In the distance something screeched. It was the triumphant violent shriek of a predator that’d connected with its prey. The Warren was in its usual form tonight. Come to think of it, that was the first sound I’d heard in a while. It was too deserted and too quiet. The cold or the People must’ve driven the Warren’s scavengers indoors.
I could feel two vampire minds behind us. They were about a mile and a half back and not moving. Most likely an observation post that got staffed after we passed through.
We passed a rusted wreck of a truck. Ice slicked the road. Probably an overflowing sewer or a busted waterline that spilled water over the street before it had frozen solid. Up ahead a hole gaped in the pavement, about five and a half feet wide. A manhole cover lay frozen in the ice. Looked like something tore out of the sewers and pulled a good deal of soil with it. If some mysterious mole people cornered us, I’d point them toward the Casino and tell them that’s where our leader lives.
A man in dark clothes walked out into the middle of the road and blocked our way. He was lean, with short dark hair. He raised his head and looked at me. I developed a sudden urge to check for the quickest exit.
“That’s the bastard who shot me. Well!” Desandra cracked her knuckles. “Let me just take care of this . . .”
“Wait,” I told her.
“What? Why?”
“Yes, why?” Robert asked.
“Do you remember the Red Stalker thing? The serial killer who collected and tortured women and ate vampires?”
“Yes,” Robert said.
“He ate vampires?” Ascanio asked.
“Before your time,” Derek told him.
The Red Stalker also killed Greg Feldman, my legal guardian and the knight of the Order who took care of me after Voron died. It was my first time interacting with the Pack, my first time meeting Derek, and the first time, but not the last, I had felt an irresistible need to punch Curran in the arm. “During the investigation, the Pack captured a crusader.”
“I remember,” Robert said. “He smelled like rotting food. I think we had to dip him. He had lice.”
I nodded toward the man. “That’s him.”
Robert squinted. “It can’t be.”
Back then Nick looked like a hobo. He wore a filthy coat smeared with trash and old food, had greasy hair down to his shoulders, and cultivated the kind of hygiene that guaranteed him loads of personal space from anyone with a nose or a pair of eyes. Cleaned up, he looked fit and athletic, but average. The man in front of us now looked hard and mean, stripped of all softness. His hair was cut so short, it was almost stubble. His triangular jaw was clean shaven. He looked like a soldier or a fighter, clean, spare, and hard.
“It’s him,” I said. “I’ve seen him before with Hugh at the Midnight Games.”
So this was Hugh’s game plan. He wanted to separate me from the Pack. When we had talked during the Black Sea trip, he’d said that prying me from the Keep would be too difficult. He dangled the crime scene in front of me like bait, stationed his people along the approaching routes, and waited. Nick wasn’t here to kill me. He was here to delay me. He probably sent a signal to Hugh, letting him know he’d sighted me, and now he would do everything he could to stall until Hugh got here.
Derek stared at him. Their expressions were almost identical, flat, carrying an awareness of how vicious life could be and knowing they would never forget it.
“He looks like he’s been through some shit,” Derek said.
You’d know.
“What’s a crusader?” Desandra asked.
“Crusaders are knights of the Order,” Robert said.
“Aw crap,” Desandra growled.
The knights of the Order were strictly off-limits for the Pack. You might as well walk into a police station and shoot a cop.
“They’re not assigned to any chapter,” I said. “They go where needed and they bend the rules. They’re like janitors. Got a nasty problem, throw a crusader at it. He’ll cut it to pieces and leave town.”
“But he shot me! Doesn’t that count for something? What the hell is he doing with d’Ambray anyway? If he switched sides, I can kill him.”
“Crusaders are fanatics,” Derek said. “It’s not likely he switched sides. Jim thinks he’s undercover.”
“Even if he is, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “He made the decision to block us. But running up to him and trying to punch him is a bad idea. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”
We had to get past Nick. We had vampires behind us and taking a different route would take too long. We were committed now. We had to go forward.
“We don’t want to fight,” Robert called out. “We know who you are. We have no reason to kill you.”
Nick pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the ice.
“Perhaps you should negotiate?” Robert glanced at me.
Sure. I cleared my throat. “Move or I’ll cut your head off.”
Nick took off his leather jacket and tossed it aside.
“He has no weapons,” Derek said.
Robert grimaced.
No weapons meant magic, and whatever he had would be nasty, because there were five of us and one of him and he didn’t look worried. The Nick I knew had very specific powers. He could tell how much magic you had by touching you and he had uncanny hand-eye coordination, which made him very accurate with guns and knives. If he had combat magic, he didn’t use it even when fighting for his life, which probably meant he didn’t have it at the time. But he’d been hanging out with Hugh for over a year, probably more. Now Nick was a jack-in-the-box. There was no telling what fun surprises would pop out when you wound him up.
Nick pulled off his sweater. His arms weren’t just defined, they were carved, as if someone had cut him out of a slab of stone with a sharp knife. His neck was thick, his shoulders broad, and his gray T-shirt, tight across his shoulders, was loose over his middle. That body was the result of hours and hours at the gym, spent not bulking up by lifting heavier and heavier weights, but by kicking, punching, grappling, and running. He wasn’t shredded, he was just hard, conditioned to throw a devastating blow and to take one and keep going. He looked like you could punch him for hours and it would just make him madder.
His T-shirt followed. Yep. Just like I thought.
“Before you start dancing, we don’t have any cash!” I called.
“Woo!” Desandra waved her arms. “Take it off!”
“How do you want to go about this?” Robert asked me quietly.
“I can give it a shot,” Ascanio offered.
“Sit your ass down, Don Juanabe,” Derek said.
“Don Juanabe?” Ascanio pulled out his swords.
“Don Juan Wannabe,” Derek explained. “See, I shortened it. If you still don’t get it, I’ll write it down for you after the fight.”
“You’ve maxed out your wit quota for the night,” Ascanio said.
“I’m just getting started.”
“Be careful, you might sprain something in your brain.”
“Quiet,” I growled.
I knew why Nick joined Hugh. The Order hated Roland. He was their public enemy number one. It made sense for him to go undercover with Roland’s warlord. If Hugh had turned him to his side, then there was nothing I could do. But if he hadn’t, imagining the things Nick had to have endured to survive his time with Hugh turned my stomach. It would’ve been hell for him. Somehow Nick had done it and I didn’t want to end his sacrifice here.