference table. Took out a glossy photo. “Meet Edwina Fair.” Handed it to me.

The first thing I saw was the sparkling blue eyes. Past the eyes, thick spirals of sunset red hair. A beautiful, toothy smile. A chill danced down my spine; gooseflesh crawled across the backs of my legs and shoulders. I knew this woman. I’d spoken to her several times, always in the guise of another.

Edwina Fair was the human avatar of Amalie, Queen of the sprites and leader of the Fey Council. She’d given refuge to me and Wyatt once. She’d opened her home to us, told us secrets about First Break and the doorway her people protected. She helped create the Triads ten years ago. She gave werewolves to Walter Thackery.

She was once our ally, and now we had indisputable proof that she’d been working against us the whole fucking time.

Our team was ready to go in twenty minutes. Destination: Black River Ferry port. Phineas, myself, Tybalt, Kyle, Shelby, and Paul Ryan on the assault team. I wasn’t sure how I felt about working with Paul again, but he’d been an asset earlier in the day when we found Jenner’s body. He was, despite my best efforts, growing on me. I tried to get Jackson into our group so he’d be there to fight for his mate, but Astrid overruled the request. I guess she didn’t want everyone who was personally involved on the same team.