waist, and I am glad. I fear he will try to stop me or, worse, insist on going with me to see Max. He surprises me by doing neither. He simply watches while I dress and finger-comb my short hair back into order.
“You’re sure this person can help?” he asks.
“Pretty sure.”
I go to the sink and splash cool water on my face. The terry towel is rough as I pat my skin dry. I turn. Wyatt stands in front of me with a sheet bunched around his hips. Uncertainty etches lines around his eyes and brackets his mouth. I want to reassure him, to force that uncertainty away, but I don’t. Wyatt believes in me. It is the only reason he isn’t begging me to stay.
“The protection barrier on the motel will last two more days,” Wyatt says. “Come back here when you’ve talked to your friend.”
“I will.” I check the digital clock on the nightstand. The sun won’t rise for a few hours, so I’ll probably have to wait for Max to return. “I should be back before noon.”
“If you find out something—”
“I’ll call.”
“Be careful.”
“Do you really think you have to say that?”
“Yes.”
I throw my arms around his shoulders and hug him before I can stop myself. His arms snake around my waist. The sheet whispers to the floor. I press my face into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—musk and cinnamon. Burning it into my memory. I know I may never see him again. I want to take this with me.
“I’ll be careful,” I say. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
He chuckles. I pull away before anything else is done or said. I have to get moving before sunrise. At the door, I pause and look back. He still stands with his back to me, but is watching me in the mirror. I wink. He smiles.
And then I go.
The library is closed, but I make easy work of scaling the back wall. A metal gutter pipe provides adequate handholds. I climb quickly on pure adrenaline, positive of assault at any moment. The rear alley is quiet, but that means little. Things always seem to go dead silent right before a sneak attack.
I swing over the edge of the wall. In the dim light, I find the cement path and avoid making noise on the gravel bed. The entrance to Max’s lair is around the next corner. The sky is still black, but the barest hints of blue peek out over the eastern horizon.
Silent steps carry me down the path. I pause every few yards to listen and sniff the air. At the corner, I stop, alarmed by the faint sound of voices. Low and hushed; nearby. Too close to be coming from the street. I close in on the entrance to Max’s home. Each step brings those muffled voices closer.
Max. I know his voice, so unique because he is a gargoyle. Not as unnatural as Smedge’s, but just as stony. The second voice is female. The cadence surprises me, as does the familiar lilt to her words. She’s a Blood.
I creep closer to the entrance and listen.
“… a disaster for our two peoples,” the Blood says. “You know I speak the truth; you cannot deny the implications.”
“I deny nothing,” Max replies. “But I also admit to nothing, Istral. If what you say is true, it is your problem, not mine.”
“But it will become everyone’s problem. Do you wish to be ruled by the goblin Queens?”
“No more than I wish to be ruled by humans, but that is how things are. If the balance of power changes, the gargoyles will adapt, as we have done for centuries.”
“Your statement reeks of cowardice, dear cousin.”
“Merely discretion. There is a reason my kind no longer adorns the spires of human cathedrals. We know when to not interfere in the affairs of others.”
The conversation confuses me. This Istral is a vampire; her use of “cousin” confirms it. Why isn’t she talking him into the Alliance, rather than against it? Unless even the Bloods are divided on the matter. I can use this.
“You are foolish to allow the actions of others to determine your fate,” Istral says.
“Gargoyles have survived in Man’s world for centuries longer than vampires, Istral. Don’t discount our methods so quickly. You could learn from our experience.”
“I would sooner stand in the sun without protection.”
He’s getting her riled up. Good old Max. Related or not, gargoyles and vampires don’t get along under the best of circumstances. They have different temperaments and opposing viewpoints on the place of Dregs in Man’s world.
“What is it?” There is alarm in Max’s voice.
“Human female,” Istral says with open distaste. Shit. “She has recently mated with one of her kind.”
Okay, that’s just gross. I should have showered, true, but “mated”? Who says that? I start backing up, uncertain of Istral’s reaction if she catches me here. At the corner, something stings my ankle. I spot the dart. My leg is already numb. I fall on my left side, probably scraping skin on rock, but cannot feel it. Everything is numb. I can’t blink, I can’t speak. I can’t do anything but stare.
No, no, no. Stupid. So stupid to die like this.
Shadows whisper across the gravel, filled with grunts and growls and angry mutterings. A sniveling figure looms above me, its grotesque face curled into a snarl. Sharp teeth flash, shiny with saliva. Its breath is thick and putrid. I can’t turn away. I am helpless against the goblins surrounding me.
They grab my arms and drag. Arguing voices become clearer, louder. We pass through the brick wall, into Max’s dim lair. They toss me to the stone floor. My head lolls to one side, and I see Max and Istral standing in the corner. She is as elegant as her voice implies, dressed in stealthy black befitting a well-paid corporate spy. Her white-blond hair is perfectly coiffed, her makeup flawless. She reeks of royalty.
“You should be more careful, gargoyle,” a strange female says. “We weren’t the only ones spying on you tonight.” Her words are clipped, harsh, like someone trying desperately to hide a flaw. But it can’t be. Goblin Queens don’t do their own fieldwork.
“What do you want, Kelsa?” Max asks. “Your kind does not have permission to travel uptown and you know it.”
My body jerks. Did someone just kick me?
“The Triads are a little busy tonight,” Kelsa says. “They aren’t looking for me, and they certainly aren’t looking here. Though something tells me I’ve just found a little piece of leverage.”
“She is a rogue,” Istral says, pointing to me. “The Triads do not bargain. She is of no value.”
“I will decide that, vampire. For what purpose do you haunt the lair of a gargoyle?”
“I do not answer to you.”
Cloth shifts. A gun is cocked. Istral tenses. From her position, I assume Kelsa is directly behind me.
“You will answer to me tonight,” Kelsa sneers.
“Your plan will fail, Kelsa,” Istral says. “You will fail and your people will become little more than slaves, forced back underground to eat the droppings of others.”
“And what are we now?” There is fury in Kelsa’s voice. She has lost the struggle to maintain a human voice. Snarls punctuate each word as they are forced through a goblin throat. This won’t end well.
“The same as you always will be.” Istral takes a step forward, back straight, unafraid. “Scavengers.”
Kelsa growls, throaty and terrifying. A shot is fired. Istral screams. The bullet propels her backward into the stone wall. Blood spurts from a wound in the center of her chest. It isn’t a mortal blow for vampires, so why is she sliding to the floor? Kelsa is laughing.
An anti coag round. How did a goblin get her claws on our ammunition?
I watch because I can’t look away. Istral clutches her chest, fingers ripping desperately at the cloth and skin. Blood continues to pour in torrents. She pales quickly, like colored chalk washing away in the rain. She is bleeding to death. Her eyes are wide, glazed, a beautiful shade of lavender. Alive with light, fighting. She looks at me until the light fades, and I am lost in a dead woman’s eyes.
“Do you know who she was?” Max asks.
“That no longer matters,” Kelsa says. “Our peoples must look to the future.”
