Hellforged

Page 48

Time to go meet Kane.
As I crossed the kitchen, nervousness rippled through my belly. That kiss. The memory of it made me stop and lean against the table. What if he’d read too much into it? I didn’t want him to think I was throwing myself at him or getting all clingy. We’d always given each other plenty of space; that’s what worked for us. Tonight, he’d saved Mab and I was overcome with emotion. If he didn’t see that was all there was to it, I’d set him straight. He’d understand. In fact, he’d be relieved.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and went to the library.
Kane sat by the fire, the flames’ light and shadows playing over his silver hair. This was the Kane I recognized, wearing knife-creased black trousers and a light-blue dress shirt. He smiled when he saw me—God, he lit up the room when he smiled—and started to stand. “Don’t get up,” I said, my voice squeakier than the brisk tone I’d intended. I sat in Mab’s chair, and he stayed where he was. But he leaned toward me, a question in his eyes I couldn’t decipher.
I was glad there was a fire to stare into. “Mab’s still asleep.”
“I know.” He paused, and it felt like he was waiting for something from me. The flames danced and fluttered, yellow and white, above pulsing orange embers. Kane sighed, and I heard him settle back in his chair. And just like that the moment passed.
“Yes, Jenkins told me when he brought me this.” He lifted a glass of wine. It was a deep red, shimmering with reflected firelight. “May I pour you some? Château Latour Paulliac 1970.”
“That’s older than you are. You sure it’s safe to drink?” When feeling awkward, make a lame joke.
He eyeballed me over his glass. “I hope you’re kidding. Do you want some or not?”
I wouldn’t know the difference between Château Whatever and the stuff the winos drink out of paper bags in the New Combat Zone, but a drink sounded good. “Okay.”
Kane poured some wine. He swirled it around the glass a few times and gave it to me.
I rolled my eyes at the performance and drank. Yup, it tasted like wine. I wondered if Jenkins could pick up some of that lite beer Axel served at Creature Comforts.
Kane watched me intently. “Do you like it?”
“It’s wet, it’s got alcohol. What’s not to like?”
“Philistine.” He sipped and closed his eyes, savoring the taste.
Jenkins must have discovered Kane liked wine and dusted off one of Mab’s best bottles. He and Rose would be treating Kane very well for as long as he stayed here. I wondered how long that would be.
“You didn’t come all the way to Wales to drink my aunt’s wine. What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you for months, not until you’d argued your case.”
“Didn’t you see it on the news?”
“What news? There’s no TV in the house, and Mab doesn’t get a newspaper. Just like there’s no phone. Maenllyd is … outside of time.”
“I can see that.” He waved his arm. “This place feels like something out of Masterpiece Theatre.”
There was more to it than that, but I didn’t know how to explain. Time moved differently here. Maybe that was why Mab didn’t age like everyone else.
“So what was in the news?”
A cloud crossed his face. “The case has been postponed. Indefinitely—maybe forever, I don’t know. Everything’s in disarray.”
“Kane, what happened?”
“Justice Frederickson was murdered.”
My glass stopped halfway to my mouth. Carol Frederickson, the Chief Justice whose opinions on civil rights had worried Kane.
“Who killed her? Do they know?”
Kane’s laugh rang bitterly. “They thought it was me. Her throat was torn out. And it happened on the first night of the full moon. Who else but a werewolf?”
“But … but …” I sputtered as my thoughts pulled themselves together. “What would your motive be? You’ve waited years to get a case in front of the court.”
“And I thought I was going to lose, thanks to Frederickson—that’s how the theory went, anyway. I heard it about a hundred times when the cops questioned me.”
“But you were in Virginia at the werewolf retreat, so you had an alibi. Why would they even look at you?”
“I did have an alibi—thank whatever gods may be up there—but not that one. On Wednesday, I stayed later at the office than I should have. It was the first night of the full moon, and I’d be at the retreat for three days. There were a couple of things I wanted to finish.” That was typical. Kane the workaholic werewolf. “When I finally left, it was starting to get dark, but I could make it to the retreat before moonrise, no problem, as long as I didn’t get stopped for speeding.”
Doubly typical. Finishing one last thing at work and running late for whatever came next.
“My damn car wouldn’t start. I tried calling a taxi, and three different companies told me there was a twenty-minute wait. Some convention in town. But twenty minutes was too long. I wasn’t going to make it.”
“What did you do?”
“After I finished cursing?” He gave a wry smile, sipped some wine. “Nothing. I was trying to figure out who else I could call when somebody jumped me from behind.”
Whoa. Mugging a werewolf was about as dumb as a dumb move could get. I waited for Kane to tell me about how he’d taught the mugger a lesson. But that wasn’t what he said.
“I think I was out for a couple of seconds, because I don’t remember hitting the pavement. When I came to, it felt like the temperature had dropped fifty degrees. And this thing was peering into my face, like this.” He held up a hand about an inch from his nose to show how close it had been. “Vicky, I don’t know how to describe it. Its skin looked like dried-out leather, stretched taut over the skull like it was painted on. No nose, no lips. Fangs like a vampire’s, only bigger—so big they stuck out of its mouth. They were yellow like old ivory. And there was a smell like grave dust—old and stale and long since dead.” His nostrils twitched at the memory.
I put down my wineglass and shifted in my chair. He could’ve been describing the creature I’d seen in my living room in Boston—the one Juliet insisted I’d dreamed. But what really astonished me was Kane’s horror. Kane, champion of all things paranormal, the politically correct werewolf who scolded me every time I said “zombie” or “monster.” I’d never heard him call any paranormal being a “thing” before.
Rose came in, carrying a tray. “Sandwiches again,” she apologized as she set it on an end table. “But I thought you’d be hungry, and I’ve got to get back to Miss Mab.” She smiled shyly at Kane. “I’ll feed you proper tomorrow.”
“She’s still sleeping?” I asked.
Rose nodded. “Deep, like. She got restless for a bit and I thought she was getting ready to shift back, but then she quieted down again.”
“It’s good she’s sleeping,” said Kane. “Among my kind it can take two or three days of sleep before someone’s fully healed.”
I hoped it wouldn’t take Mab that long. We’d failed tonight. Pryce had released that huge deposit of Morfran, and I needed her help to plan our next move.
Rose turned around in the doorway. “There’s cheese sandwiches, and bacon, and lamb. I left out the pickle from some of the cheese ones for you, Miss Vicky.”
We attacked the huge pile of sandwiches. Kane gulped down two before he reached again for his wine. Lamb, both of them. I was glad he hadn’t been around earlier, when I was a sheep. You can take the man out of the wolf, but …
“So this creature that attacked me,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I thought maybe it was a demon. Does it sound like anything you’ve ever come across?”
“Yeah, in my living room. But it wasn’t a demon.” I didn’t know what it was any better than Kane did, but I was sure of that much. Demons can’t cover up their sulfur-and-brimstone smell, and Kane’s werewolf nose couldn’t have missed that. Now, he stared, forgetting about his wine. “I’ll tell you about it after you finish telling me what happened in Washington. What did you do when you woke up and found that creature in your face?”
“I remember jumping up and snarling at it. Moonrise was approaching, and the shock of seeing the damn thing nearly forced me to change early. It backed away, but a second one came at me out of the shadows. I snapped at that one, and it retreated a few steps. Then another advanced. There were definitely three of them, maybe four. I couldn’t be sure, because I kept whirling around, trying to keep an eye on all of them at once.”
“They were tall and skinny?”
He nodded. “Like stick figures. They were playing their bizarre game of tag because they were trying to keep me in place so I’d shift out in the open, in the middle of the city. They almost did, too. The damn things were fast. But one got too close, and I grabbed it. I lifted it over my head and threw it into its friends, then ran like hell. I don’t know where I thought I was going. But I got lucky. One of those taxis I hadn’t actually ordered showed up. I jumped in and told the guy I’d give him a five-hundred-dollar tip if he could get me to the National Zoo in five minutes.”
The zoo? Kane? His story hadn’t exactly been a laugh riot so far, but this had to be a joke. Kane, with his suit and briefcase, checking into a zoo? It defied imagination. And anyway, not even the strongest zoo cage could hold a werewolf.
He saw my amazement and nodded. “The zoo has a safe room for werewolves who can’t get to a retreat during a full moon. Most big-city zoos have one. The safe room is usually underground, with a six-inch-thick, silver-plated steel door. Multiple surveillance cameras. And no windows, so you don’t feel the moon as strongly.”