Heir of Doom

Chapter Two

Chapter TwoI didn't get to talk to Vincent on Monday, or Tuesday or Wednesday, or that entire week. Every time I saw him he was in a bad mood, though bad was a gentle word. And it wasn't as if I could ask, “Yo, Vincent, is Elizabeth Mwara's mother?” I wanted to ease into the topic–just in case the kid was right–and, he gave me no opening to broach the topic.

Most of my training happened in the gym and was crammed with muscle building, endurance building and some focus building–keeping my body occupied with exercise while Vincent explained about traditions, cultures and rules of the preternatural world.

He'd make me run for hours, bench-press, do pull-ups and push-ups until I could no longer command the muscles of my body. He'd be right there beside me, running and pressing and talking, rarely breaking up a serious sweat.

Once, I'd complained about the hard and tiresome training, and he'd informed me my complaining only emphasized how behind I was, that most preternaturals my age could endure double what I was being given, and have enough energy to go dancing half the night.

Still, as demanding as he was, if he sensed I was lagging, he'd stand by to give me a chance to catch my breath and talk about past assignments, joke about funny mishaps, or feed me information about the preternatural community I couldn't fathom needing. But for the entire week before Christmas, I exercised alone. Vincent would drop by, check on me and make sure I wasn't slacking or being bothered, instruct me on the next exercise before stomping out, his mood as foul as rotten meat. I was aware this was due to a case and the fact he wanted to lead it, but Roland wasn't letting him go. Because of me?

Despite his lack of supervision, by the time five o'clock came around, my muscles would be so sore, even sitting or lying down hurt. I dreaded when it was time for my extra-ability training, afraid Vincent wouldn't have much to work with. Or he would find more than I was supposed to have. There were times I couldn't wait to find out myself, but whenever I recalled losing control to that raging monster inside of me, goosebumps broke out all over my body. What if I lost control to my Unseelie side again? How would I be able to tell right from wrong? Would I care?

Natalia, a powerful witch and a Hunter member I had yet to meet, would be responsible for my training after I mastered hand to hand combat. Vincent reassured me he'd be present in case something unexpected happened, but the fact he'd tried to reassure me made me uneasy.

The weekend brought Christmas and the loneliest time of my life. This time last year I'd worked as a waitress in a small restaurant back west. Vicky left to Sacramento for the festivities, and it was only me and Frizz at home, listening to the laughter, the ho-ho-ho of Santa Claus through thin walls and the TV.

Early Monday morning I walked the six blocks to base, something I did most days and evenings rain or shine. I guess it was a way to prove to myself I no longer needed to hide. I paused by Maggie's Heaven–the bakery where I met Mwara–their coffee was fantastic. The order line was just as long, but the barista was steady and fast, filling up orders with efficiency. The tables were mostly empty, including the one where I sat with Mwara, and I wondered if she was still living in fear, then pushed the worry away. I'd try to talk to Vincent today, and as I'd promised Vicky, if Mwara was worried for nothing, I'd tell him about her apprehension so someone could reassure the kid. No one deserved to live in terror, not even Elizabeth's daughter.

The Hunters' base, located in upper-east Manhattan, took up the first four floors out of the ten in the Edgar Lon-Kis building. The gym, an open floor plan, took up the entire fourth floor. The first floor housed a few conference rooms, Roland's and Vincent's offices. The second floor held the offices of the NSA Intelligence Preternatural Team, where the virtual team kept tabs on preternatural cybercrimes, whatever that meant. The third floor held the offices of the field members, a lounge area and a crib area for those who needed to crash before a job or after one. A cafeteria and a lounging area were on the ground floor, but aside from the time when Vincent gave me a tour, I'd never been there.

Not finding Vincent in the gym or near the lockers, I headed to the first floor to check his office, knocked and stuck my head inside, but there was no one behind his utilitarian desk. The bathroom door was closed, and I hesitated. Was it polite to knock at the bathroom door to check on your mentor? Not knowing if I should, I moved to his desk and leaned against it to wait. The surface was as neat and uncluttered and organized as the owner. A stack of papers was pushed to one side, a yellow file was placed atop. The name Fin was written on the edge with bold red lettering, and I picked it up, the stylized handwriting familiar. I'd seen it before… in Elizabeth's office, back when she'd bring work home.

My eyes moved to the photo underneath the envelope–a teenage boy with sharp green eyes and piercings on his eyebrows and lower lip. The military buzz cut no doubt was meant to make him look older, but the mischief in his eyes and the crooked curve of his lips canceled the effect. There was nothing in the photo saying he was a preternatural, but the fact he was here, in this office, spoke volumes. There was a dark spot to the side of his chin, just under the edge of his lip, and I picked up the photo to examine it closer, discovering a heart-shaped mole. Cute, I thought, returning the photo to the stack and the file on top. I glanced at the closed bathroom door.

“Vincent?” No one responded. I straightened and knocked once, and when no answer came, I tried the handle. Empty. I left the office and strolled over to Valerie, Roland's assistant.

“Hey, is Vincent in with Roland?” I asked, but the woman just typed on her laptop, ignoring me. Had it not been for the fact I've seen her talking to other members, I'd have said she was deaf.

I glanced at Roland's closed door and hesitated before turning and making my way to the elevators. If I were into the habit of carrying my cell phone, I could have called Vincent and spared myself the chase.

The doors to the elevator parted with a ping and a swoosh as I neared, and Tony, a werewolf with yellow eyes and dark brown hair, stepped out. She gave me a warm smile and a wave as she passed, and I waved back. She was one of a few who held no grudge against my human hybrid status, and I was grateful for that.

I stepped into the car just as the doors closed, belatedly realizing it was going down instead of up. Sighing, I leaned back against the side of the car. When the doors parted, it wasn't to reveal the ground floor or the parking area, but a dim corridor, with Jeremy the Bear waiting on the other side.

I took a step forward before I could think better, and he moved aside to give me room to pass. Embarrassed to step back, I nodded and stepped onto the plush carpet, acting as if I knew where I was going. Unlike Tony, Jeremy the Bear wasn't friendly, but he wasn't hostile either.

When the doors closed and the mechanical whir sounded, I sighed and searched for the stairs.

The corridor stretched long and far, with a few dark-wood doors on both sides, all of them closed. None were parallel to the other, and the arrangement seemed somewhat odd. I paused near the closest door–the one to my left–noticing carvings of symbols in the woodwork. I traced one, recalling it from a book Vincent gave me to study. A rune? Or was it a sigil?

Curious, I pressed my ear to the door, but there was no sound on the other side. I tried the handle next. Locked. I glanced at the elevator, somewhere up on the second floor. I moved to the door on the right, and like the first, there were carvings of runes or sigils on it, but no sound of inhabitants on the other side.

What was this place?

There were nine doors on this floor, four to each side of the corridor, spaced well apart, with one more at the end, directly across from the elevator. They all had carvings on the woodwork, all shut with no sound or light coming from underneath.

I was moving back to the elevator–no stairs on this level–when a noise to the left caught my attention. I inched toward the closest door. My heart raced, and although I chastised myself, I reached for the handle nonetheless. I Listened, heard the odd noise again, but couldn't decipher it. The handle turned in my hand, and I realized with a thrilling rush it wasn't locked.

An invitation to come in. What was on the other side? An image of a bright red room with a small draped table and tarot cards came to mind. Or, a sterile room with a steel slab and men dressed in white lab coats…

I pushed the door open with a foot, and what I found on the other side was so ordinary, it took my mind a second to shift gears. A spacious well-furnished living room was not what I'd expected. Small nooks on the wall supported flickering candles, providing illumination and a soothing ambiance. Deep colored cushions were pushed against the walls in a comfortable Japanese seating arrangement. Various weapons decorated the walls, but it was the guy standing in the middle of the room my eyes focused on.

Douglas Vemourly, aka Diggy as he was called here in base—or Doug, the friend Rafael and Logan had talked about. My superior, considering he was third in command.

He was naked to the waist, chest gleaming with sweat, feet bare and eyes closed, doing a macabre combat dance, a thin plain blade in each hand.

My eyes moved to the weapons adorning the walls, modern and antique, of different sizes and shapes, all gleaming with proof of a recent oiling. Cannon guns, axes, rapiers. Even a mace, dull with age, hung below a candle. But the prize went to the swords; they were countless. Some were long and slender, some wide and small, some ornate with precious stones. Dull blades, metal blades, golden blades, sharp blades, pointed blades, serrated blades.

A single, closed door stood to the left, no doubt leading to the rest of the apartment.

My focus returned to the man, now doing an amalgamation of motions, thrusts, arcs, pirouettes, even a semi-diagonal flip, kicking an invisible opponent, blade arching down on a second. Realizing I had no right to be there and Ashamed of myself, I was about to turn and leave when Diggy half turned at the waist, the powerful muscles of his back flexing, and threw a blade at me. It passed my ear with a loud frightening whiz, embedding in the doorframe. His hazel eyes blazed with anger, his breathing harsh, his sandy hair sticking to sweat-wet temples. It made for a formidable image, and if I had my phone with me, I'd have risked taking a photo. Not wanting to give him enough reason to strangle me, I turned and beat a hasty retreat, realizing too late I should have at least apologized.

Back on the first floor–I was on Level Minus One–I tried Valerie once more, only to be stone-walled. Again. Not having the patience or will to play her games, I bared my teeth–something she ignored–and marched to Roland's office without permission, knocking once before pushing open the door. Valerie didn't even twitch.

Roland wasn't in his office, or the conference room adjacent, so I returned to the gym, expecting to find a pissed-off Diggy waiting, and feeling ashamed of myself. I had better manners than that. As I started an awkward warm-up, I heard Asra and Raji, both fire mages, talking about a threat with a vampire gang turning unwilling humans into fledglings and that Vincent had been assigned the case.

Half an hour later, I was summoned to Roland's office and was dressed down for barging into it without permission. Well, it was just an admonishment, where he pointed out Valerie was out there to inform members when and if he was available, and it was disrespectful both to the rules and to him to shrug her off. I nodded, head lowered so he wouldn't notice my clenched jaw. I could almost see Valerie gloating in the next room.

Resigned, Roland pointed at the chair across from him, laced his fingers and regarded me as if I were an unruly child he didn't know how to handle.

“Vincent gave Valerie a training schedule for you to follow in his absence,” he said, and I nodded, not pointing out Valerie had ignored me when I'd asked after him earlier. “He assured me you'd have no trouble following the schedule on your own until he returned.”

Another nod. “When will he return?”

Roland's lips pursed for a moment. “The situation down south is delicate. The fledglings, they are like children in need of firm guidance. Vincent will need to locate the sire, provide appropriate homes for the new fledglings and deal with the media.” He grimaced at that. “If all goes well, a week tops.”

Meeting over, I moved out to Valerie, half expecting her to ignore me again. But without a word, she handed me several papers clipped together, filled with instructions for the entire week. Without saying thank you, I took the stairs to the fourth floor and devoted the coming days to the notes Vincent had made.