Liam curled his lip into something between a snarl and a disgusted sneer.
“And I’ve had words with them myself,” Randolph continued.
“Right,” Liam grunted. “We both know how well that turned out.”
Randolph’s face twitched. More specifically, the muscles that ran beneath the jagged scar tissue on his cheek flinched as if he could still feel the Blood Blade sliver that had put it there. “You Mongrels have proven to be an asset. You fight well and can prove valuable in the times that are to come. We cannot allow Lancroft’s creations to be freely distributed. When this current turmoil among them settles, we can cripple their efforts before they even know they’re in danger.”
“They’re always in danger,” Liam said. “Even the dumbest animals would know that by now.”
Focusing on a point to the east, Randolph said, “Yes, but some dangers cut deeper than others.”
Chapter Four
“Who the hell are these guys?” Cole asked as yet another batch of new arrivals walked into the basement through the glowing curtain of beads. The Dryads called the room a Skipping Temple because it could be used as a waypoint to shuttle someone to a further spot like a stone skipping across the top of a lake. Ever since Lancroft had been killed, nobody was skipping much farther than his basement.
Since the Skinners didn’t have membership cards, they identified themselves by holding out their hands to show the distinctive scars on their palms made by the thorns in their weapons. Those scars were more than just conversation pieces. Elements from the varnish that made the weapons powerful enough to combat supernatural creatures mingled with a Skinner’s blood, tainting it with traces of the Nymar and shapeshifter components within the mixture. Cole learned firsthand that the scars itched in the presence of Nymar, burned when shapeshifters were in the vicinity, and made his hands cramp when a heavy rain was on the way. That last part could have been a product of his age but he preferred to blame the scars.
Paige sifted through a pile of weapons stored in an old locker that looked as if it had been pulled out of a bus stop. Holding a wooden stake in one hand and a rusted cleaver in the other, she only glanced up long enough to take a quick look and reply, “I dunno who they are. Why don’t you ask them?”
“It’s three in the morning. How much longer do I have to meet and greet these people?”
“Stop whining, Cole. We were here when all the Lancroft shit hit the fan, so we’re the ones everyone’ll want to talk to.”
“Rico and Daniels were here too,” Cole whined. “How’d they get out of this?”
“Daniels is tweaking that ink. Ever since you put it through a successful field test, he’s been all giddy about it. As far as Rico goes, if you want to drag him back here by the ear, be my guest.”
The new arrivals almost got past Cole before he realized he hadn’t seen all of their hands. When he tried to get a look to confirm the other ones, he felt the itch in his palms grow into a bone-deep irritation. With so many Nymar and shapeshifter spare parts rattling around in that basement, his scars had been acting up since he arrived. But there was no mistaking when he was that close to a live vampire.
“Son of a bitch!” Cole shouted as he instinctively reached for the spear strapped to his back. “Nymar!”
Two of the four new arrivals sighed and nodded while holding their unscathed hands out to show they were empty. One was a tall man with a scalp that was shaved clean. A long brushy beard hung well past his chin and split in two separate directions toward the bottom. Now that Cole was closer, he could see the black markings of Nymar tendrils just under the man’s skin that led all the way to a spore attached to his heart, which caused his bloodsucking tendencies. The tendrils formed different patterns within each Nymar, and his were collected in thick clumps around the base of his neck like a collar that stretched up toward his ears in a dark, slowly swaying wave. He was almost Cole’s height but shrank a little as his shoulders slumped with tired resignation.
“Well, Bobby?” the other Nymar snapped. She was an inch taller than the bald one, but wasn’t talking to him. Staring daggers at the Skinner directly in front of her, she asked, “Aren’t you going to say something?”
The Skinner on the receiving end of her glare was slightly taller than average and thin as a rail. Simple rumpled clothes hung off a lean frame, and impatience filled his reddened eyes. Scratching burnt orange hair with callused hands, he wheeled around and replied, “I will if you give me a chance!” Turning around to face front again, he asked, “Is this the Lancroft house? In Philly?”
“No,” Cole replied. “It’s some other stop along the Spirit Bead Expressway. Of course it’s the Lancroft house!”
“No need to get lippy. That’s Paul,” he said while pointing to the bald Nymar. Nodding to the woman, he said, “And that’s Trudy.”
Dropping her angry grimace, Trudy extended a hand marked by dark tendrils on her wrists that tapered out and became lighter while maintaining a visible presence all the way to her fingertips. “Call me Tru.”
“Great,” Cole said. “You saved me a syllable when I ask my next question. Why are you here, Tru?”
“They’re with us,” Bobby replied.
“What about him?”
Until Cole nodded in his direction, the fourth member of the mixed party seemed content to blend with the background. Considering the background was a curtain of beads crackling with mystic natural force, blending in there was quite a feat. The only distinguishing characteristic the guy had was the web of scars on his hands. Other than that, he was the shortest of the bunch, had light hair and three knives strapped to his belt. It was yet another sign of Cole’s new outlook on life that three blades worn in plain sight wasn’t enough to make someone stand out anymore.
“That’s M,” Bobby said.
“M? Like the boss in the James Bond movies?”
Hearing that brought a bland smile to the man’s lips. “Yeah,” M said to Cole. “I like that. Like in the Bond flicks.”
“It’s short for Mathias,” Paul announced.
Cole smirked. “Oh, like Johnny Mathias?” It wasn’t the first time he was the only one laughing at his own jokes. Normally, he only had to tolerate dry stares from Paige, but now there was an entire room full of unimpressed people to make him squirm.” ‘Chances Are’? What about the Christmas album? That’s the good stuff, right?”
Without a hint of emotion, Bobby asked, “Don’t you mean Johnny Mathis?”
“Yeah,” Cole said, officially giving up on the attempt at humor. “That’s what I meant. What can I do for you guys?”
“We came to see if there’s anything left for us to take from the Lancroft haul. Ain’t that why everyone’s here?”
Someone bolted down the stairs from the main floor. Cole couldn’t see through the people milling around in the workroom, but he recognized Abel’s voice when it screeched, “One of you might wanna get up here!”
All of the eyes in the workshop turned to Paige. The ones in the Skipping Temple and the room where Henry had been dissected found Cole.
“It’s those assholes from down the street,” Abel continued. “They just trashed Jory’s car.”
Paige hopped off her stool, claiming the wooden stake by sticking it into the vacant holster strapped to her boot next to a baton that she’d crafted personally and carried all through the Lancroft incident. Her face was brighter than it had been for a while when she said, “Took them long enough!”
Cole hurried to catch up as she and Abel climbed the stairs to the main floor. The pale glow from the streetlights coming through the front windows seemed colder at that time of night. Across the street the dudes in the jerseys and T-shirts were laughing to each other and filling the air with obnoxious music and the slap of enthusiastic high fives.