I took another lap—past the rifles, the coyote, the crow, Scout, the crate stamped TBG-7, around the roll of razor wire, hang a right at the stack of ammo boxes, and then back to watching my step near the window. Outside the sun glared down like it was trying to burn Halo to the ground.
“Okay,” Scout said. “Then we’re all agreed that Lonely has sole command of the crows, with the chain of command remaining in the crows in the event of his death, and Clarion has sole command of the coyotes, with the chain of command remaining in the coyotes in the event of his death, and that both the crow and coyote forces will back up the human forces under Tough’s command—”
I stopped pacing and glared at her.
She rolled her eyes. “We covered this already, Tough. If you don’t head this, everything else all falls apart.”
Lonely and that old one-eyed coyote, Clarion, shot each other a look. Probably thinking I was going to make one sorry excuse for a leader, even just a figurehead one. Well, no shit. I wouldn’t have picked me, either.
“Anyway,” Scout said, “Out of all the humans willing to fight, you’re the only one who’s actually been in a war.”
I snorted. Yeah, and we lost.
“So where were we?” Scout said.
“Chains of command remaining within the individual forces,” Clarion said.
“Right.” She checked her notes. “While taking primary orders from the human chain of command. And in the event that back up is unnecessary or tactically impossible, you each retain the right to issue contrary secondary orders to your pack or murder as you see fit. In the event that you find our methods or orders unconscionable, you may pull out, but neither crows nor coyotes may pull out due to interracial disputes without first consulting a human intermediary…”
I started to make another lap, popping the grenade up and catching it. I stopped by the window. It looked off to the east, in the general direction of the Dark Mansion.
I didn’t want to be in some stupid attic, arguing about chains of command. I wanted to be carving Kathan and the rest of his foot soldiers up piece by piece. Hell, I’d take blowing them to bits with a bunch of plastic explosive. I wanted to be knee-deep in fallen angel blood with clumps of tar-covered feathers smacking the ground around me. I wasn’t too picky about how I got there.
Lonely had sworn that Colt wouldn’t get resurrected this time. He’d said Colt was dead for good. Maybe that was true, but dead or not, Kathan still had Colt’s body. That fucker would probably hang him up out in front of the Dark Mansion for the maggots to eat and the tourists to take pictures with.
The window pane exploded. It took me a second to realize I’d thrown the frag grenade through it. The vamp speed had done it before I could think about it.
“Tough?” Scout said.
Clarion’s good eye went from the broken window to me. “You pull the pin?”
I checked. Nothing in my hands. No boom on the street. I shook my head.
“I’ll send somebody after it,” he said, standing up. He stopped next to me and looked me in the eye, lowering his voice like he was getting after a little kid in public. “This might look like a lot of firepower to you, but we’ve got a limited supply here and a legion of unkillable creatures to send to Hell. Maybe you should keep your hands in your pockets until you’ve got a little more control over those crowspawn instincts.”
Sure, I’d keep my hands off the ordnance. Until it got dark out, anyway. Then I was going after Kathan whether everybody else was done arguing about NP rules or not.
Lonely was staring at me. If being a vampire now really did make it possible for him to hear my brain, then he should be able to tell what I was thinking. I stared back and waited for him to rat me out, but he just grinned his creepy crow-grin and twisted one of his lip-rings with his split tongue.
Downstairs, the wind chimes over the tattoo parlor’s front door jangled. More new heartbeats, smells, and padding footsteps that clicked with toenails. Small squads of coyotes had been joining the party all morning.
I looked out the window. One more dusty truck parked out front, so they’d been human when they pulled up. Shifting back to four legs as soon as they walked in must be some kind of up-yours to the crows.
“So many packs,” Lonely said. “Must get tiresome, keeping them all in line.”
“I offered to help if you wanted to unite the murders,” Clarion said.
“Mm.” Lonely crossed his thick arms over his gut. “Syndicate? No. It’s not our way. Didn’t used to be your way, either.”
Clarion raised his head, and for a minute, it was like I could see him looking down a snout instead of that scarred-up human nose. “The old ways are broken.”
Lonely flapped a hand at me. “The old ways are why the crows are here. We follow the shiny ones.”
“Great work,” Clarion said. “You geniuses followed the shiny ones right to the end of the world.”
“Keep yipping, puppy. I say the word and this building vaporizes.”
“—birds didn’t even want Halo territory until the fallen angels moved in on—”
“—then we’ll find out just how fast coyote healing really—”
A whistle like a whip-crack rattled my eardrums. Lonely and Clarion both cringed.
Scout took her pinkies out of her mouth.
“Since I’m the only human handy, I’ll go ahead and mediate this dispute,” she said, looking back and forth between them. “When the last battle is over, you’re welcome to go
