Blood Rage, page 8
“Descendant?”
“Yes. Enk’mal Shakka is descendant of Glal. Many children in between. He is last.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The words touch me but don’t quite penetrate. Because how can they? Shakka? Miserable, foul-mouthed, constantly complaining, raw-meat munching Shakka is descended from kings? It has to be a joke.
“No kid. Only truth. You not know?”
I lift my hands skyward. “How the hell would I know that? He works in lock-up. He gets paid minimum wage—barely. He dresses like a hobo and eats almost rotten meat from recycled takeaway boxes.”
Erkyan glares at me. “Not rotten. Delicacy.”
“It smells like trash.”
“Gifts from followers. Your word is maybe vassal.” She shakes her head. Her large ears flap from side to side. “You know so little. Sad. I thought more for you.”
Okay, ouch. The words flay me like fillet knives. “Erkyan, I—”
“No worries. Humans are like children. Ignorant? You not know.”
Double ouch.
I can’t help but stare at her now, trying to take it in. But then, the more I think about it, the more I find that I could believe it.
Shakka has always been haughty and overbearing. Autocratic, almost, even if nobody else around him seemed to care. Could this be why? I would certainly be angry and grumpy around the clock if no one acknowledged my history. After all, to be related to Glal in any way would make him almost royalty, right?
But then, why is he working for SPEAR in a position barely above a grade two Delta agent?
I open my mouth to ask, but Erkyan is much faster.
“He asked you find Blade?”
A small nod.
“And you say no?”
“I—”
“Disappointed. Is not errand or slave task, Danika. Is honour. He would ask you, human, to find his property? Allow you to touch? Hold? No higher glory for human. And you say no.”
My skin crawls with discomfort and shame. Holy crap. “I didn’t know.”
“Now know. What say?” Her gaze is calm and steady. Hot and intense.
“But I’m grounded. I’m not even supposed to leave Angbec—”
Erkyan sighs. Her disgust is palpable. “Rules. When, before now, did you ever care for rules?” With a last glare, she turns away. At the bin, she kicks her toes beneath the broken mug handle and hikes it into the bin. Then she’s gone, through the door and out of sight.
I stare at the empty space she just left, my mind whirling several hundred miles per hour.
Chapter Ten
I don’t have time to follow or even question Erkyan. An absent glance at my watch reminds me I’m supposed to be at Clear Blood in fifteen minutes.
The journey is thirty by car.
By the time I reach the fancy research facility, I’m twenty minutes late for the appointment, a problem made still worse by the fact that parking is a nightmare.
After much searching, I find a space at the far end of the underground car park, wedged between a pillar and a wall. It might not even be a true parking space because I’m forced to wriggle my way out the window to escape the narrow space.
Inside, after showing off my ID, climbing several sets of steps at a run, and diving into the research labs, I’m sweating buckets. My clothes stick to my back and thighs, and my locs have tumbled free of their pony.
Two figures in lab coats wait for me, one clutching a clipboard, the other gnawing on the end of a pen.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The words tumble out on the back of my loud panting. “I got held up.”
The pen gobbler frowns at me. “After last time, we didn’t think you were coming.”
Last time? Oh, but of course. Now I remember him. This is the guy who insisted on standing behind me the entire time I stood in front of the scanners wearing a chilly, backless gown. To this day, I’m unsure if he intended to protect my modesty or take advantage of my lack of it. Can’t remember his name, but it doesn’t matter all that much. The biro he chews on is chipped and broken, and I can’t think of any more appropriate name than Pen Gobbler.
Clipboardina, on the other hand, is new. Or at least, I don’t recognise her. She moves with the smooth, near boneless glide of an edane, but I’ve no idea what flavour. When I begin to shrug off my clothes, she raises a hand to stop me.
“Not this time, Agent. Given how low we are on time today, we’ll be doing some different studies. You won’t need to change.”
Thank fuck. Last thing I want to be doing now is pulling off all my gear. While I don’t have my gun, I still have everything else I tend to carry on my hips and in my pockets, including several knives and all my throwing stars. Those are new.
She leads me along a light, bright corridor lined with several doors while Pen Gobbler brings up the rear.
Yup. He definitely likes being behind me.
Somewhere towards the middle of the corridor, Clipboardina stops and glances at her namesake. “Today we’ve brought in several different edane volunteers to sit with you in controlled conditions for a total of ten minutes each. You are to converse with them calmly and naturally, though we ask that you don’t touch anybody. They are instructed to treat you kindly and respectfully on the understanding that they are taking part in a social experiment on humans and edanes in tight spaces.”
I open my mouth, thinking she might pause to take a breath, but no. She ploughs on again, this time, faster still.
“You will spend time with werewolves, sprites, trolls, various fae, goblins—and humans as a control. Some will be known to you, others not. Of course we can’t get any vampires today, but maybe later when the sun sets.”
“Sunset? But it’s barely midday now. How long do you want me to be here?”
Clipboardina glances away from her notes to eye me over the top of her narrow glasses. “As long as it takes, Agent. I’m sure you understand how serious your condition is.”
I fight the urge to reach behind me. “It isn’t hurting anybody.”
“Nor is it something we understand. Those markings may be the sign of an illness, possession, a calling sign, or even a death message, we don’t know. And we also don’t know if it isn’t hurting people.”
“I haven’t spat up any black goo if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She actually looks alarmed. Even takes a step back.
“Sorry, poor taste.”
Pen Gobbler clears his throat. “Have you experienced any discomfort since your last visit? Any unusual physical symptoms we don’t know about?”
I shrug. “My periods stopped again. But I expected that.”
A nod from Clipboardina. “Lupine immunity shots often disrupt that cycle. That’s fine. But have there been any mood swings or emotional changes?”
This time I eye them both. “No.” The word is slow off my tongue. “Are you two leading somewhere with this?”
No answer. Instead Clipboardina opens the door before us and gestures me inside. “We’ll be observing from behind the glass. If you have any questions, there will be a button on the table in front of you. If you need anything, use that same button. There should be a bottle of water and a cup there too, as well as a few snacks.”
“Goody.” I step through and wince as the door snaps shut behind me with a firm, final click.
It’s going to be a long day.
* * *
“Are we done yet?” I manage to wait for my latest visitor to step away before I complain. She’s an excitable and cheerful werewolf child from the deeply reclusive Long Tooth pack. Barely more than six, her glee at being invited to Clear Blood is a sight to behold.
She asked me questions non-stop for the entire ten minutes, her eyes and voice lively with joy. Apparently she loved the idea of speaking with a SPEAR agent and had all sorts of questions about becoming one herself. Chatting to her had been a much needed breath of fresh air following several conversations with an assortment of bored, confused, weary, or downright agitated others.
And Clipboardina hadn’t exaggerated at all—several fae visited me in that room, including a gnome, an oak sprite, and even a spriggan, though I’ve no idea what they expected from that encounter. The tiny thing simply bounced off the walls for ten minutes, screeching and scratching, before settling into a corner to glare at me from behind several rude hand gestures.
Watching them extricate the creature had been fun, though.
I followed my instructions closely and refused to touch it, even when it somehow got hold of a spoon and gnawed the end to make a sharp, deadly point.
On top of them, I’d spoken with several human civilians including a banker, a teacher, a nomad, and an exotic dancer. I have no idea where Clear Blood found these people, but all of them were normal and boring. Well, compared to the life of a SPEAR.
In between all the strangers came a handful of people I knew—various Deltas or Omegas from within SPEAR. Even a Beta or two, a mixture of humans and edane. But now, several hours on…
“That must be the last one, right?”
“One more, Agent.” Pen Gobbler’s voice crackles through the speakers set into the upper corners of the room. “Then we’re done. A goblin colleague of yours.”
That sits me a little straighter. Most of the goblins on staff that I know are in Delta or Psi teams, so I’m unlikely to know them well. But it’s always interesting to learn what’s happening in training and research or even on the switchboard, where a lot of Delta agents work.
I sip the last dregs from my third bottle of water and turn my attention to the door. It opens.
Shakka walks through.
I spit my water.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
He glares back just as hard. “Dealing with you during work hours isn’t enough. Seems I have to sit here for a chin-wag during my off time too.”
“Great.” I stab the button on the desk. “Hey, guys, can we cut this one short?”
“Why?” Clipboardina this time.
Shakka sits and folds his thick arms across his chest. “Because the little SPEAR agent is no good at holding to her word, that’s why. She agreed to stay for the whole trial? Bet she’s been trying to weasel her way out of it the whole time.”
I lower my face to the table, forehead first. “I’m not in the mood, Shakka. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I desperately need a piss, and your miserable face is the last thing I feel like staring at for the next ten minutes.”
“Back at you, Karson.” He spits, actually spits, on the ground near my feet.
“You two have an antagonistic history?” Clipboardina’s voice is high with interest.
I sigh. “You could say that.”
“No. I just don’t like liars.”
“I’m not a liar.”
“Breakers of their word, then.”
“I’m not that, either.”
Shakka slaps his hands on the table and leans forward. He doesn’t come close to touching me, but he’s certainly in danger of reaching my personal space. “You. Owe. Me.” His voice is a low snarl. “If only you understood what this means. What’s at stake—”
“Why not send one of your little minions out after it?” Almost the very second I say it, I want the words back. Part of me hopes he doesn’t notice, but this is Shakka, after all. He notices everything.
“Minions?”
I sigh. “I spoke to Erkyan today. She”—I glance warily at the speakers above and the cameras mounted in opposite corners—“told me some things.”
The goblin becomes very still. “She shouldn’t have done that.”
“Perhaps not. But I think she did it because she cares for you. Hell if I know why, though.”
He smiles, actually smiles. The difference is startling. Abruptly, Shakka is no longer a grouchy, grumbling, ugly old thing, but a bright-eyed, almost coy little figure. His busted up nose and mangled ears do nothing to take from his obvious surprise and joy.
“What did she say?”
“She called me ignorant for one thing—”
“And she’s right.” The smile is gone in an instant. “You surprised me by even knowing who Glal is, but you’re just like the rest.”
“I—”
“That blade is mine. Mine. It doesn’t belong with any cave sprite or in some human museum—it belongs with me. And I want it back. You’re the only person who can get it.”
“What, no minions available right now?”
He glares. “Do you think I’d ask you if I had any other choice? Do you really think I haven’t already tried? That sprite is from a tiny town several miles north that barely even recognises the Supernatural Creatures Act. They act like it’s still 2001, and no one has a clue who we are. I need a human to head out there, and damn it, the only one even remotely competent is you.”
I lean back in my seat, alarmed. “That…that was a compliment.”
“The hell it was.”
“I know what I heard.” And for the first time, I look at him. Really look at him.
Shakka looks old. Sure, he’s warty, pockmarked, and scarred, but I’ve never seen the fine lines across his forehead before. Or the darker rim of colour beneath his lower eyelids. His lip corners are stretched and turned down, his long, mangled ears, droopy.
I hesitate. “Erkyan said it’s an honour. That you wouldn’t have asked me unless you truly trusted me.”
Well, that’s a slight exaggeration, but no one will know.
He snorts. “At least you know that much. A human laying hands on our treasures without losing several fingers is no small thing. Why do you think Glal decided to march across Mercia in the first place?”
I’ve no idea, but I keep my mouth well closed, in case my lack of knowledge is enough to set him off again.
“You owe me a favour, Karson, but you…” He winces. “You’re also good at what you do. You’re stupid, rash, impulsive, and a huge pain in my arse, but you get the job done. This is a job that needs to be done.”
“Thanks. I think.”
We sit in silence for several seconds, him glaring at his balled-up fists, me staring at the top of his head, trying to imagine a crown on it.
Moments later, the door opens, and Pen Gobbler looks through. “That’s it, Agent. We’re done. Sir, if you’d like to step out, we’ll escort you to your next appointment. And you, stay here a moment longer—my colleague will tell you what’s next.”
Shakka sighs and shoves back from the table. He has to hop to reach the ground, then slap-slaps his barefooted path towards the door.
“Wait.” The word is out of my mouth before I can catch it.
Pen Gobbler stares at me expectantly, but Shakka looks bored, waiting for his turn to be through the door.
Deep breath. “I’ll see what I can do, Enk’mal. I keep my word.” My spoken Goblin is terrible, clunky at best, but I know immediately that Shakka has understood me.
He smiles the smallest of smiles. “That’s more like it, Karson,” he replies in kind, flawless and fluent, of course. “I’ll get you anything you need. Be ready tonight.”
And he’s gone.
Alarmed, Pen Gobbler treats me to a questioning look.
I shrug, waving off his concern with a smile of my own. “Goblins, am I right?”
* * *
I’m barely back in my car—through the window again—and on the move before my phone trills with an incoming message.
This time I have to pull over to slip my Bluetooth headset into place. “Hello?”
“Danika.” Maury’s voice is clipped and fast. “Are you done at Clear Blood?”
“Yes.” I stretch the word into several syllables. “What’s wrong?”
“We have a lead. Finally. You need to come back in, right now.”
“But—”
“Now, Karson. We can’t waste any time on this. How soon can you get here?”
I glance at the road signs ahead of me, particularly the one indicating that SPEAR HQ is a mere half mile away.
“Soon.”
“Good. Do it. Trust me, you want to hear about this.” He hangs up.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, thinking.
A lead. Out of nowhere? What on earth. And who? When? How?
I think of this morning’s briefing and my team’s glumness as they discussed the distinct lack of anything concrete. It seems just a little bit too perfect for something to come up now. Right now.
Back inside after the trial of identifying myself, I weave my way through the office to reach Maury’s corner.
And there he is. Maurice Cruush, his chunky, round-bellied self wedged between his chair and desk. He shoves back as I approach, and the wheels on his seat squeal in protest.
“Danika.”
“Maury.”
He grins.
I wait.
“Crack a smile, Karson, good grief. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I just spent over three hours chatting nonsense with a bunch of strangers inside Clear Blood. I’m tired. I’m fed up. I still haven’t slept all that well, and I’m hungry too.”
He gestures to a stool hastily pulled up on the other side of his desk. “I won’t keep you. Sit. We’ll go through it.”
The stool is wobbly and uneven. I perch on the end of it and engage my core while trying to feel relaxed and comfortable.
It doesn’t work.
“Erkyan brought in a lead not too long ago. We’ve checked it as best we can, but there’s no more we can do without sending you out there.”
The reading on my internal-suspicion radar flickers upward. “Me? Why me? And a lead on what?”
“The marks on your back.” Maury’s eyes are shiny, his voice low but excited. “She found an old scholar in some village called Moarwell who specialises in ancient writings. This woman is old and skilled, but she can’t travel.”
