Kelly Meding - Requiem for the Dead

Hunting was what I did best.

"Rip his fucking heart out," I said to Marcus in a harsh whisper purposely loud enough for Vale to hear.

Vale hissed at me. I flipped him the bird.

"Out," Elder Rojay said.

I stormed outside, falling easily into my role as the excluded human. This side of the Terminal Station faced west, putting me in shadow. It also faced the river. A cement dock jutted out into the water, covered by a tin awning. The aging, rusty ferry tied up on the south side of the dock was smaller than the other two ferries on the north. The first ferry was half in the water, its lower decks fully submerged. I imagined a few Halfie corpses were down there somewhere, slowly being eaten by fish and other bottom feeders. A little farther down, the second passenger ferry was listing sideways, as though it had sprung a leak.

If the order was to kill Tybalt the moment Vale lost, then the person holding him must be within watching distance, as well as have a line of sight into the Terminal Station. Given its construction and the solid wall that faced north, the listing passenger ferry was unlikely. The half-sunk ferry was a decent option, but the dock awning blocked a good portion of the view.

The biggest problem with them being on the ferries at all was timing. Unless Vale was already in Mercy's Lot, he couldn't have gotten Tybalt and his captor here before he arrived—maybe. He could have been counting on the stink of the river hiding any fresh scents of arrival from Marcus and Astrid.

My best bet was the other side of the Terminal Station.

The scream of two furious felines shook the glass panes behind me. I squinted through the grimy window. A hulking black jaguar body-slammed a gorgeous Bengal tiger, and the pair went flying. As much as I wanted to watch the battle, I had a friend to find.

I sneaked around the north side of the Terminal Station and crept to the corner so I could peer across the parking lot to the street that ran parallel to the river. It was sparsely traveled. The block east of the ferry port housed a line of abandoned stone buildings, probably factories at one time. Anyone watching would be looking with the rising sun on their back and have a pretty clear view of the interior of the Terminal Station. And Vale had used a sniper more than once.

Marcus would do his best to make the battle last, to wound Vale without killing him, so I had time to search. None of us wanted Tybalt to die; all of us wanted Vale to pay for his crimes. Marcus would gladly kill Vale for what he did to Milo, but Vale's crimes didn't end there—Baylor, the Lupa pups, the hit on Elder Dane. Tybalt would hate for Vale to go free in exchange for his life. He'd cite the needs of the many.

As much as I wanted my friend back, I agreed with him. I'd sacrificed myself for the "greater good" once because I had no other choice. Today I still had time.

I closed my eyes and felt for the Break. It snapped and flickered all around me. Loneliness was easy to find. I thought of Tybalt, alone and hurt, a pawn in a larger game, probably anticipating his own death. The Break grabbed me and I fell into it, shattering and flying. I focused on the roof of one of the buildings, imagined a gravel surface warmed by the morning sun, and I hurtled that way.

Pulled out of the Break. Came back together.

I hit my knees in the gravel, arms pinwheeling for balance before I went face-first into sharp stone. A persistent throb between my eyes thanked me for the distance traveled. I blinked around the roof, grateful to not find myself staring down the barrel of someone's gun. The sounds of the city and stink of the river seemed far away up here, six stories off the ground.

Keeping low, I crept to the south side of the building. The factory next door was quiet, empty, half the east wall collapsing inward in a heap of stone and brick. Not an ideal spot for hiding. I went to the other side to check out the stone building on the north. It was one story shorter, its angle more directly facing the Terminal Station.

A body dressed in brown to blend into the roof colors was crouched near the ledge, a sniper's rifle propped and aimed, at least forty feet from my position. All they had to do was look a few degrees to their left, and they'd see me. The rest of that roof was empty, except for the small shed that had to be stairwell access. No one else, no Tybalt.

I could take out the sniper easily from here with a bullet to the brain. The problem with that solution was if someone else was guarding Tybalt, the noise would alert them and anyone else Vale had lurking about. Teleporting over would leave me disoriented for a few seconds after I rematerialized, and if the sniper noticed before I righted myself, I was dead.

I glanced at the Terminal Station, wishing I knew how the battle was progressing. All I saw were vague shadows moving behind glass.

I had to chance getting down there. The roof was smooth cement, instead of gravel, which would cut down on the noise. I chose a spot on the side of the stairwell access opposite the sniper's position. Even if they heard me, they wouldn't be able to see me right away.

Teleport number two left me with an actual headache, as well as a little bit of dizziness. I hadn't eaten in twelve hours or slept decently in twenty-four. This was going to bite me in the ass in a big way later, but I had to chance it. I leaned against the metal shed wall, grateful I'd landed on the side with the door, and listened. No detectable movement from the sniper.

I pressed my ear to the metal door. Silence, as far as I could tell. I gripped the cool knob in my left hand, then pulled a gun with my right. Turned the knob a degree, then another. It didn't squeal or squeak. I twisted it a bit at a time until it would move no further.

Please.

I pulled the door by degrees, scared the hinges would squeak and alert the sniper. Far enough so I could release the knob. A little more gave me a space of six inches to peer into the gloomy stairwell.

And into a pair of familiar brown eyes that narrowed in suspicion before widening in surprise. I didn't have to shush him because duct tape covered his mouth. I opened the door enough to slip inside. His ankles were bound. His arms were likewise taped behind his back, right above the place where his left arm ended. I checked the stairwell quickly, but saw no one lurking. Knelt next to him and put the gun down long enough to peel the duct tape away from his mouth.

He made a disgusted noise, then whispered, "Autumn."

"We know. How many here?"

"Just her."

Well that evened the odds nicely. Time to take Autumn out, then get us back down to the Terminal Station so Marcus could kill Vale.

I slipped a serrated knife from my boot and reached behind Tybalt to cut his arms free. Pressed the blade to the tape. The stairwell got instantly brighter, and my stomach tightened with dread.

"Evy!"

Tybalt's warning came as my hair was brutally yanked from behind. My scalp was on fire. The knife slipped. I fell backward, stumbling in the direction my head was being pulled. Out into sunlight. I swung inward with the knife. It sank into flesh, and a woman screamed.

She shoved me into the ledge. My head cracked off solid stone, and I hit the cement roof like a sack of wet sand. My mind reeled, but I was very aware of the woman glaring down at me with a bloody knife in her hand.

Autumn.

"You shouldn't have done that, Evy," she snarled, then lunged.

Autumn was fucking strong . Intellectually, I knew that, because all Therians, in their human forms, are strong—stronger than the average human. I'm not the average human, and I've trained in hand-to-hand combat with were-cats, but the she-fox hadn't just had her brain scrambled by a brick wall.