Something Secret This Way Comes

I had to be thankful for the cold season of the year too. In summer I would not have been able to encase myself so completely. Living in New York was a saving grace itself, because no one would wonder at me for traveling the sunlit streets under a black umbrella.



I wrapped a dark scarf several times around my face and pulled a hat low over my ears so only my eyes were visible. Leather gloves covered the exposed skin of my hands, and I added a long black peacoat over everything for an extra layer of protection. Under the coat I had two guns tucked into the back of my jeans, and the pockets were laden with extra silver bullets, the clips preloaded for me by my fae weapons dealer so I didn’t have to touch the bullets. I had on knee-high black boots over the jeans, not wanting to risk an exposed slash of ankle. And because I couldn’t feel too protected going into this situation, I slid a long, sheathed silver blade, the handle double taped for my protection, into one of the boots.



Back in the living room I stood next to my doorway, watching Desmond sleep. Part of me hoped he would wake up and try to stop me from going, but he only muttered something incomprehensible and stirred no more.



Bringing Peyton in alive would have been easier with help, but the job had been tasked to me and I wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s life to get it done. I needed to do it alone, and the best chance I had to succeed was to attack in the daylight when he would be dead to the world.



I stooped and gave Desmond a delicate brush of a kiss. I hoped, if all went right, it wouldn’t be our last.



Then I was gone.



Chapter Thirty



Outside, daylight smashed into me like a fist. I felt discombobulated and dizzy. My vision swam, unaccustomed to the brightness of a sunny afternoon, and under the layers of clothing I broke out in a cold sweat. This was the kind of fear I didn’t know how to deal with. The sun was not an enemy I could fight. I’d spent my whole life hiding from the light, and now I was willingly walking out into it.



I opened up the umbrella, and the black material blotted out the worst of the light as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Stumbling down the street like a burdened drunk, I kicked myself for not thinking about sunglasses. I’d never owned a pair—I’d never had a need for them before—but with the glaring shine of afternoon burning my nighttime retinas, I was blinded.



The urge to sleep was so incredible my body and feet felt like lead. I hoped Brigit hadn’t been mistaken about the theater, because if I could at least find myself somewhere dark, my body might regain enough strength to give me a fighting chance.



I tilted the umbrella to keep the light out of my eyes and continued my pathetic trek towards the only location that made sense. There was a place halfway between my apartment and Central Park that had once been a luxurious theater called the Orpheum. A fire in the 1980s had killed several people and led to its subsequent closure, but because it was considered a historical building debate raged on for decades as to what should be done with the place.



It was remiss of me to not think of it sooner as a perfect nest. Of course it would appeal to vampires—it was full of darkness, death and tragedy. Furthermore, the nasty appeal of the place would sometimes attract someone foolish enough to sneak in who would then find themselves as unexpected supper guests for a hungry clusterfuck of undead.



After a few blocks of lethargic progress, I stood on the corner opposite the theater. It managed to look foreboding in the bright light of day. The ph of the Orpheum’s sign had fallen down years ago so I read it as the Or eum, which was probably Latin for terrible fucking idea. Many small round bulbs that once lit the marquee had been smashed by vandals, so only those out of easy reach were still whole. The marquee itself had lost most of the letters that had once announced its closure, so instead of saying Closed for Business only a half dozen black block letters remained with no semblance of meaning. The windows of the main double doors were painted over with black, and through the shattered panes the boarded panels behind were visible.



I limped across the street and stood in front of the doors. Deep in my chest was a sensation I’d only experienced before a meeting with the Tribunal. Both there and here, my fate was in someone else’s hands. Beneath the marquee the sun was blocked out, as it had been in my dream, but I hadn’t yet begun to feel refreshed. Instead a chill seeped into my bones and unease spread like a dark shadow through my whole body.



No turning back now. I’d come this far and I had no choice but to continue. Touching my back, I reassured myself I still had my guns. What lay beyond these doors was the truest kind of get it done or die trying situation. If I didn’t take Peyton alive, he would see me dead. There was something comforting about knowing the outcome would be black or white with no room for gray.



With my own death at the forefront of my mind, I pulled on one of the handles, and it yielded, swinging out towards me. Part of me was expecting the squeal of angry hinges, some sort of loud announcement of my arrival, but the door opened with nothing more than a swishing sigh of air being sucked inward.



The atmosphere inside was that of stagnant darkness, and the air was cold and still. I entered the old lobby of the Orpheum, crossing the aged red carpet and moving past the empty ticket booths into the large arena of the movie theater itself.



It had once been a theater for stage productions and operas. The ceilings rose in high arches to amplify the acoustics and were painted in detailed murals depicting choirs of angels and devils combating over the souls of the patrons below.



On either side of the room were three private boxes. Each had once held a collection of seats, but according to local news coverage those had since been removed and taken to storage or alternate theaters. I stood under the archway that led into the room and took in the entirety of the scene, smelling the air for goons who I knew waited within.



I removed my scarf, hat and gloves and tucked them beneath a nearby seat so they wouldn’t reveal my arrival too soon. I kept the jacket on, unwilling to leave my extra ammunition anywhere out of arm’s reach. Removing one of the guns from my waistband, I held it as my only comfort.



I smelled the group of guards before I heard them. Pressing my back against the wall, I ducked behind one of the heavy, red velvet curtains and waited without breathing. There was laughter and a chorus of booming male voices that didn’t falter as they passed me. I had gone unnoticed.



There were three of them and their scents were muddled together, but the whole group reeked of wolf. I must have escaped detection because they were used to smelling their own kind. I was willing to take any small kindnesses the universe was offering me right then.



They moved upward to one of the boxes and settled there. I waited until I heard the scraping of metal chairs being rearranged, followed by the dull creak of settling bodies, before I pushed back the curtain to get a look at where they were. Their voices were coming from a box closest to the movie screen.



These were the daytime guards of whichever vampires were hiding beneath the theater. Given what I’d learned from Brigit, and how it fit with my own assessment, I also believed they were working for Marcus. I didn’t recognize any of their voices from the brawl at the Chameleon, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been there.



I surveyed the main floor of the theater to make sure I hadn’t missed any guards. Since I was here to take Peyton alive, I didn’t want there to be unnecessary casualties. There were plenty of ways to render a man useless aside from killing him, and I was proficient in most of them. I may have been a killer, but none of the guards had done anything to warrant being murdered.



If I could find Peyton and get in touch with one of the daytime servants of the council, this whole ordeal could be finished without any bloodshed.



Trying to take on three werewolves at the same time wasn’t an ideal option if I wanted to finish out the day without a body count. I needed to split them up and hope one of them would tell me where to find Peyton. It might take a little persuasion, but broken fingers healed. So did bullet wounds.



I slipped away from the curtain and back into the lobby. The lethargy of day was wearing off as a wave of adrenaline overcame me. I spotted the sign for Second Balcony and Left Boxes and stole towards it in the shadows of the unlit room.



I’d never been more aware of my wolf than when I stalked down the hallway towards the sound of their voices. I ducked into the box one over from theirs and stayed low to the ground. Snippets of their conversation were now audible, and I sat and listened, waiting for a good moment to make my move.



“Christ, Jackson, chill out. You’re making me all antsy.”



“Sorry.” The voice sounded young and strained with worry. “It’s just, I mean, this is creepy, isn’t it?”



“Creepy?” The man who responded gave the word a mocking tone. “What’s so fucking creepy?”



“Knowing there are vampires, like, below us?”



“Get a grip, kid. Boogeyman ain’t gonna get you.”



One of them let out a huff of air, and the trio fell into silence. Muffled chewing noises and the squeak of Styrofoam were the only sounds in the theater.



Staying low to the ground, I used my heel to drag a heavy metal bar towards me. It looked to be the post that once held a bank of seats in place, judging by the discolored seat-shaped rectangle on the floor around it. The bar rolled closer with the slightest metallic ringing, but still I held my breath and froze.



Their munching continued.



I picked up the bar, and when I heard one of them clear his throat, I shuttled the post over the edge of the box. The fall seemed to last an eternity before the clatter of metal meeting a concrete floor reverberated through the room, bouncing off the ceiling and back into the wings.



“What the…?” Chair legs squealed on the floor of the guards’ booth. “Jackson, stay here and keep an eye out. Come on, Al.”



Two of the guards stomped down the stairs back to the lobby. Once I could hear them below, I slipped out of the box and into the one next door. Before the young werewolf could call out, I clamped my hand over his mouth and dragged him to the floor.



“Shhh,” I warned. My gun was drawn and glinting in the dim overhead light of the box. “Don’t make me use this.”