“No,” Bowen hissed, crossing his arms and blocking me from entering the Wailing Siren.
“Do we really have to do this?”
“You messed up the bar, so yeah we do.” His gaze flickered to Rafael, and he bristled. “Who’s the demon? Your bodyguard?”
“Ha. Since when do I need a bodyguard?”
“You’re not getting inside.”
“I’m not after anyone tonight,” I assured him. “I only need to talk to him.”
His eyes narrowed as I emphasized the last word, knowing he understood whom I referred to.
“And you expect me to believe you?”
“Bowen, don’t make me regret always being nice to you,” I said, my hand creeping toward my gun. “We can either have a pleasant evening, or you can go home with a broken fang.”
His eyes narrowed as his tongue reached up to his fangs. “If you start anything, I’ll throw you out on your ass myself. And don’t think I can’t do it.”
I rolled my eyes as I started to go past him.
He leaned closer and whispered, “Best watch your back. Rot’s stirring up the gobs.”
“Yeah. Already had a visit from the welcoming party.”
Bowen shook his head and brushed his lips right against my ear to ensure no one else heard him. “No, something else is going on down here. The gobs—I’ve never seen them like this.”
“Mercy?” Rafael asked. “Something wrong?”
Bowen gripped my arm, and a strange closeness overcame me. I was used to only one person caring for me, but why would he warn me if he didn’t care? It was an odd sensation.
Then he was whispering again. “Steer clear of the gob dens, no matter what anyone tells you. And the reapers.”
“Reapers?”
“They’ve been seen down here.”
“Shit,” I muttered, squeezing his hand back. “Thanks for the warning.”
He offered me a small smile and wink then went back to his bored look, and resumed his spot at the door.
Cautiously, I took one long look at the street, just in time to witness the gleaming yellow eyes of a goblin. Then they blinked out of sight.
Bowen had no reason to lie to me, but why warn me?
I walked into the bar and chose a stool at the counter.
“You and the vampire,” Rafael said as he sat down on my right, “you seem pretty close.”
“Sure. Guess you could say that.”
“How close?”
“Why? Jealous?” I asked with a wide grin, not even sure why I said it.
Rafael’s eyes narrowed, and he sniffed hard. “None of my business.”
“Damned straight.”
“Who are we here to see anyway?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” I said as the bartender meandered our way.
Shep, the bartender, was a werewolf with dark grey hair. He growled at the sight of me until I pulled a wad of bills from my pocket and slid them across the counter.
“He here or not?”
Shep slipped the bills in his pocket. “He’s in a shit mood. You sure you want to see him?”
“Need some answers on a mage. Who else do you suggest I talk to?”
“Who’s the demon?” Shep demanded.
“Friend. For the moment,” I told him. “You going to let me see him or not?”
Shep stepped closer to Rafael and sniffed. His eyes flared yellow.
I was perplexed. No way he could sniff out he was a Fed, right? Holding my breath, hands gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white, I waited for this night to go from bad to worse.
Then Shep was waving us off. “Don’t make me regret letting you back there tonight,” he snapped as we walked past. “Still cleaning gob blood off the floor!”
“Gob blood?” Rafael asked quietly.
“I might’ve gotten into a brawl here the other night.”
“And how bad was it?”
“Bad enough. Now come on. And whatever you do, do not look him in the eye, do not speak, and do not do anything stupid.”
Rafael gave me a look. “Who is this supe?”
Outside a door behind the bar, I paused, hand reaching out even as a voice inside my head screamed to run in the other direction.
“At one time he was the most feared being in the Underground. Hell, in the whole state, really. And now he’s one of the last of his kind. He’s a gryphon.”
“What? No. There’s none registered in Tennessee.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“And you’re his friend?”
“Oh, no,” I said as I finally grabbed hold of the doorknob. “He hates me.”
The door swung inward to reveal a short corridor leading to another door. Beyond that, whatever game was on blared out of the TV speakers. Though why he bothered to have it on was beyond me.
At the second door, I raised my hand to knock when the sound suddenly cut off and there was a loud thump.
“Don’t just stand there. I’m old, I could croak at any second. So just get your ass in here already.”
We walked into the back room to find an old man with bright white hair hanging loosely around his shoulders. His bathrobe was a vibrant green, and he had on house shoes with holes in the toes.
If anyone had told me this man was a gryphon, I would’ve said they were full of shit.
But he was.
The second we stepped inside, he sniffed the air, then leered at me.
“Mercy Temple. Such an unpleasant surprise.” He sniffed again. “And you brought a friend.”
“You know, I thought of being nice tonight. But now I’m not so sure.”
“You, nice? Ha! Girl, there isn’t a nice bone in your body.” His laugh sounded like pieces of paper rubbing together.
It made my skin crawl.
“You want something. So get to the point. What is it? And don’t you look at me, boy,” he snapped, jerking his head to the right and glaring at Rafael.
Rafael frowned. “He’s blind.”
“Blind. Not deaf,” the gryphon snarled.
“Wesley, play nice.” I dragged over the footstool and sat a few feet away from him.
Wesley might not be able to shift into a gryphon anymore, and he might be blind, but he always had a walking stick somewhere nearby. If you didn’t learn how to be fast, he’d whack you with it for pissing him off. I lost count of how many times I walked out of this place with black eyes and bruised knuckles from that freaking thing.
The only reason I did not hit back was the amount of information he managed to pick up somehow. And not merely past knowledge. This old bastard knew more about what was going on in the Underground than anyone else.
It was why Shep and the other werewolves looked after him. Why a lot of supes did. He was valuable. That and he was one of the last of his kind.
We might try to kill each other, but some part of us all experienced a strange pang of loss, to think one day our own race might be killed off. Just like those in the past. Just like the gryphons. Amongst other races.
I flexed my hands, doing my best not to linger on my secrets in front of Wesley. He wasn’t psychic, but there were times I wondered if he found a way to hear my thoughts anyway.
“What do you want?” Wesley asked sharply.
“Information on a mage.”
“Oh, yeah? Which one would that be?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, sniffing the air again.
A board creaked behind me, and his head shifted. “Stop moving around, demon. Or are you having fits?”
“I’m not,” Rafael snarled.
“Hmm. Demons. Always hated demons.”
“Wesley,” I said loudly. “Information. You got it or not?”
“Need a name, lass,” he muttered, more of his English accent coming out in his ire.
“Liam Manchester.”
Wesley sat back and went so still for a horrible second that I thought he up and died on me.
Then he took a deep rattling breath and shook his head. “Him. What are you doing around that bastard of a mage, Mercy? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“You know me. Always going after the fun ones,” I said lightly.
Wesley’s pale grey eyes darkened.
“Look, I don’t have a choice, alright? We have to catch him, but right now we’re short on intel. What do you know?”
“Telling you will only ensure you end up in danger far quicker than if I told you nothing.”
Furiously, I rubbed at my face. Usually getting information from him was not this difficult. He’d berate me, sure, yell at me a bit, then try to hit the crap out of me with that stick if I pushed too far. But never did he flat out refuse to tell me what I needed to hear.
That made two people today who were suddenly concerned about my safety, and I hadn’t the slightest idea why. But I was not leaving this bar without finding out all I could about Liam. Damian had only given me a week and time was ticking by extremely quickly. As were my chances of making it out of this mess without having Rafael and the Feds coming after me.
“Wes, please. Tell me what you want from me.”
“Nothing, lass, I want nothing from you.”
“Then why won’t you tell me? I need to find the bastard.” When Wes remained silent, I smacked my lips together a few times thinking, then figured honesty was best. “Do you at least know why a mage is running around with fangs? And not simply vamp fangs? Or why he’d be looking for donors?”
Wesley’s eyes darkened even more as his fingers dug into the arm of the raggedy couch. “I cannot speak it. Not here. Not out loud.”
“What do you mean?”
His head twitched toward the door.
“Are you being watched?” I said in barely a whisper, knowing he’d hear me.
“Not here, and not in front of the demon.”
“I need to know,” Rafael argued. “I’m working with Mercy.”
“I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you,” Wesley snarled, standing up suddenly. The stick was in his hand, aimed right at Rafael’s face. “You will meet me two nights from now,” he said to me, voice strained as he dug in his pocket then slipped a business card into my hand. “Do not be late.”
The card disappeared into my pocket as I nodded. “Thank you, Wes.”
“Whatever, lass, just don’t say I didn’t warn you. What you’re getting into… you’re going to wish you got yourself out a long time ago.” He sank back into the rotted cushions and unmuted the football game. “Shitty call, ref,” he muttered, eyes not even focused on the screen.
He wouldn’t say more, so I motioned to Rafael, and we exited the room.
“I’m coming with you,” he said the second we were through the second door and into the main bar.
I glanced around to be sure Rot and a pack of goblins weren’t here for a second round, but there were none inside.
“Did you hear me?’
“Not happening. You heard him. He doesn’t trust you.”
“But he has information I need.”
“And I’ll be sure to relay it to you. Besides, I at least am holding up my end of the deal. What do you know about our mage that I don’t?” I asked, taking a seat at a corner table, back to the wall so I could keep an eye on the door.
Bowen was out there still, and I just knew he sensed me watching him, because he tilted his head, as if to acknowledge me, then went back to his duty.
“You swear on your name as a bounty hunter you’ll tell me exactly what Wesley tells you?”
I held up my right hand and grinned. “Swear it. Now, why are the Feds after my target?”
Rafael rapped his knuckles on the table, scowling at me. “He’s not the one we’re actually after,” he admitted quietly. “At least not entirely.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Feds are after bigger fish than a mage who likes to break the law now and again. Our belief is he’s working under someone else’s orders.”
“Whose exactly?” This was all news to me. I knew even less about Liam than the Fed did. Not that he needed to know how much less. After I spoke with Wesley, I’d have something to leverage. “The Gathered?”
“No. They’re clean as far as we can tell. Our suspicion is it has something to do with the reapers.”
At that moment, I was thrilled I was so good at keeping a straight face.
Bowen mentioned something about the reapers moving through the Underground recently. It was rare for them to venture here, where so many other supes openly hated them. They had no reason to come down here. None at all. Unless of course, they were meeting with a mage, to make a deal. My question was, did it have anything to do with why Liam was apparently no longer simply a mage?
“What do you think he’s involved in?” I asked, wanting to know everything I could before I met with Wesley Sunday night.
“He traffics in dark artifacts amongst other things,” Rafael replied with a casual shrug. “Wanted for questioning involving several murders that appear to have been committed by a mage.”
“And what ties him to them?”
His eyes narrowed just a hint as he said, “That is classified.”
“Meaning you have no freaking clue,” I sighed. “Is that all you have on him? Trafficking artifacts?”
“If you’d come forward with your story, we could add more to it—”
“No, not happening,” I snapped. “Besides, it was too long ago and not here.” That part was true at least, though what happened to me still had nothing to do with Liam Manchester. “If that’s all you’ve got for me, I guess we should call it a night.”
Rafael stood before I did. “I’ll find my own way home. Thanks.”
“What, no more riding on the bike?” I asked with a wicked grin. “I was going to see how green I could make you turn this time around.”
“I’ll pass.”
He might’ve said he was leaving, but he stuck around for a solid minute then finally asked when I would meet up with him again to go over whatever Wesley told me.
“Monday, I guess, if that works for you, but I’m not talking to your partner.”
“Deal.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a card. “Personal line is on the back. Call it if you don’t want to contact me at the Fed building. Monday, Mercy, I’ll be expecting your call.”
I twirled the card between my fingers as I watched him leave. “Yeah, I’m sure you will be.”
I waved at Shep for a drink as I tucked the card away, next to the one Wesley had given me. I’d look at it when I got home. If he was that paranoid, pulling it out here could lead to more trouble I wasn’t in the mood to deal with.
Shep brought me a beer, and I sipped on it slowly, pondering how the next week was going to progress. Whenever I went after a target, I had a backup plan, a way to ensure I could get my ass out of whatever situation might arise. Right now if this plan went to shit, I had nothing, except to cut and run and see how long I could avoid Damian.
“Taking a break,” Bowen called to Shep as he stepped inside then strolled toward my table, sat down, and opened the bottle of blood he picked up on his way over. “Mind?”
“Guess not,” I replied, eyeing him curiously as he drank the dark, thick liquid.
“You look like you could use some company. No one should drink alone.”
“Done it plenty of times before.”
He paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “True.”
“So what changed, huh? Do I suddenly smell better or something? You decided you like ugly chicks?” I scoffed, picked at the label on the bottle, not looking at him.
“Who says you’re ugly?”
I arched a brow at him. “Really?”
“You do realize half the Underground is intrigued by you. The other half terrified of you. Intimidated by you, I guess is the better word to use. And it’s not just because you could kick most of their asses from here to next year.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why are you sitting with me if everyone’s intimidated by me? You can’t really sit there and tell me you find me interesting.”
He sat back, rolling his bottle between his hands.
The weight of his gaze rested on my shoulders. Not uncomfortable, but strange. Different. I liked it. That in itself threw me off, and suddenly I wanted to get out of this place and disappear in my apartment.
Bowen was close to a hundred years old, but when he was turned, he was around my age, maybe a bit older. It was curious to think about what he was like before he was turned. I never asked. Usually I didn’t care, but lately, whenever I talked to him, there was a change. It was different from our typical exchanges of demanding he answer my questions. He warned me to watch my back, and I desperately wanted to know what game he was playing. That had to be it. He wanted something.
“You know what. Never mind,” I muttered, placed a ten on the table, and got up.
“Mercy, wait.” He held my arm, his skin cold against mine. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“You’re looking at me like you expect me to turn on you and chomp down on your neck,” he hissed, releasing me. “If you learned to trust some of us more, you might actually have friends.”
“You—what? You want to be my friend?”
“Not like you’re drowning in them, or anything,” he mumbled.
“Wow. Thanks for that,” I snapped.
“Whoever cursed you, I’m sorry for it. I am, but the rest of us aren’t that asshole, so stop carrying a damned chip on your shoulder, and open your eyes.”
I whirled around, eyes wide, but the bar was empty except for the two of us and Shep, who didn’t seem to care what our conversation was about.
“What did you just say to me?” I whispered harshly.
“Cursed. I can smell it.”
“That is none of your business. And if you tell someone, I’ll—”
“Yeah, break my fangs. Got it.” He drained the rest of his bottle of blood and stood, towering over me almost as much as Rafael had. “Just remember what I told you before. You might not believe it, but I’d hate if something happened to you.” His hand reached up and looked as if it was about to cup my cheek, but then he snarled, and in a burst of air, was back to his post at the front door.
I had to get out of here before anything else weird occurred.
Head throbbing with a headache I knew was going to probably keep me up half the night, I rushed out of the bar, thankful Bowen was speaking to someone else, though I could feel his eyes followed me. There was no need to double check, his eyes were there, watching out for me. Watching my back.
Once I was further down the street, I picked up the pace, then figured I cared very little for what anyone down here thought of me and sprinted out of the Underground to my bike.
A cursory glance up and down the street told me Rafael was gone and I climbed onto my bike, shoved the helmet on my head, and got home as fast as I could without killing myself in traffic.
Once inside my place, I was ready to change and crash into bed when a figure broke away from the back window.
I drew my gun until the chuckle had me lowering it and I flipped on the light switch. “Seriously, asshole?”
Damian’s smile faltered slightly. “I take it you met with your Fed?’
“I did.”
“And? What did you find out?”
“Enough to get me started. I’m meeting with Wes Sunday night.”
“The gryphon?”
I tossed my coat over the couch as I nodded. “Yeah. What about him?”
“Nothing. Just surprised to hear he’s still alive. And the Fed,” Damian said, sounding in a rush to change the topic, “did he give you any more news on your target.”
Mulling over how much I should give Damian, I plopped down on the couch and kicked my feet up on the worn-down coffee table.
“Eh, not much more than I already knew, but we have a deal. He’ll tell me everything after I talk to Wes.” Good job, Mercy, just keep on lying your way through this one.
I should’ve just gone outside right then and started digging myself a grave in preparation for when all these lies came crashing down around me. I could find a nice one under a tree somewhere, give myself a headstone while I was at it.
Here lies Mercy. The idiot who didn’t know when to stop talking.
“Monday morning, then, I expect you to brief me on your progress,” he said, moving toward the door.
“Sure thing, boss man,” I replied, just wanting him to go away.
“And Mercy?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember, whatever this Fed tells you, he is not your friend. I would hate for you to get too close to him and let something slip about yourself.” His eyes narrowed as he backed out of my apartment.
“I really need better locks,” I whispered to myself.
Maybe Gigi could whip me up something that would turn intruders into toads when they broke in.
I could just see the look on Damian’s face now, having him hop around covered in warts and eating flies.
Yeah, I’d get right on that tomorrow.