“He needs your help.”
Darak sat back on his stool. Great. Now what? “What makes him think I care?”
Joe shrugged. “He does this prophecy thing. He said you made a promise to a ghost.”
Darak’s skin went cold. “What did you say?”
“He said to say the airports are open. If you plan on doing something, meet him at this address now.” Joe grabbed a napkin and wrote something down. He slid it across the bar.
Nia picked it up. “What has this got to do with your ghost?”
Joe gave them a dark look. “Our friend Talia is missing.”
Friday, December 31, 9:15 p.m.
Perry’s condo
Perry Baker lived in an apartment on the ground floor of a Victorian-era warehouse in Spookytown, the entrance off of a parking lot at the rear. Iron stairs zigzagged up its brick face, a few of the railings sporting Christmas decorations. Security lights winked on as Lore made his way around the building, casting harsh shadows in the snow. Someone had cleared a path through the drifts. Bit by bit, Fairview was getting a handle on its Winter Wonderland status.
His mood was far from festive.
Lore had dreamed last night, or perhaps it was a prophecy. As usual, he wasn’t sure which and he had no idea what to make of what he saw: Talia throwing a knife at him, a look of deep anger in her eyes. He could still see the whirling blade, the thwop-thwop of it as it spun through the air. In the dream, he was leaping, trying to get out of the way. Fear rippled through him, but he wasn’t sure what was the real threat. In the murky dream-state, he’d known there was something worse than the knife coming his way.
He’d jerked awake next to Talia’s still form, his heart pounding. He was sick to death of nightmares. First Mavritte with a blade, and now Talia. How come the women in his dreams never had plates of food, or mugs of beer, or scented massage oils? Just for a change, it would be nice. But now he couldn’t find Talia. Was that what the dream meant? Was the knife the sharp stab of worry in his heart?
Lore had called a meeting of his friends. They needed to regroup and make plans because the airports had opened and Omara was on her way. The timing sucked. He had a splitting headache, and he was deeply worried about Talia. He had to find her, but he had no idea where she was—not at the condo, not at the Empire, not in Spookytown, and not at the cop shop. He needed help.
The headache was one of the curses of being the Alpha. He’d been sitting in Bevan’s living room and talking to the Elders when another prophecy had ridden in on a mother of a migraine headache. Through the blinding lights and nausea, he’d seen Darak making a promise to a filmy presence Lore couldn’t fully make out, but he’d heard Talia’s name. Whatever happened next, the rogue vampire would play a role—and it would involve her.
Two prophecies in twenty-four hours? Unusual to say the least. That in itself set his ruff standing on end.
The headache would fade, but worry dug in like the talons of a raptor. Talia had a talent for vanishing— from his condo, from the hospital, and now from Osan Mina’s house. The woman is pure chaos. At least this time, he was almost certain that she was with Baines. But why? Had she gone on her own? Had Baines forced her? Why hadn’t she told him where she was going?
They weren’t at the police station. As the cop on the phone had pointed out, they’d not been gone two hours. Talia was an adult. Lore should chill out. Sure. After all he and Talia had been through, it was impossible not to fear the worst. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, as if he could protect the spark between them with his own bones and muscle. Last night had meant everything. Talia had been everything. Brave, vulnerable, generous —those qualities that drew him to her had been there in her lovemaking. Also, that chaotic, unpredictable element. After living by the rules of the pack for so long, the surprise of her was intoxicating.
When the storm of lovemaking had been spent, he’d slept beside Talia, his body desperate for rest. On top of crime, death, and Mavritte, the venom had taken its mind- and body-blowing toll, but more than an urge to sleep had kept him there.
Hellhounds guarded—and he wanted to guard her. Forever. No one else brought the kind of peace he felt when his fingers brushed her skin. No one—hound, human, or anything else—drew his eyes and filled him with her scent the way Talia did. In a matter of days, she had become the center of his thoughts.
But she wasn’t a hellhound. This isn’t supposed to happen. Too bad. His soul knew who it wanted, and that was that. I don’t care. I want her, and she obviously needs someone to cover her back for once. What she had been through in her existence was appalling, even by Castle standards.
Anxiety sparking through his limbs, Lore crunched through the snow with extra force. He crossed the parking lot. Some of the cars were dusted off, others still lumps of snow. A trail of footprints led the way to his destination. He wasn’t the first to arrive.
Sometime before Christmas, Perry had hung a stuffed toy on the door—a wolf’s head with a Santa hat and flashing red nose. Santa Claws. Lore had to push it aside to find the knocker.
He’d barely rapped twice when Errata opened the apartment door, looking like someone had stepped on her tail. Behind her, he could see Perry’s black and white kitchen. It was a little messy, but well stocked with cookbooks and cans of food on the open shelving. Lore knew Perry had wooed more than one woman with his spaghetti Bolognese.
Errata met Lore’s eyes with a desperate expression. “I can’t stand the man. Would you please take him back to the hospital and chain him to a bed.”
Lore decided not to touch that one. “Silver poisoning makes werebeasts crazy.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “I didn’t realize it also made them stupid enough to try playing detective when they’re full of bullet holes. He just got home an hour ago. He’s barely unhooked from all those machines. Yesterday, he was supposed to be dying, for the love of—”
She turned and stalked back into the apartment.
Lore stepped inside, smelling chicken and onions from the soup pot on the stove. I had no idea Errata could cook. He shed his coat and walked through to the living room. It was mostly bare brick with black leather furniture. Perry had taken the place for much the same reason Lore had moved into his friend Mac’s old condo—to gain a little distance from their respective packs. They were both considered rebels for adopting the human custom of finding a place of their own.
At the moment, though, it appeared Errata had taken charge. She was frowning down at Perry, who was stretched out on the couch, cushions propping him into a semi-sitting position. Perry’s arm was in a sling, probably to immobilize his wounded shoulder. His color was bad, skin pale against the shadow of his beard, and his scent was tainted with the sweat of pain.
“What part of bed rest don’t you understand?” Errata fumed.
Perry’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The part where I take a nap while the bad guys finish me off. That’s why they let me out of the hospital, remember? Too hard to run a medical center with assassins roaming the halls, so you send the target home so he can be murdered offsite. No, thanks. I’d rather cut to the chase and catch the bastards.”
Lore didn’t see Perry angry very often, but the wolf was on a slow burn. Lore didn’t blame him one bit. No hospital would send away a human patient like this. “How many guards are there around this place?”
Just because Lore hadn’t seen them outside, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Most of the Silvertail pack knew Lore, at least by sight, and wouldn’t stop him.
Perry started to shrug, but winced when he tried to move his shoulder. “Dad said he had it covered. Of course, he wanted me to go back to his place.”
“Maybe you should have,” said Lore.
“No way. I do that, and as far as they’re concerned, I’m twelve again.” Perry smiled, but he sounded like he was only half joking.
Errata gave a little hiss. “Stubborn idiot.”
A knock sounded at the kitchen door, two quick raps. Errata went to answer it. Lore glanced over at Perry. His friend had his eyes closed, lines of pain around his mouth. Errata was right. Perry should be in bed, not hosting
