Chapter Nineteen

The high beams of a vehicle, changing night into day, catch us dead on. I shade my eyes from the glare and turn away.

At the sound of a car door opening, Mikael growls. I glance back and see him pad toward the vehicle. A loud “pop” rings out, and the air reeks of gunpowder. Mikael veers away from the noise, sprinting off so fast it’s as if he was never there.

Two human silhouettes stand in front of the headlights, but I can’t make out their faces.

“Adam, are you okay?” Dixie runs up to me.

A familiar voice shouts out, “Hey, is he wearing my sweats?”

Neither of them says anything about Green Shirt lying in a crumpled mess near the driveway, nor do they seem to notice Mikael’s remains.

“Marco, this is Adam. Adam, this is Detective Marco Ramirez.”

Ramirez leans over and studies my face. “Looks like somebody hit you pretty hard. You might have a concussion.”

“That would explain my double vision.”

Dixie shrieks and staggers back. “Who the hell is that?”

We gather around Green Shirt and watch as he rolls onto his back in slow motion, like an animated creature waking up from a nap. Light washes over his face.

“It’s Bane.” Thoughts of Lucy race through my head. I want to kick him, stomp on his face, and end his life. Instead, I know he has information I need. “We have to tie him up before he changes.”

“Changes?” Ramirez cocks his head. “Would somebody tell me what the hell’s going on? Dixie, you know I trust you, but—”

“You know what he’s talking about,” Dixie says, “the transformation from human to canine like I told you.”

Ramirez shoves his revolver into his holster and leans forward. “This I gotta see.”

“No, you don’t, Detective. It might be the last thing you ever see.” I turn to Dixie. “We need to restrain him. He only needs a few seconds to transform.”

Ramirez straightens up. “I’ve got a pair of handcuffs in the car.”

“No, those won’t do any good; his paws might slip right out.”

“Paws?”

Dixie scampers to the garage door and presses a few buttons on a keypad. With an awful screeching sound, forcing a wince from myself and Detective Ramirez, the door rolls up.

“I’ve got some rope,” Dixie says, “be right back.” After some banging around against some boxes, garbage cans, and a bicycle, she emerges holding a roll of twine.

“Good girl.” I prop Bane up into a sitting position and wrap the twine around his upper body as fast as I can, then pluck it like a guitar string. I nod. “That should hold him.”

“Steel,” Bane calls out my canine name. He grimaces and starts to struggle like a magician in a straitjacket. The more he fights against the twine the more frantic his expression becomes. “Steel, what are you doing? Let me go, cut me loose.”

I latch onto his elbow and glance at the detective. “Help me get him inside.”

“Not until somebody tells me what the hell’s going on.”

“There isn’t time right now,” Dixie says. She points at Bane. “That’s who chased us out of Adam’s house yesterday. He killed Adam’s sister.”

“So, you made that anonymous 911 call—a murder at Claremont Estates?”

She nods and puts a hand on the detective’s shoulder. “I’ll explain everything when we’re inside, promise. But right now it’s important that we get inside. Please.”

Ramirez takes hold of Bane’s other elbow and we haul him through the courtyard, passing Flynn’s human remains from yesterday. I notice the detective looking straight at the curious mound of dirty clothes and strips of flesh. Even though the smell is nauseating, the detective says nothing about it. I don’t think he has any idea what he’s looking at. He hasn’t yet grasped the full idea of transformation.

He stops in his tracks. “Why’s the front door open?”

Dixie steps inside first. “It’s a long story.”

Bane struggles at the threshold. “You’re making a mistake. Steel, there’s more happening than you can even imagine. You’ll both be sorry.”

Ramirez snarls back, “Shut up and keep moving.”

Bane lunges at the detective, using his shoulder to try and knock us both off balance. Ramirez rewards him with a fist to the nose. Our prisoner goes limp, and we drag him inside.

I just met Ramirez, but already I like his attitude.

We stumble down the hallway, past the stacks of newspapers and magazines and dump Bane into a wooden rocking chair in the living room. Dixie wraps row after row of twine around him and the chair. When he wakes up, he won’t be going anywhere.

“I need to go outside and park my car,” Ramirez says. “The engine’s still on and it’s sticking out in the street. I’ll call this in to the station when I’m out there.”

“Wait.” I stop him at the door. “Mikael’s still outside.”

“Who’s Mikael?”

“The wolfhound you took a shot at.”

With a snicker, “I was just trying to scare it away. If I meant to hit him, I would’ve. He’s probably in the next county by now. Besides, it looked like a coyote to me.”

Maybe the detective’s attitude, the one I admired so much earlier, needs a little adjusting. “That was no coyote. His name is Mikael. He came here tonight with one purpose in mind: to kill. And he won’t leave until he does just that.”

Even though it’s warm in the house, muggy and humid, Dixie shivers. “Why does he want to kill you?”

“Not only me.” I stare at her, a little too long. My bad.

“Are you serious? Why would he want to kill me?”

“That’s one of the things I need to ask Bane.”

On cue, Bane moves his head from side to side, moans, and opens his eyes. “You’re dead, Steel. You’re all dead.”

I cup his chin in my hand and yank his head back.

“Hold on.” Ramirez stiff-arms me away from Bane. “This is a police matter now. When Metro arrives, we’ll—”

“No!” Dixie flat-out yells. “Please don’t call the station—not yet. Adam’s right, we’ve got to find out what he knows.”

Ramirez peers at both of us. If I’m reading him right, he’s being more curious than cautious. Either way, I can’t wait while he decides whether or not he’s going to let me ask Bane some questions—so I don’t. “Tell me about The Convergence.”

“How do you know about that? You were always on the outside. You act so human, you might as well be.” He says the word human as if it tastes bad in his mouth.

“Lucy told me about it. She told me about the packs from all over the country coming to Vegas. She called The Convergence something terrible for humans.”

Bane formed an odd smile and spit on the floor. “The bitch.”

Whether he’s using the accepted human term for a female canine or not, the word strikes me as just plain heartless. I hit him so hard he’s out again.

“Get away from that man.” Ramirez shoves me back. “If he’s committed a murder, then he’s under arrest. I’ll take him downtown and book him—”

“You don’t understand,” Dixie says. “You can’t arrest him; he’s not even a man.”

Her words cut through me. Is that what she thinks of him—of me? Is the hate I feel toward Bane an exclusive human emotion, or is it the canine in me that wants to strike out and kill him? It’s time to choose.

In as calm a voice as I can muster, “I’m sorry, Detective; I apologize. I need to ask him some questions. It’s very important. I promise, just a few questions, that’s all.”

Dixie puts a hand on Ramirez’s shoulder. “Please, Marco. After everything I’ve told you—after everything you’ve seen tonight—let Adam ask him a few questions.”

“But I haven’t seen anything. You keep telling me about dog-people, transformations, and changes; so far I’ve seen a coyote, an open front door, and some piles of clothes. I wish I could believe you—”

“Just ten minutes,” I say, “that’s all I’m asking for.”

He sighs, a long, drawn out breath. “I must be crazy. Okay, ten minutes—under my supervision. I need to move my car first.” He glances back at Bane. “Besides, he’s in no condition to go anywhere right now.”

“Thank you, Detective.” I join him at the door.

“Where do you think you’re going? I can move my own car.”

“Mikael might still be—”

“Oh right, Mikael might be outside, yeah, I forgot. The big, bad wolf. C’mon, then.”

We step out into the night.

****

“Sir, this road is closed. You have to turn around.” The officer aimed his flashlight straight at the face of the middle-aged man behind the wheel of the SUV.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

“Turn your vehicle around and go back the way you came.” With a no-nonsense expression, he motioned back to the highway.

The driver—gray hair, beard, and glasses—shielded his eyes against the glare of the flashlight. He squinted up at the young Metro officer. “I’m almost out of gas, Officer. I’m running on fumes. I told the wife to fill it up but, of course, it slipped her mind.”

“Didn’t you see the sign? Police Closure. That means this road is closed. Turn around and go back the way you came, otherwise you will be cited. Do you understand?”

“I’m sorry, Officer, I don’t want a ticket. I just need some gas, that’s all.”

“There’s no gas station down this road. Turn around and go back to the highway. Head north, and take the first exit.”

The engine died. “Shit.” The driver slapped the steering wheel. “It’s totally dry. I told you I was running on fumes. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Stay inside your vehicle. I’ll radio for a tow truck.”

“Thank you, Officer. I got an AAA card; I think they’re supposed to bring out a couple of gallons of gas, right?”

“Wait here.” The police officer strode back to his black and white. It was parked across the road blocking traffic in either direction—red lights flashing. Two more uniformed Metro officers joined him. They all kept their eyes on the SUV. “The guy’s out of gas,” the young officer called out, “I’m gonna radio in for a tow.”

The middle-aged man opened his door.

The young officer barked out an order. “Get back in your vehicle.”

The driver sat still for a moment. Then he swiveled in his seat and cracked open the rear door.

“Sir, keep all doors closed, I’m not gonna tell you again.”

The rear door flew open. Two Giant Wolfhounds jumped out of the SUV and darted toward the police officers. There was no time to draw weapons, call for help, or run. Muffled screams filled the night as the hounds tore through uniforms and ripped into human flesh.

In a few moments, the wolfhounds sat on their haunches, licking their chops. Blood and viscera dripped in sticky clots from their panting mouths.

“Hurry now,” the middle-aged man said as he stepped out of the SUV. “Move the police car out of the way. Police closure, my ass. This road is open.”

The canines lifted their hind legs and scratched at their shoulders in a frenzied pace. They bit at the fur around their front paws. Hair fell to the ground, in little tufts at first, then in large sections exposing human shoulders, arms, and hands. Once the hands were free, they tore off large sheets of skin. Their canine teeth fell to the ground in streams of blood. In short order, two men appeared, naked, standing in piles of the fur and flesh they’d worn as wolfhounds. They both turned and faced the middle-aged man.

“Good.” He smiled. “Now push the police car off to the side. Hurry, there are plenty more snacks at the top of the hill.” He jumped back in the SUV and started the engine while the two men pushed the black and white off the road.

A motor home pulled up behind the SUV, followed by a truck, then a van. Soon there were dozens of vehicles lined up on the road that had once been blocked by the Metro cruiser. Still more vehicles pulled off the I-15 from the north and southbound lanes, their headlights slicing a narrow path through the night. They formed a single column—a convoy—and began snaking their way up the hill toward Claremont Estates.

Glowing mists of various colors descended from the sky, dancing in the wind and settling onto the ground.

An onyx Bentley Mulsanne pulled aside and parked. Sonny Russo stepped out.

A blue mist broke away from the other colors and hovered over the ground near the black sedan. The fog swirled in the hot Vegas wind, touched the ground, dissipated, and then dissolved altogether. Translucent shadows appeared in the remnants of the blue fog. The shadows took a solid form.

Gorgeous emerged from the form and scanned the procession of vehicles. Her smile—the mask—glowed brighter than normal. Flowing strands of her blonde hair, caught by the breeze, whipped around her face, dancing like golden flames. Her blue eyes shimmered in cool radiance, her feet hovering just above the ground. Sonny Russo shook at the sight.

Gorgeous smiled at him through the unwavering mask. “You know me, Sonny. I don’t like to brag, but the sheriff was an excellent last minute substitution for the detective. The city has its guard down now, thanks to the marvelous police work of Metro’s finest.”

“And Carl.”

She frowned at him. “Yes, poor Carl. Who would have ever thought a sweet old man like Carl capable of such unspeakable acts?” She laughed.

Russo flinched. He knew she could have just as well used him as her patsy. “Are you gonna let the sheriff’s wife and kid go?” He didn’t know why he asked, he’d already guessed the answer. He wanted to hear it anyway, just to be certain.

Her smile grew. “Of course I am, Sonny. Of course I am.” She stroked his face with an icy finger, her gaze shifting to the vehicles advancing on the hill. “Go on and join them, Sonny. Make me proud.”

Russo rubbed at the blisters on the back of his hand and turned to the sedan. He glanced at Gorgeous one last time before driving away.

Two words crossed her lips, dripping from her mouth like a dark poison, “It begins.”