Carrie Vaughn: Kitty Steals the Show

I took a deep breath and still couldn’t smell Tyler.

We waited for what seemed a long time, but no guards appeared.

“Is it clear?” I asked.

Her eyes closed, Jill took a series of long, quiet breaths. “Two guys on the other side, I think. Human.”

“Armed with silver, no doubt,” Caleb muttered. “Door’s probably locked to boot. They’ll hear us coming no matter what.”

“There another way in?” I said.

“Other side,” Jill said. “But the SUV’s parked there. That door’s probably worse than this one.”

We still had no idea how many—or even what—we were facing here.

“I’ll go,” Cormac said, gathering himself to continue on.

“No,” Ben said.

I shook my head. “They’ll shoot you same as us.”

The hunter’s expression didn’t change. “We hit this door. I can give you maybe twenty seconds to get their guns away.”

“How?” Ben said.

“I’ll take care of it.”

I snorted. “Does Amelia have some hoopy spell for that?”

“ I have lock picks. Amelia has the distraction. Assuming the wolf is right about there only being two guys.”

Caleb said, “Can you really get the lock?”

“What is it, a dead bolt? I think so.”

“Then Warrick and I will get the guards. You two”—he pointed at Ben and me—“stay put, cover our backs.”

Cormac nodded. “When I give you the signal, cover your eyes.”

I reached. “Wait a minute—” But the three of them moved off, and Ben held me back. It made sense from a tactical standpoint. Caleb and Warrick were bigger, tougher, and no doubt way more experienced fighters than we were. I still felt like I should have been the one on the front line.

“What’s he got planned?” Jill whispered. She was just a puppy—couldn’t have been more than twenty. She crouched, balancing on one hand, bouncing a little. I swore I saw the ghosts of pointed ears prick forward with interest.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Cormac pulled lock-picking tools from his jacket pocket. I winced—I could hear the scraping from here. The guards on the other side of the door would be waiting for them. They were all dead. I almost ran over and told him to stop, that we would find another way, that Tyler wouldn’t want anybody—anybody else—dying for him.

“Tell me he knows what he’s doing,” I whispered to Ben, who just shook his head.

Then Cormac nodded to Caleb and Warrick, who turned their heads, shading their eyes.

It happened quickly: Cormac kicked open the door, raised his hand, and a blinding white light flashed before him, floodlight bright, filling the room inside. The two werewolves rushed in. The sounds of fighting, a few meaty smacks, were brief. Cormac lowered his hand, closed his fist, and the light faded.

He may have picked the lock, but that spotlight spell was Amelia’s. The guards may have been waiting for someone to kick in the door, but they certainly hadn’t expected to be blinded in the next second.

“Brilliant!” Jill said. No pun intended, surely.

When Cormac looked back and waved, the three of us moved up to join him.

A single work lamp hung in the back of the room, giving off just enough light to see comfortably. The room was small, maybe the size of a garage, and might have been used for storage once. A few empty cardboard boxes lay around the periphery, along with some crumpled packing paper. Two men, hulking guard types in black fatigues, lay writhing on the ground. One of them was already tied, hand to foot, arms wrenched behind him, with what looked like nylon cord. Caleb stood on the second one’s neck while Warrick trussed him up—the cord looked like it came from the guy’s own pockets, part of his own inventory. That had to hurt.

Their guns, mean-looking assault rifles, were tossed aside, against a far wall. Cormac eyed them thoughtfully.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ben said.

Inside, the smells were clearer. People had been moving in and out of the warehouse all day. I caught a trace of lycanthrope—wild, wolfish—as well as the chill that meant vampires had been here. One of Ned’s spies? Or an enemy? The guards from the front of the warehouse must have heard us. They ought to be pounding through any minute. So where were they? Step by soft step, I moved to the next door against the opposite wall.

“Kitty!” Cormac hissed, and I held back.

“Warrick, watch them,” Caleb said, pointing to the guns. The werewolf picked one up and held it on the two mercenaries, who stopped squirming in their effort to loosen their bonds.

Cormac studied the door, its handle, and the crack of light between the frame. “It’s not locked.”

Jill came close and took another of her long, quiet breaths. “Werewolf—maybe your man. He’s not alone.”

Great. The other guards weren’t storming us—they were waiting for us to come to them. The next room was well lit—Cormac’s trick with the flare wouldn’t work again. Maybe we could rush them. Without getting shot.

This was why I preferred talking my way out of dodgy situations.

“Everyone take cover,” Cormac said, hand on the handle ready to pull it open. The rest of us stood against the walls, waiting. I watched him take a breath, then another. Counting to three. Then he swung back, pulling open the door.

Nothing happened.

Inching forward, I reached the edge of the door frame and very carefully leaned around to look. Ben held my arm, as if he could yank me back when the gunfire started.

The next room was like this one—concrete, abandoned. In the middle of it crouched Tyler, fully conscious, muscles tensed, ready to spring. Another black-garbed guard lay crumpled in the corner, knocked out, a bruise marring his slack face.

“Tyler!” I said, falling into the room.

For a short moment, his lips pulled back in a snarl, and his eyes gleamed. Then recognition flashed.

“Kitty,” he said and heaved an exhausted sigh, and I skidded to my knees on the concrete floor. I touched his arm, brushed my hand over his nearly bald head, and let him take in my scent. Anxiety eased out of him, and he leaned into me.

“They miscalculated the dose,” he said. “I don’t think I was supposed to wake up yet.”

“Do you know who did this?”

“Private security, decently trained.” Tyler nodded a greeting to Ben and Cormac. Caleb and Jill fanned through the room, standing watch, covering the doorway we’d come through, looking forward to the next one, leading to yet another room.

“The ringleaders are in there,” Tyler said, tipping his head to the door.

“How many?” Cormac asked.

“Three, I think. Human and vampire. I haven’t seen them since I woke up, and my nose isn’t working too well.”

Once again, we braced for the inevitable battle that would come swarming through the door any moment. It didn’t happen. It kept not happening. I couldn’t even hear anything in the next room.

They, whoever had taken Tyler, knew they were busted. They were fleeing, and if we waited, we’d lose them. I walked straight for the door, stalking like Wolf had cornered her prey.

“Kitty—” Cormac called after me.

“At least stand back when you open the door,” Ben said, rushing to join me. He got to the door first, gripping the handle ahead of me. “Ready?”

I stood on the other side of the door frame and nodded. He turned the handle, yanked open the door, and got out of the way.

We waited for a few breaths, a handful of heartbeats, and I tried to catch a scent of what was waiting for us inside. No gunfire responded, so Ben and I eased around the door frame.

Dr. Paul Flemming stood against the far wall, looking just like he did four years ago: thin, mousy, bureaucratic, with a well-worn jacket over nondescript shirt and trousers.