Doomsday Can Wait Page 7

  “Didn’t all roads lead to Rome back then?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Are you insinuating I’m old?” she asked.

  “I’m saying you’re prehistoric.”

  “Sticks and stones,” Summer murmured. “I don’t age, and you will.”

  She had me there.

  Fairies didn’t grow old; neither did Nephilim. Breeds were born and therefore died. They aged, but because they rarely got sick and healed all wounds, they didn’t age as badly or as quickly as humans. I had no idea what I was, but definitely not ageless.

  “Getting back to Lycaeon,” I prompted.

  “The myth was brought to Rome by Greek colonists. When they were confronted with lycanthropes, they called them by the name they knew. Lucere.”

  “And the legend?”

  “King Lycaeon was visited by passing gods, but he didn’t quite believe they were who they said, so he devised a test. He served them dishes laced with human flesh, a major insult. Being gods, they discovered the deception and changed Lycaeon into a werewolf, a more proper form for devouring people. From his name, we get lycanthrope.”

  Legends of supernatural beings came about as people tried to make sense of what didn’t. The Nephilim had been hunting the earth since time began, which meant the luceres had been here since the angels fell and mated with humans. They just hadn’t been given their name until the story of Lycaeon began to circulate.

  “You didn’t tell me the most important fact.” I sat up, thrilled when my head didn’t pound, and my stomach didn’t roll. “How do I kill them?”

  “Pierce their hearts with fire. I’d suggest a burning arrow.”

  “Do I look like Robin Hood to you?”

  Summer didn’t reply. What could she say? I’d asked the question; it wasn’t her fault I didn’t like the answer.

  My archery skills were as adequate as the next woman’s, which meant pretty damn inadequate. The last time I’d touched a bow it had been to shoot at a target in high school. I hadn’t been terrible, but I doubted I was capable of nailing a werewolf’s heart from twenty yards, let alone a dozen of them.

  “There’s no other way?” I asked.

  Summer spread her hands and shrugged.

  “Swell.”

  Regardless of my lack of skill with the necessary weapons, I needed to get to Chicago right away. I’d seen fireworks, which could mean two nights away, but could just as easily mean one. A lot of big cities shoot off their rockets on the third. I contemplated Summer; maybe I should send her.

  She stared right back, biting her lip. “There’s a pile of ashes out there,” she began.

  I was so glad to hear that the howler’s body had disintegrated that I nearly forgot to tell Summer what it was.

  “Hey!” she shouted.

  “Oh. Sorry. Remains of the howler.”

  “There was one?” She let out a relieved breath. “For a second I thought—”

  “Shit!” I glanced around. “Where’s Jimmy?”

  “You found him?”

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I jumped to my feet. Everything that had been in the cave before was gone.

  “What happened?” Summer asked. “What did you say?” She grabbed me by the arm. “What did you do?”

  I yanked out of her grasp. “I have the information. That’s why we came.”

  “And now you just forget about him and go on your merry way?”

  “Did I say that?” We had to find Jimmy. He was a danger to himself and others.

  “Was he … himself?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I took a breath. “And no. He talked about sui-cide.”

  Summer’s brow furrowed. “But he’s a dhampir. He—”

  “I wish I had something he touched,” I interrupted. “I might be able to see where he is.”

  Summer held out her arm. At my curious expression, her eyes widened with false naivete. “Something he touched.”

  “Do you want me to slug you?” I asked.

  “You can try.”

  I turned away. I didn’t have time for a catfight right now. Maybe later.

  My gaze wandered the cave. He’d left nothing behind. No map, no notes—

  I paused, practically laughed out loud, then reached into my pocket for the list. As soon as I touched it, I got a flash of a face and stilled. “He’s gone to Sawyer.”

  Summer cursed.

  “Luckily, he won’t find him.” Because if Jimmy wanted to die, Sawyer would be happy to oblige.

  “What if Sawyer came back?” Summer asked.

  Now I cursed, resisting the urge to run from the cave, jump in the car, and head for the nearest plane to New Mexico. I had to think, then act. I had to decide what was best for the world before I did anything.

  Though I desperately wanted to follow Jimmy, to find some way to convince him that he needed to live, if not for me, then for the human beings he’d sworn to protect, there was still the problem of luceres in Chicago.

  I sighed. I didn’t have much choice. We all had our strengths, and in this case, Summer’s strengths outweighed my emotions.

  “You go after Jimmy,” I said. “I’ll head to Chicago.”

  “Keys are in the car.” Her voice was matter-of-fact. She’d known my decision before I had. “Put a scratch on it and we will have words.”

  I had no doubt we’d have more than words, but that was a concern for another day.

  With Summer’s gift of flight, she’d be able to beat Jimmy to New Mexico. Even though he had the superior speed of a dhampir, a commercial airplane was still faster with the added incentive of not having to use his feet. Summer could meet Jimmy at the airport, or on the road, or wherever the hell she wanted to, as long as she caught up to him before he reached Sawyer.

  “Do whatever you have to do,” I said.

  Her gaze flicked to mine. “Anything?”

  “Anything,” I repeated. “Just keep him alive.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Time in that cave had moved a lot faster than I’d thought. By the time I retrieved my cell phone and the other items I’d left by the pool, then made my way outside, dawn had broken. The air smelled of rain; the pavement was soaked, strewn with torn leaves, and a lot of tree limbs were down. I guessed the thunder and the lightning hadn’t just been for show.

  “How long was I in there?” I demanded.

  Summer shrugged, her expression sheepish. “I fell asleep. Figured you’d wake me when you got back.”

  Huh. I guess fairies did need to sleep.

  “Lucky I wasn’t depending on you to save my ass.”

  “Lucky,” she agreed, her voice perfectly level so I just knew she was being sarcastic.

  I left by car, she left by air; and ten hours later, I-94 spilled me into Chicago. I’d managed to discover, through judicious use of my cell phone, that Chicago’s fireworks were held on the third of July and shot off at Navy Pier. Which was both good news and bad news.

  Good news in that I should have time to stop the luceres from running free if I could find the appropriate suburb in—

  I glanced at my watch. “Three hours.”

  Bad news—I still wasn’t sure where they were and my knowledge of the Chicago area was mighty slim despite having lived less than a hundred miles north of the city for most of my life.

  While a lot of Milwaukeeans made the trip to Chicago regularly to shop, to eat, to go to concerts and plays, I’d been content with my own city on the lake. I’d never traveled much until lately. In the past month I’d visited more states than I’d visited before in my life.

  Now that I was here, and I knew I wasn’t too late, some of the panicky edge faded. I’d arrived too late in Hardeyville, and I still relived what had happened there in the darkest part of the night.

  I found it hard to accept that some things were meant to happen, some people were meant to die, and there was nothing I, or anyone else in the federation, could do about it.

  That I’d been able to stop the werewol
ves in Hardeyville from moving on to the next town on their hit parade of horrors was small consolation to the dead who still danced through my dreams.

  I’d run through every phone number on Jimmy’s list. No one answered. I hadn’t expected them to. The seers were in hiding, which meant they weren’t going to pick up at any of their numbers or hang around their known locations. If they did, they were just asking for it.

  So I’d also stopped at a wireless-ready Starbucks and sent a blanket e-mail informing the remaining seers of all the latest Doomsday developments and ordering them to check in via the Internet until further notice.

  I wasn’t sure how many of them were going to be able to access their accounts “underground,” but I had to try. In truth, Jimmy’s list was probably as useless to me right now as Jimmy was.

  I assumed that each seer was still in touch somehow with all their DKs, continuing to give them assignments and thwarting the Nephilim’s plans as best they could with their decimated forces. Just because we’d put chaos on hold didn’t mean the demons weren’t still out there doing their demon dance.

  My phone rang as I stopped to get a map. I snatched it up, hoping that one of the seers had decided to take a chance and return my call. No such luck.

  “Sawyer’s not here,” Summer said, not bothering with hello any more than I had.

  The weight on my chest lightened. “Jimmy?”

  “Not here, either.”

  For an instant, I believed one of my problems was solved, until I thought about it for more than a second. The weight dropped back with a thud that left me gasping.

  “What’s wrong?” Summer asked. “I’ll just wait for Jimmy to show and then—”

  “They might have gone into the mountains.” Silence followed my statement. “Summer?”

  “I’m here.” Her voice was faint. She understood what going into the mountains with Sawyer meant. The last time I had, I’d definitely been sorry.

  The mountains were sacred. They were considered magic. Sawyer practiced a lot of magic, most of it black.

  Though the mountains were part of the Dinetah, the ancient land of the Navajo, in truth they belonged to Sawyer, and he pretty much did whatever the hell he wanted to in them. He’d certainly done me. No telling what he might take it into his head to do to Jimmy— especially if Jimmy asked him to.

  “Find him,” I ordered. I wasn’t sure which man I was talking about. Right now, either one would do.

  “I will.”

  It felt strange to be working with Summer. Stranger still to realize that she was the one I trusted most in this world to do what needed to be done.

  Summer was Jimmy’s best bet for survival, because no matter how I felt about him, I had other responsibilities, and if those responsibilities would be better served by killing him, I’d do it. I had before.

  “Come across anything out of the ordinary?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “If you see a wolf, you should probably shoot it.”

  “You think?”

  “With a flaming arrow,” she reminded me.

  Where was I going to get flaming arrows so close to a holiday?

  “I have supplies in my trunk,” Summer said.

  Sometimes I swore she could read minds, though she denied it.

  “What kind of supplies?”

  “You haven’t looked?”

  “I’ve been a little busy.”

  “Make sure no one else is around when you open it. You could get arrested.”

  “Terrific.” If I’d gotten stopped for speeding, which had been a distinct possibility since I’d hauled ass all night, I cringed to think what the cop would have seen if he or she had decided to pop the trunk.

  I’d have wound up in jail since I didn’t have the ability to shoot magic “forget me” dust from my fingertips like Summer did. That lack was becoming more and more annoying as time passed, but I still wasn’t willing to sleep with Summer’s fairy friend to get it. Not yet anyway. Who knows what I’d have to do eventually.

  “Do the luceres change back into humans when the sun comes up?” I asked. Regular werewolves did.

  “They don’t have to,” she said. “Luceres are ruled by a spell and not the moon. They can stay in wolf form as long as they want.”

  Which meant I could keep hunting once dawn broke, if they cooperated and remained wolves. However, I doubted the luceres would continue to run around with ears and no tail once they knew I was in town and capable of killing them.

  Sure, I could probably identify most of the luceres since I’d seen their human faces in my vision, but shooting people—even if they weren’t people—with burning arrows tended to make me seem like the psychotic murderer. Go figure. Better to finish this business tonight.

  After filling the tank, I pulled the Impala around the back of the station to a grassy area, which I assumed was used to give any pets a chance to relieve themselves. Right now it was deserted, so I opened the trunk and found all sorts of goodies.

  Rifles, shotguns, pistols, and ammunition for each one. Swords and knives in a vast array of metallic shades—silver, gold, bronze, and copper. But the best find of all was a crossbow.

  I lifted it gently, almost reverently. A crossbow was more accurate than a compound bow, which was why, in Wisconsin anyway, only disabled hunters or those over sixty-five years old could get a permit to hunt with them. Combine a crossbow with a fit young man and deer didn’t have a sporting chance. I didn’t think they had much of a chance anyway, but no one had asked me.

  I wasn’t sure what the rules were on crossbows in Illinois, but it didn’t matter. Owning a crossbow wasn’t illegal, only hunting without a permit for one was. And since I was hunting people who’d turned into wolves … well, if anyone caught me, I’d have more problems than my lack of a license.

  Next to the crossbow lay a quiver of strangely made arrows—they appeared wrapped in white linen—and several bottles filled with clear liquid.

  I took a whiff and nearly choked. “Gasoline.”

  Sheesh. I was lucky no one had rear-ended me.

  Considering Jimmy drove a Hummer with a similar cache of weaponry, I had to think all DKs were similarly decked out.

  I shut the trunk, then climbed inside the car and made a wide turn until the skyline of Chicago became visible. Closing my eyes, I recalled my vision. To have seen the Sears Tower and the fireworks at Navy Pier in the way that I’d seen them, the luceres had to have been—

  “Right around here.” I tapped the map.

  Many Chicago suburbs were upper middle class and similar to the place I’d seen in my vision. I had little choice but to drive around and hope something struck a familiar chord. In a tiny hamlet called Lake Vista something did.

  The sun was falling fast, darkness only an hour away at most. The panic had returned, pulsing behind my eyes like the low drone of flies on a hot summer day.

  Lake Vista wasn’t truly a suburb, more of a development—a huge one—situated outside all the other city limits. I had a feeling they’d applied, or would apply soon, for a charter to create the village of Lake Vista.

  If they lived long enough.

  I toured the streets—up, down, crosswise—and at last I saw the building where the luceres had “become.”

  Not wanting to be too obvious, to scare them off, if that were possible, I parked a block away and strolled in that direction. From the side of the building, I could see the city skyline in the distance. When I turned and glanced back toward Lake Vista, the array of houses, driveways, bikes, and trikes made me shiver.

  This was the place.

  A quick glance inside revealed an empty building. A small sign named it lake vista community center.

  Since I needed to move on before someone became suspicious, I headed for the Impala. The suburb seemed nearly deserted, many of the families no doubt headed for the lakefront and the spectacular fireworks display.

  Those who’d decided to forgo the crowds, whether from exha
ustion, too many children, or a genuine dislike of fireworks, had either gone to bed or were watching television in the darkened houses where blue-white lights flickered against the windows.

  I saw the luceres’ plan. Wipe out the ones who’d stayed home, then lie in wait for those who’d gone away. It was a good plan—if you were a pack of evil half-demons bent on murder.

  Sliding behind the wheel of the Impala, I scanned the area for a place I could lie in wait myself. Lake Vista had a view of the lake on one side, hence the name. But on the backside lay an anomaly, a great towering grove of trees—as out of place here as the wolves would be.

  We didn’t call people from Illinois flatlanders for fun. Well, actually it was fun, but Illinois was also really, really flat. Until you got to the Mississippi.

  We weren’t anywhere near the Mississippi.

  Illinois had once been prairie; in a lot of areas it still was. Farms surrounded by cornfields, silos, and massive electrical poles were the only structures with any height for miles once you left Chicago behind.

  In Chicago there were plenty of skyscrapers, and even some bluffs near the lake, but there weren’t too many trees. I wondered where in hell these had come from.

  Suddenly I understood why the luceres had picked Lake Vista for their massacre. They could run into those woods as wolves if they needed to, then pop out the other side as human beings.

  I made my way around to a dirt track that led into the tree cover. The Impala rocked on the rough terrain, and the carriage scraped against dirt, even as dry grass whispered against the bumpers.

  I made it to the trees, slid the Impala between two of them, and the shadows closed around us with a near audible sigh. The dying sun flickered through the lush, swaying leaves and light danced across the windshield.

  Behind me civilization loomed—suburb, city, freeway upon freeway—but in front of me lay a seemingly endless forest. Sure, if I kept going I’d hit another suburb or a highway that led to one. But right now I could see nothing but trees, not a flash of a car, not the faint grayish-white wash of cement. There could be anything out there.

  “Even the big bad wolf.” I laughed, but the sound was forced. I’d seen the big bad wolf. He did not wear Gramma’s nightdress, nightcap, or glasses. He wore nothing but fur, and then he killed you.