Stories of the Otherworld: Chaotic Part 2

Surprise darted behind his blue eyes, but he masked it with a laugh. "Well done again. And, again, I surrender and offer my forfeit. Your choice of the bounty."

He started to reach into his pocket.

"Uh-uh. Hands out," I said. "I don't want any of your 'bounty,' but I think the museum does."

"Ah, museum security, I presume. I believe you might find my offer more... lucrative than the pat on the back the museum will give you."

"Nice try. I'm not-"

"Interested in a bribe? I'm impressed, and I'm sure your superiors will be as well. You see, they hired me to test their security system. They didn't inform your team, to test you as well, your efficiency and, if possible, your integrity. You've outdone their expectations, and I will personally recommend you for a bonus-"

"Stuff it. I'm not museum security."

He only gave a small smile, still unfazed. "So this is a citizen's arrest? Very admirable, but police won't appreciate being called for an authorized test of museum security, so I'd suggest you reconsider... and I do hope you have a permit for carrying that gun because-"

"I'm not calling the police. As I'm sure you already know, our sort have special ways of handling our special problems, ones better dealt with internally."

Normally this was enough, but he only arched his brows, feigning confusion. "Our sort?"

"The sort who can jump thirty feet and bend metal bars with their bare hands."

"Ah, that. I can explain-"

"I'm sure you can. Save it for the council."

His brows arched. "Council? You don't mean-"

The jingle of the handcuffs as I pulled them from my purse swallowed his last words. I'd heard enough already. He didn't have anything important to say, but would keep saying it, in every possible form, until I either lowered my guard or got so confused I set him free.

"You carry handcuffs in your purse?" He chuckled. "Perhaps when this misunderstanding is cleared up, we can get to know each other better-"

I drowned him out by snapping open the cuffs. He only sighed and held his hands in front of him, as helpful as could be. That, too, is typical. I'd only "arrested" four supernaturals so far, but three of them had done just this, surrendered and let themselves be taken into custody. The council had a reputation for fairness, and even criminals trusted them. As for the fourth arrest, the witch... I pushed the thought back. That one had been a lesson to me-not every supernatural would come along easily.

"You said council," he said as I fastened the cuffs. "That wouldn't be the interracial council, would it?"

"Had some experience with them, have you? Surprise, surprise."

"And you're a... delegate?"

"I'm a bit young, don't you think?" I said as I tested the cuffs.

"No, not really," he murmured. "So you're a..."

"Contract agent."

His brows shot up. "Agent? I hope you don't really expect me to believe that."

Figures. He might not be physically fighting back but he sure as h.e.l.l was going to use what-despite his superhuman strength-was obviously his weapon of choice. I took my scarf from my purse.

He continued, "Perhaps that story works with others, but I'm afraid whoever you're working for has underestimated my knowledge of the interracial council. They don't employ-"

I lifted the scarf.

He looked at it. "I'm already cuffed, and I can a.s.sure you, I don't need to be bound in any other way."

"Oh, I think you do."

I jammed it into his mouth. His eyes widened. He looked at me, eyes narrowing. Then, with a noise almost like a snarl, he turned his gaze away, and let me tie the scarf.

"Wait here," I said. "I'm going to make a call."

5.

One last check to make sure my quarry was secure, then another check-this one outside the door-and I slipped into the hall. I didn't dare go far, not when I wasn't sure of his powers.

He wasn't a vampire. The Samson routine with the metal bars had disapproved that theory. Contrary to some legends, vampires didn't have superhuman strength. My guess was that he belonged to the most complex of races-my own. I couldn't recall a half-demon type with his particular skill set, but we were a varied lot, with plenty of rare and poorly doc.u.mented types, like my own.

One thing I did know. This meeting had been no accident, and I kicked myself for not realizing that the moment Tristan offered me tickets to the gala. Granted, he did that kind of thing often-the perks that came with this job were phenomenal, and I sometimes felt guilty accepting them. I'd told Tristan and, through him, the council, that I didn't need any extras to boost my job satisfaction. But he a.s.sured me they were all freebies, like these gala tickets, a gift from a grateful supernatural that would go to waste if I didn't use them. Still, this was the second time Tristan had sent me someplace and I'd "stumbled" onto a supernatural crime in progress.

They were testing me. The council wanted to see how good my chaos nose worked, and I guess I couldn't fault them for that, but when I made that call, I couldn't help snapping at Tristan.

"Okay, okay," he said, laughing. "No more tests. Can you blame us, Hope? You're an Expisco half-demon! We're like kids with a new toy, dying to see what it can do. And you outdid yourself, as always. Karl Marsten, caught by a half-demon rookie agent."

"So the council's been after this guy for a while?"

"They have, which is why I should remind you that you shouldn't take down targets on your own. That's why we provide backup. You're too valuable."

"It wasn't much of a risk. Superhuman strength or not, he didn't even try to fight." I paused. "Those handcuffs will hold him, won't they? You said they're specially made to hold anything supernatural."

A moment's hesitation. "You cuffed him?"

"So they won't hold? Well, he's still in that room anyway. The door's closed and-"

"He can't break the cuffs, Hope. That's not the problem. I thought you knew-didn't you-you usually know what they are."

"Sometimes. This time, I didn't get a vision-"

Oh yes, I had. Standing in line at the buffet, with him behind me, a vision of forest and fur and fangs and blood.

"He's a werewolf," I said.

"And a very dangerous one. You need to subdue him-"

"Should I? If he's dangerous, don't you want me to wait-"

"No time. As charming as Marsten seems, he's a werewolf, the most brutal and unpredictable kind of supernatural, and now he's cornered, which makes him ten times as dangerous. If he knows it's the council who captured him, he'll do anything to get away-kill anyone in his path."

I swallowed. "Okay, so how do I subdue a werewolf?"

"Disable him. Knock him unconscious. Shoot him if you have to. You don't need silver bullets-"

"I know."

"Don't kill him, just-"

"Disable him. Got it."

I was already hanging up as Tristan promised me a backup team was on the way.

I made it as far as the door, one hand on the k.n.o.b, the other on my gun, still hidden in my purse. I turned the handle and- "You there!"

I dropped the gun into my purse and wheeled as a white-haired security guard strode toward me.

"What are you doing in that room?" he said.

Room? Oh, this room, the one I was clutching for dear life. I let go of the k.n.o.b and stepped away. Inside, a broom clattered to the floor. The guard turned toward the door, his eyes narrowing.

"Sorry," I said. "Guess I jostled it too hard. This isn't the coatroom, is-?"

Something clanged against a metal bucket. Then a clacking, like nails against linoleum. Oh G.o.d. He'd changed into a wolf. Of course he'd changed into a wolf. What else would a cornered werewolf do?

The guard reached for the handle. In that split second, I saw him pulling open the door, and a wolf leaping at his throat- I grabbed the k.n.o.b and held it. "It's jammed, see?" I made a show of jangling it. "That noise, that's what I heard, that's why I was trying to open it. But it's jammed."

"Probably locked."

"Er, no, I don't think-"

"The janitor has the keys-"

"Oh, actually, then, I bet you're right," I said quickly. "It's probably locked. Why don't you go find the janitor. I'll wait here."

The guard started to leave, then paused, and turned. "First, let me try the door. It might just be jammed-"

I backed into the door so fast my head cracked against it. The guard reached to steady me.

"Heels," I mumbled. "I'm always tripping in them."

I stepped forward, and let my knee give way. The guard grabbed my arm as I grimaced.

"My ankle. I think I twisted it."

"We should get you to-"

"Please," I said through my teeth, still grimacing. "I'll wait here."

"All right, just let me try the door first-"

As he turned toward the door again, I had no idea what to do, short of falling to my knees and howling in agony. He reached for the handle. Okay, one pratfall coming up- Before the guard touched the k.n.o.b, it turned. The door opened. A figure stepped out. Karl Marsten, fully dressed.

"Well, that was embarra.s.sing," he said with a self-deprecating half-smile. "I could've sworn this was the bathroom, and then the door jammed. Thank you. You saved me from the even more serious embarra.s.sment of having to call for help."

He shook the security guard's hand. Then he turned to me, and with a murmured thank you, a tip of his head, and a smile, he strolled off down the hall. I took a step after him.

"Miss? Do you want me to call a doctor?"

"Doctor? Oh, right. My ankle. No, my... date... he's a doctor. I'll just-"

I looked up and down the hall. The guard pointed toward the party, in the opposite direction of the one Marsten had taken. d.a.m.n. I managed a weak smile and a thank you, and headed back to the gala, tossing in the occasional limp for good measure.

When I reached the party, Douglas was still with the Bairds. I tried making a beeline for the other door, to go after Marsten, but Douglas hailed me. I headed over.

"Sorry," I said. "I was just... there's an old friend over there. You stay with the Bairds. I'll just go talk-"

"Friend?" He perked up. "What company does he work for?"

"She's a musician. Cla.s.sical. With the symphony."

His face fell. "Ah, well, you go on then." He nodded toward the Bairds. "I'm fine here."

I'll bet you are, I thought as I hurried away. And, by the way, my stomach's fine, too. Thanks for asking.

When I reached the corner where I'd last seen Marsten, he was gone. I switched on my mental radar to find him before he escaped with the jewelry. Yes, according to Tristan, I had far bigger things to worry about than stolen goods but... maybe I'm being naive, but Marsten hadn't acted like a cornered wild beast. I couldn't imagine him ripping through innocent partygoers in a frenzied dash to the exit, especially not when I wasn't picking up any chaos signals to suggest such a thing.

Tristan could be quite a mother hen. As he'd said, I was valuable. Expisco half-demons were rare, and one willing to work on the side of the white hats was rarer still. So I understood when Tristan did things like this, not letting me in on a takedown, keeping me sequestered from other agents, or overreacting with someone like Marsten. But understanding isn't accepting. I knew my limitations, which were many, and I was careful. Yet I had lost Karl Marsten, and d.a.m.ned if I was going to sit on my b.u.t.t and wait for the backup team to find him again.

So I practiced my developing bounty hunter skills. I cleared my mind and pulled up the images I'd seen at the buffet table: forest, running, fur, fangs. As I did, I tried, with debatable success, not to chastise myself too much for failing to recognize the meaning of the vision from the start.

I knew little about werewolves. Like vampires, they were rare, and kept to themselves. Unlike vampires, they also policed themselves, meaning the council had no reason to deal with them. I knew only one half-demon who'd ever even met a werewolf... and she wasn't all that sure that's what it had been. So I had an excuse for not leaping to "he's a werewolf!" conclusions. But, again, I didn't accept excuses.

After about a minute of mental scanning, I picked up Marsten's frequency. It was faint and flat-meaning he wasn't causing any trouble. Not yet.

I focused on the signal and followed. Down two dark halls, skirting past the gala, down another hall-the same one I started in when I'd first left the party. I reached the fork again. Marsten's trail went left, in the direction of that chaos residual I'd been tracking when his theft had diverted me. He was heading for the back exit.

Still concentrating on his trail, I went down the next corridor, turned the corner-and was smacked by a wave of chaos.

Marsten. s.h.i.t! He was- No, a deeper, calmer part of me replied. It's not him. It's here. Something happened here. Something recent.

I'd been hit by two chaos waves, both originating in this area. They had to be connected.

I pushed aside the werewolf images, and focused on this new signal. The voice came again, that gruff voice telling someone he shouldn't be back here. The plea. Then the scream.