Wolf for Hire

Chapter Forty Three

I stood next to Eugene, looking through the doorway of the newly opened Slip.

"What am I looking at?" I whispered harshly.

Above my shoulder, Coy's head swiveled, ears twitching as he continued to listen for signs of the horse-shaped chimera—Slyvester Stallion. Boden was listening too, though less intently—his head rested heavy against my neck, nuzzling into my cheek. I held Eugene's staff in one hand, and absently stroked Boden's fur with the other—the activity just as soothing for me as it was for him.

Recent events had me more than a little stressed at the moment.

"It appears to be an elevator shaft," Nevermore said, matching my tone. He'd hopped up on Eugene's shoulder for a better view—and because mine were occupied.

"I can see that," I replied, gesturing at the door. "Why is it sideways?"

Through a tedious process of elimination, Eugene had eventually found the key he was looking for. When he opened the door, the broom closet that had once stood there was gone. In its place stretched a long, dark corridor disappearing into shadow. Rectangular in shape, a pair of steel guide rails ran along the floor and ceiling. Electrical conduit traced the base, and square double doors lined the right-hand wall—floor stops.

Very much an elevator shaft, but one that was rotated by ninety degrees.

How, you might ask?

For the price of 'my ass', I was willing to bet it had something to do with magic.

"When you use the Abandon to connect two points in real space, orientation doesn't need to be preserved," said Eugene, also whispering. He was adjusting the dressing on his wrist now that he'd gotten rid of the thawed bag of frozen peas. He was securing his wand beneath the bandages—doubling it as a splint while ensuring he could still use it. "We are actually looking straight down, not forward."

I leaned to the side, trying to see if changing my point of view would help my brain reinterpret what I was seeing. Despite knowing what I was looking at, the peculiar perspective made it difficult to see it as anything other than an oddly shaped corridor—like the utility tunnels found under many a large building.

Hell, had it been a little sloped, or the entrance below ground, and I might've thought it was part of the mill.

Curious, I reached toward the door—only for Eugene to let go of his bandages and catch my wrist mid-motion.

"First rule about portals," he said evenly. "Test before touching."

He released my hand, then flicked his wrist to summon a rubber ball—the same one I'd pilfered from him earlier. With a muttered incantation—"Prilumi"—he illuminated it with a soft glow.

Both Coy and Boden immediately perked up, tracking it in unison.

No, this isn't fetch, I warned them.

Disappointment radiated from both of them.

Eugene tossed the ball underhand, in a gentle upward arc. As it crossed the door's threshold, it suddenly rocketed downward into the shaft like it had been struck with a bat. The glowing orb streaked into the depths until it became a pinprick of light, then finally ricocheting off the bottom and walls, with a faint series of echos.

"Oh, now that's insidious," Nevermore murmured.

"The hell was tha—" I began, catching myself as my volume slipped above a whisper.

It probably wasn't necessary to speak so quietly, considering Slyvester Stallion knew where we were—trapped in this metal box of a building. With Coy and Boden's help, I could keep tabs on him as he continued to circle the warehouse—a noticeable limp in his hoofsteps. He'd toned down his act a good bit after taking a bullet to the foot, but as I was the one who put it there, I wasn't eager to draw more of his attention.

In case he wanted to somehow return the favor.

Eugene pointed to the wall and floor inside the door—a two-foot-thick segment of what appeared to be solid concrete.

"The shaft is in real space—probably in a nearby building—yet the threshold exists in the Abandon. It may be a short distance, but the gravity in that space is significantly magnified. It's meant to yank in anything that brushes the edge and hurl it down the shaft."

I decided I should grasp Eugene's staff with both hands. Keep them occupied. It was said that idle hands were prone to mischief.

Apparently, they could also get you killed.

Note to self: Don't touch anything—especially when magic was involved.

"But what's the point of this?" I said. "I thought this Slip was meant to transport the thralls? This would harm someone."

Maybe, just maybe, I could survive a fall like that—being a werewolf and all. But I sure as hell didn't want to find out. God forbid I discovered the limits to my regenerative abilities after I broke every bone in my body.

I could easily have myself a real suck-ass superpower. One that prevented me from outright dying from a fall, only to leave me fully paralyzed.

"That seems to be the point," Nevermore chimed in. "It appears this Slip was set up to be a decoy, meant to trick and kill anyone that came snooping around."

Right. As if the killer chimera hadn't made it obvious enough to me that someone wanted us dead.

You see? I wasn't used to this feeling—of knowing someone out there wanted me dead. And not like the "I wish you were dead so I never have to see or speak to you again" sort of dead.

More like a "I'm going to put you six feet under" sort of dead.

Or, in this case, "I will drop you down an abandoned elevator shaft" dead—a slightly different tune with the same results.

Needless to say: This wasn't a comforting feeling. It was the kind that made you look over your shoulder, double-check the locks on your door.

Sleep with a gun under your pillow.

"So, what—Kirkland's trying to ice you? Knew we'd find this Slip and that you'd try to open it?" I asked, the edge in my voice sharper than intended.

Eugene paused, then shook his head slowly. "No. This doesn't fit David's behavior."

I arched a brow. "What? Didn't think he'd outsmart you?"

This got a response out of Eugene. Not one that showed in his face, but in the way his injured hand twitched—like he was about to reach for something. His gun perhaps? His posture had stiffened too, but only for a moment. I could see him catch himself, take a deep breath, then breath out slowly.

I'd meant to prod at him with my comment—I could feel myself growing agitated and it wasn't like I was trying to hide it.

Still, I hadn't expected to actually hit a nerve. Hell, wasn't even sure which nerve it was.

Eugene shook his head. "No. It's the whole killing part. I know David. He can be underhanded, but he's not a killer. His tricks and traps are meant to delay or mislead. Dump you in the middle of the woods, or a landfill. Not... this."

"Well, I mean, it wouldn't kill you, obviously," I offered. "Does Kirkland know you can just levitate yourself?"

Eugene rubbed his chin, brow furrowed. "I'd imagine he would. I've used that trick on him before. Which is why this is odd. Slips don't always act predictably. Kirkland knows this better than anyone. And this trap is more likely to get some innocent bystander killed than me."

I started tapping my foot. I understood that being part of an investigation meant working without all the facts. That was the point—to follow the trail to order to solve the puzzle. In fiction, it was exciting: Gave you that burning desire to know more.

But now, having found myself in the middle of an actual mystery, with real guns and real stakes?

I could say with certainty that I didn't enjoy it one bit.

We needed a plan, and what I needed was Eugene to stop making second-guesses and give me something I could go on.

I was the intern in this situation for god's sake. I was neither qualified nor getting paid to figure out forces I didn't understand.

"So, what? You're saying this isn't his handiwork? After you just confirmed that this was his Slip?" My voice was rising again—I couldn't help it. "Excuse me if I seem a little confused, but I'm smelling some inconsistencies here. What aren't you telling me?"

I stepped towards him, glaring at him. "Don't think I didn't notice you used David's first name when you got defensive. He's not just some random petty crook to you, is he? You two have a history."

"You are correct," Eugene said, voice tight, lifting a hand in a pacifying gesture. "I've known Kirkland for a while. Well before we were ever at odds with each other. Which is why I know this isn't how he normally does things."

If he was trying to be reassuring, it wasn't working on me.

"But you said he's working for whoever's running the show—with the thralls and that chimera. What if this was their idea?"

Eugene shook his head. "No. Even then. Dav—Kirkland has his policies. A code, you could say."

"How about a price?" I replied.

"Money is a little meaningless when you have gifts like his," Eugene replied, quieter now. He'd turned away when he spoke.

What had I seen in his face? Disbelief? Resentment?

I still didn't know Eugene well-enough to pick up on his cues.

"All right, then how do you explain this?" I gestured at the shaft. "Or that?" I added, motioning toward the warped garage wall the chimera had mangled.

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Eugene hesitated—not like he didn't have an answer, but like he was debating how best to give it to me.

Didn't like where this was going.

"It is possible," he said, choosing his words carefully, "that I may be wrong about the nature of Kirkland's involvement."

My fingers dug into the staff. He was trying to sound calm. But there was hesitation there now.

And that scared me more than anything he'd said so far.

"Care to elaborate?" I asked. I managed to keep my voice from rising again, but I could feel a rumbling in my chest.

It wasn't that I was angry at Eugene. At least, not entirely. Here I was, in the middle of the night, trapped inside some rickety metal shack, being stalked by a mutated draft horse—who had most likely been abducted from one of the dozen or so carriage companies around Charleston. Meanwhile Eugene, the only person who could make sense of any of this, was now realizing that he might be on the set of The Fugitive—playing the role of Tommy Lee Jones.

You could say I was more than a little frustrated.

Eugene hesitated before answering. "Look, there's a lot going on that doesn't pertain to you—"

"Doesn't pertain to me?" I snarled, stepping right up in his face and jabbed him in the chest with a claw. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but I'm stuck here with you. I'm involved. So if you're telling me you've dragged me on some wild-goose chase that ended up with us pissing off some merry band of murderous magicians, you better fucking believe it pertains to me."

I hadn't meant for the alliteration, but I doubted Eugene would think I was trying to be funny.

He raised both hands slowly. "You're right. You're right. But that doesn't change the fact that we need a new escape plan. So let's figure that out first."

"What for? Our escape route is right here," I said, gesturing at the shaft. "All we need to do is use that leviosa spell of yours and hop right on through."

"We don't even know where this leads," Eugene countered. "We could easily end up in some distant location."

"How far are we talking?" I asked. "A few miles? The other side of the planet?"

"There isn't any real limit to how far apart two Slips can be," he said.

"But you know Kirkland," I pressed. "So how far?"

Eugene sighed. "Twenty, thirty miles tops. Kirkland has some established routes that go much further, but those take time to set up."

"Then that means it would have to be the Dockside Condos," I said. "About eight to ten miles south of us."

Eugene blinked, seemingly caught off guard by my comment.

"What do you mean?" Eugene asked.

He'd sounded genuinely surprised.

I pointed down the shaft. "I counted at least fifteen floors—"

"Eighteen by my count," Nevermore corrected.

I ignored him. "So that either means the Dockside Condos or the new children's hospital. Both of which are down the peninsula. They're the only buildings within fifty miles of us that are big enough to host an elevator shaft this long. You won't see any other building this tall until you get to Myrtle Beach or Columbia."

Along with the soft soil that made constructing tall buildings tricky, Charleston's building ordinance had, for decades, implemented a 'church steeple rule': one that prohibited construction of a building taller than the steeple of St. Matthew's Lutheran Church, located at the heart of the city. The city's designers wanted to ensure the skyline was prominently dotted by churches and their steeples—not office buildings or skyscrapers—which had earned Charleston the nickname 'The Holy City.'

Gesturing back at the shaft, I continued. "This shaft looks old and unused. There isn't even an elevator anymore. So my money's on the condos. It's decades old by now, so they've probably got an elevator shaft or two that were sealed off during a renovation."

Both Eugene and Nevermore were silent. For a moment, all I heard was Boden panting, as well as a little persistent ringing in my ears.

Nevermore spoke up, addressing Eugene. "If she's correct, then we could use this to our advantage. Let our adversary think they succeeded in eliminating us. It would buy us time to re-evaluate our strategy and put a healthy distance between us and this chimera."

"Still, something doesn't add up," Eugene said, frowning. "Why send the chimera after us? If it was supposed to herd us into the Slip, then why was it already out stalking us before we even got here?"

"Why does that matter?" I asked. "It's here, and it's hunting us."

He turned to me. "Think about it. If it was sent out after your initial visit to this building, or after you dispatched the other thralls, then it should have had more than enough time to intercept us at the depot. But it didn't. So what was it doing?"

I had to think about this. The timing was a little odd—I'd give him that. While my sense of smell couldn't tell me to the exact minute how old a scent was, I could tell that the chimera was released sometime between when I left the building the first time, and when I'd killed the three dogs. Assuming that the creature was under the control of the Puppeteer, it would have known where to go, and b-lined straight for us.

But it hadn't.

If anything, it had just wandered around the mill.

Had it gotten distracted? Or perhaps it was released for a different purpose.

"Who knows," I said, waving a hand. "Let's figure that out when Mr. Horse Monster isn't breathing down our necks."

Nevermore turned to me. "Speaking of, how is our equine friend?"

"Uh..." I directed my attention back to Coy and Bode, and we all craned our necks to listen.

And heard nothing.

Well... shit.

"Huh," I said, stepping away from the Slip and toward the center of the warehouse, trying to listen to the outside world. "I think he's stopped moving."

My ears were mostly recovered at this point—only a little ringing remained—and their addition to the dog-eared array should have made it easier to track the chimera using sound.

Except that he wasn't making any.

"Any idea why?" Nevermore asked.

"Maybe," I said, and turned my attention to the wolf. Even while I was busy berating Eugene, she'd remained at attention, monitoring all the incoming sensory information for signs of danger. She'd noticed the change in the chimera's behavior and had her own thoughts on the matter.

"The wolf seems to think it's toying with us."

Nevermore tilted his head. "On what grounds?"

"Look, it's like some predatory intuition of hers," I said, rubbing the back of my head. "Something to do with the way the creature is acting—it makes her think he's waiting for us to make our move. Maybe come out of hiding to ambush us. Like a cat waiting for a mouse outside its hole."

Whatever it was, the wolf didn't like this game. Didn't like the feeling of being stalked.

She was supposed to be the huntress in this situation—she was the one who stalked.

"Perhaps he's being cautious. Doesn't want to get shot in the foot again," I suggested. "Might explain why he isn't eager to bust in again."

"Why so certain it's a he?" Nevermore asked.

I stared at him. "You mean you didn't see it?"

Nevermore tilted his head in confusion. "See what?"

I placed an elbow to my crotch and pantomimed the answer, wiggling my arm for authenticity.

"Ah," said Nevermore.

Eugene, ignoring our exchange, cut in. "Or perhaps it is trying to lure us away and isolate us. With the plant barely in operation, the night crew would be minimal—just enough to keep key facilities running. Add in the fumes from the water treatment, and this wing of the mill stays pretty empty. No prying eyes. No one to notice anything out of the ordinary. And, with all the noise from the machinery, it's likely no one even noticed the gunshot."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, showing us the screen. "And, as you can see, we have no cell service. This entire building is encased in metal—it's basically a Faraday cage. We likely can't make any calls from here unless we step outside. That could be what the chimera is waiting for. But, if we're quick and quiet, we should be able to continue our search."

I frowned. "Search for what?"

"The real Slip," Eugene said, shutting the door to our shaft-in-a-closet. "Assuming this one is the decoy, that means the real Slip is nearby. That could explain why the chimera didn't show up at the depot—because it wasn't meant to follow us. It was meant to guard the entrance to the real Slip."

"Hmmm," hummed Nevermore. "That would be appropriate. Chimeras have historically been used as guardians, as they can be quite territorial."

Nevermore began to hop from foot to foot, that jovial tone returning to his voice. "Perhaps its arrival means we're getting close to our goal. No doubt with Virginia's help, Detective, you made them nervous. Progressed too quickly. That might also explain the sudden escalation in their tactics."

"Great. Good to know our horse monster is being used appropriately," I said, folding my arms. "So what if there's a second Slip? How are we supposed to find it with the chimera prowling around?"

Eugene paused, scratching his chin. Giving the question more thought than I was comfortable with.

"Wait. Don't tell me you're actually considering going back out there," I said, incredulously. "What happened to you wanting to give the chimera the slip? I thought you said you didn't deal with chimera."

"You're right. I don't attempt to combat them. Unless you have the means to completely destroy their body, a chimera is rather hard to kill," Eugene said, removing his hardhat to scratch the back of his head.

"Hell," he said, refastening his hat. "I've seen one get split in half, only to form into two separate entities."

"But, I wasn't expecting you to repel it so easily. May have overestimated it a bit. Seems it's really just a modified horse. Still big and scary, but not as robust as I thought it would be. Targeting its back legs was clever. Typically, if you can't kill a chimera, you try to immobilize it."

Eugene paused, surveying the entrance the chimera had attempted to break through, before adding: "It looks like you made the right call."

"Look, while I appreciate the compliment," I said, placing a hand over my heart—as if I was touched by his flattery, "I don't think Sylvester Stallion is going to let me pop him in the foot again so easily—"

"Sylvester?" Said Nevermore, tilting his head.

Again, I ignored him.

"You can't expect me to put our lives on the line on the expectation that I'll have a reliable aim," I finished.

"We might not have to," Eugene said, raising a hand to point at me. "Didn't you say that all the thralls came from this building? Is it possible they might have backtracked here to mislead you?"

I shook my head. "No. I can tell the thralls' trail began here. The chimera's too."

"How certain are you of that?" Eugene asked.

"I can tell how old a scent is," I explained. "Even with the fumes from the water treatment, I can tell that the oldest scents come from here."

I knew where Eugene was going with this, and I didn't like it. But, perhaps it was because of the pact we agreed to, I couldn't get myself to lie or cover up information like this.

"Then that suggests the real Slip is likely in this very building," Eugene concluded. "And if it's being used to move something the size of that chimera... it's probably bigger than a normal door."

"I thought size didn't matter when it came to the Abandon or Slips," I said. "You know—magic portals being magic?"

"Normally, you wouldn't be wrong," Eugene admitted. "But a Slip that is anchored to something in the physical world will have fixed dimensions. As for the building itself, the chimera was probably let out through the garage door. There's a chance that is the Slip we are looking for, but I doubt it."

"Why's that?" I asked.

Eugene shrugged. "Feels too obvious."

I gestured at said garage door—it was one of those industrial sized doors that was basically the same height as the building. A good twenty feet. "You realize that door's basically a thin-ass sheet of metal. One with no reinforcements or enchantments. If you're right, and horse-chimera-creature exited through it, it probably won't take long for it to figure out it can get back in the same way."

Eugene could try to weld it shut with his magic. But he'd need a step-ladder and the better part of an hour.

"Hmmm," Nevermore murmured. "That could be a problem."

"Then we should try to find the real Slip before the chimera wises up and breaks down the door," Eugene said.

"What?" I blinked, my mouth agape. "How the hell is that your takeaway from all this? We should leave. Now."

"We've already found our means of escape," Eugene said, holding up the key to the closet—he'd taken it off the ring to pocket it separately. "Which is why we should try to find the other Slip while we still have time."

"But why?" I asked, beginning to rub my temples. Whatever his fucking logic was, I was not seeing it, and that was making my headache worse.

"To figure out where it leads." Eugene explained. "If the chimera is, in fact, guarding it, then that likely means it leads to something important, and may very well be where Kirkland's cache is hidden."

Grinding my teeth, I let out a low growl. "But you said you were wrong about Kirkland's involvement. So why would you still think our Puppeteer—or this Biomancer—has the cache you're looking for?"

"Hell," I said, holding out my hands to emphasize the point, "why does this cache even matter if you're after Kirkland?"

"Because if we find Kirkland, we should find the cache and be able to recover what was stolen," Eugene said. "Once we report this to the DOA, they'll elevate the case. Mich basically gave me the heads-up last we spoke. He was letting me know they'd soon be getting involved. Once that happens, all time and resources will be focused on neutralizing the chimera and catching whoever is creating the thralls—because those are the primary threats to the public. So I need to find Kirkland or the cache before that happens. Otherwise, we risk losing them both in the confusion."

And there it was: his real motive. He wasn't after Kirkland at all. Not really. What he wanted was in this cache. Was willing to possibly get himself killed in order to find it.

And I was pretty sure I knew why.

"You keep saying 'cache', but will you at least tell me who the fuck it is?" I demanded.

Eugene paused, staring at me. Once again, he looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, 'what do you mean'?" I snapped. "The cache is a person, isn't it? I heard Mich mention it earlier—when you two were talking about the Green-flames. He said 'kidnapping was more their MO.' You're not after Kirkland for stolen goods. You think he kidnapped someone. And that someone is who you're really after."

I fixed him with a look, prompting Coy and Boden to do the same. Three pairs of eyes drilling a hole into Eugene—granted, I was pretty sure Boden was giving him puppy-eyes.

"So," I said, driving the point home.

"Who is it?"