“This way.” It was the Blonde who spoke, but as Jon walked out without argument—no use in fighting before he knew the lay of the land—he was certain it was Blue who was in charge. That woman had hips, serious shoulda-been-hot curves, but there was something off about the way she walked, the way she watched him.
In fact, there was something weird about both of them. Before they’d started walking, he’d looked straight into their faces and could have sworn that there was nothing looking back at him. Those eyes. Dead eyes. That’s what they were. They reminded him of the eyes he’d seen on some of the street girls, the ones that weren’t quite there anymore.
But that made no sense. These women were dressed like scientists, not street pros.
Then they turned a corner and he heard the screams. “Jesus,” he whispered. “That’s a little girl.”
No answer.
“What kind of monsters are you?” He’d meant to play this cool but fuck it, there was some stuff you didn’t do, not if you were human.
Blue glanced at him over her shoulder and he realized she wasn’t human, not by a long shot. “We’re the kind of monsters responsible for your nightmares.” Then she opened a door. “Come inside.”
CHAPTER 19
Clay nodded to the shopkeeper and jogged back to where Nate stood waiting by a lamppost. “Tally did a good job. That guy confirms he saw Jon. He remembers the kid.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Nate looked down at the holo-slide Talin had salvaged from her apartment. It bore a jagged crack down one side but was otherwise undamaged. “He’s even prettier than Dorian.”
It was true. The boy was male without question, but he was also good-looking enough to be on a catwalk. “Boy like that on the street—” Gut tight, he shoved a hand through his hair. “We could be looking in the wrong direction.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too, so I checked up on the gang tat.” Nate tapped at the spiderweb pattern on the boy’s neck, half-hidden by long white-blond hair. “The Crawlers aren’t some toy gang. If the kid survived in there, he’s got brains and balls. I can see him taking up a career as a bank robber but not as a pro selling his body.”
The angry disgust Clay felt was reflected in Nate’s face. To DarkRiver, children were everything. They would fight to the death to protect the cubs, but neither man was a romantic. As Clay knew from brutal experience, changelings, too, sometimes fell short. So did humans. Ironically, as Max had said, it was the cold, merciless Psy who appeared to take the best care of their children—aside from the forcible imposition of Silence. There were no Psy street kids, no Psy orphans, no Psy child prostitutes.
Clay looked down the street, at the teenagers he could see hanging out on the corner, all smirks and punk bravado when they should’ve been in school. “Never thought I’d say this, but the Psy are good at one thing.”
“Yeah,” Nate agreed, even as the teens gave them wary glances and began to disperse. “We never see their kids fucking around like this. But we never see anything the Council doesn’t want us to see. Maybe they simply erase their mistakes.”
“You’re probably right. Hell, they called Sascha a mistake.” And despite the fact that he preferred to keep his distance from Sascha and her too-perceptive gift, Clay knew she was something good, something worth bringing into this world.
“Yep.” Nate blew out a harsh breath. “Look, I’ll put out the word that we’re looking for Jon. We’ve built up a good network with the businesspeople around here.”
Clay nodded. The human and nonpredatory changeling shopkeepers helped DarkRiver in return for the pack’s protection against gangs. Over time, as DarkRiver had cleaned house to the extent that no major criminal networks operated in their territory, that relationship had evolved into one driven less by necessity and more by shared interests. “While you do that, I’m going Down Below.”
Nate made a face. “That place gives me the creeps. Have fun.”
Down Below was literally that. After a short delay caused by taking care of a persistent annoyance, Clay found a backstreet alley, lifted open an antiquated manhole cover, and dropped into the narrow passage that would lead him down into the shattered remains of the unused subway tunnels. A hundred and twenty years ago these tunnels, and the trains that utilized them, had been the height of technology. Then had come the seismic events of the late twentieth century, which in turn had led to innovation in safer methods of transportation. The city’s sleek, clear skyways had long since eclipsed the subways.
Coughing against the dirt, he pulled the manhole cover closed behind himself. It was a good thing he had the night vision of a cat because it was pitch-black down here. Tally would hate it, he thought. His leopard wasn’t too pleased, either.
As he made his way down and into the tunnels, he could hear the whispers of the Rats. They were scurrying away, leaving their leader to deal with the predator who had invaded their home. Clay knew he was in no danger of being attacked—DarkRiver kept an eye on the denizens of Down Below and, for the most part, the Rats were nothing more than human misfits who had made a ragtag pack of their own. The name—Rats—was a misnomer. Only three of the Down Below residents were actually changeling.
Now, one of those three stepped out of the darkness. “You don’t have permission to pass this way. Leave.” A flash of razor-sharp canines.
“Cut the theatrics, Teijan.” Clay folded his arms and leaned against the tunnel wall.
“Clay?” Teijan stepped closer. “I didn’t recognize you—your scent’s got human all over it.”
Rats had a superior sense of smell, so Clay didn’t doubt Teijan’s assessment. But it was a surprise. For a man to be branded that deep with a woman’s scent, it generally required a sexual relationship. But then again, he and Tally had belonged to each other since childhood. The leopard wasn’t fussed—it liked the idea of having her so close. “How’s your domain?”
Teijan’s near-black eyes darted away and back, an act that would have denoted deceit Above. In the tunnels it was a far more nuanced action. “Don’t you mean, ‘How’s the domain I keep on Lucas’s sufferance?’”
Clay shrugged. “Your status is transitory because you choose not to swear full allegiance to DarkRiver.” The world of predatory changelings was an unforgiving one. There were allies and enemies. Lines of gray were few and far between.
Teijan shifted his body in jerky movements reminiscent of his animal form. “You know why we’re hesitating— if we give full allegiance to DarkRiver, we become linked to the wolves through your blood bond with them. And both DarkRiver and SnowDancer have a way of pinning bit fat targets on their backs.”
“We don’t use nonpredatories or humans as cannon fodder,” Clay responded, sensing a change in Teijan’s previous stance.
“Rats aren’t exactly nonpredatory.” He bared his teeth.
“But you’re not strong enough to control San Francisco, even if you had a whole colony.” A simple fact dictated by the physical attributes of their different beasts and the natural food chain. “We’re locking this city down, Teijan. You have another four weeks to make your decision. Ally with us or leave.”
Before the devastating attack orchestrated by the Psy Council on another one of DarkRiver’s allies—a deer herd—the Rats had been too weak to bother with. Now they were a possible strength and a current weakness—the tunnels needed to be watched in case this cold war with the Psy escalated into a very real one. But unless the Rats swore allegiance, their word couldn’t be trusted.
“We ruled here before DarkRiver,” Teijan snapped.
“No, you cowered Below while Psy walked Above,” Clay returned, pitiless. “You’re no match for us.” A human might have read his words as a humiliation but changelings understood dominance.
“If,” Teijan now ventured, “we were to swear allegiance, we’d have to come to your aid if called? And to the wolves’?”
“Yes. We’d come to yours in turn.”
A pause. “A cat will protect a mouse?”
Clay grinned. “Unless the mouse tries to bite the cat.” Betrayal would not be tolerated.
The other changeling’s eyes gleamed. “Then perhaps, I should talk to Lucas.”
