Blood Sport (The American Arcane Book 2) Page 14

  “Oh, don't even.” I groaned. “Let yourself in. Door isn't locked. I'm going to get cleaned up and ready.”

  “All right, Mister Carpenter.” He replied, and I hung up. Nick was, and always would be, an asshole. He hired morning people, of course.

  “Mm, what was that?” Teresa stirred next to me.

  I leaned down and kissed her neck. “Business. Got a lead, possibly. Federal stuff. I've got to go get dressed.”

  She frowned. “Mm, very well.” She stared at my naked body. “You will call me later so we can actually get coffee.”

  I smiled down at her. “Of course.”

  “Promise.” She reached over and grabbed my rear, using just a bit of the vampire strength.

  “I promise...” I groaned. “Let go of my butt so I can shower.” She let go of her tractor-beam grip.

  While I was showering, I noticed just how good I felt. Granted, I had just had sex with a woman I deeply cared about and it was great sex. Suck it, Matt. But my body felt refreshed. My shoulder didn't hurt one single bit. The bangs and bruises of the last few days were clear. Score one for vampire blood.

  By the time I got down to the living room, I was a little less PO'd at whoever John Foy was. Foy was sitting in one of the chairs, sipping coffee out of my Atlanta Hawks mug. Our relationship was not off to a great start.

  John Foy was a middle-aged black man, with salt and pepper hair. He wore a blue dress shirt and tan slacks. He had a jacket draped over the arm of the chair. He didn't feel human, but I was pretty sure he wasn't dead. A shapeshifter of some sort, I guessed.

  “Marshal Foy, I presume.” I said, nodding to him. “I'm Eric Carpenter.”

  “Hmm,” He frowned as he gave me a once-over. “Taller than your file suggests.”

  “Really?” I shook my head as I headed into the kitchen. I needed coffee if I was going to be dealing with one of Nick's cronies.

  “Your file states six-foot even.” He called.

  “I grew four inches in college. Late growth spurt.” I grunted. “Never had the DMV stuff updated.”

  I heard shoes tap on the tile of the floor, and I turned to see Foy. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was broad-shouldered and held himself with a cool demeanor. Even holding a coffee mug and a jacket, he looked like he was sizing me up for the kill.

  “How much did Nick tell you about the run?” He asked as I waited for the coffee to brew from the little Keurig machine.

  I shrugged. “Absolutely nothing, beyond the fact that I have some new iron bullets that a butcher gave me.”

  A little chuckle escaped Foy's throat. “Oh, yeah. That's Nick.” He took a sip of the coffee. “We're taking a little trip to Modesto. You remember your time with the were-gangs of San Francisco, the drug called Bliss?”

  I shuddered just at the mention of it. I'd taken a splash of it straight to the face. And it was good. I didn't particularly enjoy the aftereffects, where I had spent several hours unconscious. Apparently witch physiology didn't work well with it. Some happy feelings for a bit, some unconsciousness, then nothing. Most boring drug experience ever.

  “I'm guessing this has got something to do with it.”

  “Correct,” Foy nodded, and he took another sip from his mug. “We've found the manufacturing site for all the Bliss north of LA.”

  “Wow, okay.” I scratched at my head. “So, why am I going on this field trip? And why is it just us?”

  “Nick doesn't want a big scene.” He answered and walked over to the sink with the mug. He set his jacket down and started to rinse the mug. “We're going to go in fast, quietly, and hopefully get everything done without too much of a commotion.”

  “Great.” I looked down at the mug, and after a moment's decision, poured its contents into a travel mug. “So, I'm here because...”

  “Well, Nick said you were free labor for this job.” He smirked. “Maybe he likes you.”

  “There are so better ways to show your affection,” I grumbled. “Fine. Let me get ready, and we'll hit the road.”

  I went with my full gear for once. I loaded up my tactical vest and weapons into the back of Foy's black government-issue SUV. I had dressed sensibly for the occasion, going with just a black tee and jeans. I had my jacket that I had tossed into the back seat, but we would see how the weather held up. The Central Valley in March wasn't exactly chilly conditions.

  After about an hour in the car, I asked Foy. “How long have you been with the Marshals?”

  “Officially?” Foy smirked over at me as we drove. “Thirty years. However, I had been unofficially on Nick's payroll for fifty years before that.”

  “That would put you as working with the government since the Depression.”

  Foy nodded. “I immigrated from Algeria after the Great War. Nick kept tags on me, knew I was a powerful shapeshifter. I started helping him at first. A case or two, like this, in fact. I was in your seat. After about a half-century of that, I decided to take up Nick's officer of steady employment.”

  “So you've been with the Marshals for eighty years, in some shape or form?”

  “There have always been things that hurt people, Carpenter. Just because humans didn't know didn't stop them from being victims. The Arcane always needed to be policed. The Marshals let Nick do that as best he can inside the confines of the US Government.”

  “I did some research after I first met him. I've never seen him attached to any official documents.”

  Foy chuckled. “Yes, well, Nick's not much for publicity. Occasionally a marshal would be attached to a news item relating to our cases. We even get our less dire cases publicized now that the Arcanes are public. Four Thirteen made our jobs a lot easier to track down rogue Arcanes. We can even openly work with local law now.”

  “I didn't know about Arcanes coming out for several days. I was in a finals-induced coma back then, found out about it on the news several days after.” I admitted.

  Foy laughed, paused for a long moment. “Nick offered you a job, yes?”

  “He did. I wasn't interested. Nick lies. I'm not interested in working for someone who'll lie to me.”

  “So you work instead for the court of the Bay.” He scoffed at me, and my cheeks burned for a moment. “You work for self-interested local nobility.”

  “I won't argue that, because we'd be here all day, and I'd probably agree with you in some shape or form.” I said. “Nick's lies are a bit more personal.” I thought about it for a moment. “Does the name Victoria Torres ring a bell?”

  Foy smirked. “Your mother.” At my nod, he answered. “She worked with the Marshals occasionally. I did not know she was a witch, but she was quite the intelligent woman, from my brief acquaintance with her.” He shook his head after a moment. “There was some trouble between her and Nick.”

  “So I've been able to deduce.” I noted. “So, it's just Nick. Does he have a last name?”

  “When you work for the Marshals, Nick's lack of a surname is the least of your concerns.” He said. “But we aren't even sure Nick isn't some code name or something.”

  “What, like Q or M?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Who's to say that it's not the case?”

  “I know someone who seems to know Nick from before his Marshal time, or at least is personally acquainted with him.” I thought back to Amy. “She called him Nick, but who knows?”

  “Indeed,” he said, his voice soft. “But on to other matters. The main target we're after here is a man named Mariano. He's a were, a coyote.”

  It was my turn to scoff. Body masses stayed the same when a shifter changed. Two hundred pounds of coyote was no longer a coyote, that was an Ice Age monstrosity. “All right. Any plans of how much muscle he's going to have?”

  “Our surveillance suggests at least two people working on sight. Nick's given us the authorization to dispatch them if necessary. Mariano is the one we want alive.”

  “Right,” I nodded. I wasn't a fan of killing. I'd taken one life so far in this job. I coul
d see his face whenever I closed my eyes. I wasn't keen on adding more to the tally.

  “We'll be there in half an hour.” Foy said. “If you want any last meditation or whatever, better do it now.”

  I spent the last half-hour loading my magazines and checking my gear. When Foy stopped the car, it was on a residential street. “Which house?” I asked, looking up and down the street. The houses were all one story, with very little that stood out and screamed 'drug manufacturing plant'. Nearly every car had an SUV or truck in the driveways or out front at the curb.

  “Seven-nineteen.” He gestured to the house across the street from us. Painted a light tan color, it looked like any other of the houses. From here, I could see that they had a truck that had seen use during the Clinton years with a tarp draped over the bed.

  I nodded, and I reached over into the back, pulling at my Kevlar. The Modesto spring was warm, and I wasn't looking forward to sweating it out. Small sacrifices. I unbuckled my seat belt and started to put my gear on. “So, what's the plan?”

  “Simple. We go through the front. Sweep room to room. Find Mariano, subdue him. Figure out their operation. This is the first time we've had a chance at a Bliss plant. We want to gather as much evidence as we can to give over to Nick.” As Foy explained, he loaded up his own gun, a much more modern piece than my own. He got out of the car, pulled off his suit jacket, and tossed it in the driver's seat. He pulled a slim body armor vest out, and pulled it on. “You ready, kid?”

  “Let's do it.” I said, and I opened up the door.

  We walked across the street. I imagined we made an unusual sight, two armored and armed men quickly crossing the street in the morning. We walked up the sidewalk to seven-nineteen. The porch was empty apart from a few trash bags.

  At Foy's gestures, I moved to one side of the door, and he took the other. He reached into a vest pocket, and pulled out a small clay-like object. “Now for the fun.” He whispered as he placed it near the door nob. We both drew our pistols.

  Foy drew a remote out, and he pressed a button on it. The clay exploded with a fiery pop, and Foy took the lead. He slammed his shoulder into the door, sending it flying open. “Federal Marshal!” He called out, his voice a roar. I moved around the corner of the door frame in one fluid motion, centering my sights down the hallway.

  He gestured for me to go right. He was already moving left. I turned right into what I guessed was the living room. Shag carpets covered the floor, and a desk with a laptop was sitting in the corner. There was no TV, so the couches in the room were just haphazardly arranged, it seemed.

  I rounded into the room and found myself face to face with an angry were. The guy was just in his boxers, and his were tats went from his neck to knees. He lunged at me, lowering his shoulder and going for my abdomen. I tried to step out of the way, but I was too slow. He got me in the side, sending me spinning.

  I grunted and I brought my elbow down, jabbing it into the were's back. He grunted, and stumbled for a moment. The were pushed himself off the ground with his arms, going into a roll. I brought up my pistol and fired a pair of shots.

  Both shots missed, and I considered reaching for the knife in my holster with my right hand. I wasn't as ambidextrous as I wanted to be. Instead I pursued the were after he rolled behind one of the couches.

  Hindsight being what it is, I shouldn't have done that. The were leaped up and tackled me to the ground. The impact of my back against the carpet blossomed through me, and I grunted. Two hundred pounds of were. Lovely.

  I had spent the last few months trying to get the better of things that were stronger than me, however. I grunted as I pushed at the were, using my forearm against his waist.

  He rolled off with a thud against the carpet, and I drew my knife. Even with my weaker right arm, I could still deal a blow. I sunk the knife into his thigh, and listened to the sizzle of silver and his roar of pain. I pulled the knife away, and rolled across the ground away from the were.

  I picked myself up to one knee, and brought my pistol up. The were was just picking himself up. I placed two shots on the were's center mass. The crack of my pistol filled the living room, and I could smell gunpowder and the sizzle of silver meeting Arcane flesh. The were slumped over, and I felt a little shiver run down me.

  The were was clawing at the carpet, but he was momentarily down. I stood up and turned, moving into the next room. The kitchen, as it turned out to be, was tiled with linoleum, and there were various chemistry implements on the counter. The clear liquid inside one of the beakers had the sweet scent of Bliss on it. I grunted, feeling just a sensation of faint memory. I wasn't a fan of Bliss. Well, my head wasn't. My body sure remembered it fondly.

  I wheeled around, bringing my pistol up. However, the only person in the kitchen was John Foy. The Marshal had a slash across his cheek, but it looked superficial. “Mariano's not here.” He said. “I got one guy tied up. You?”

  “I shot one. He needs medical attention. Is Mariano supposed to be here?” I looked to the screen door of the kitchen, open into the back yard. “Think he jetted?”

  Foy took a long moment, and sniffed the air. “Someone did.” He growled. “Come on.” I pulled open the screen door, and after a moment of gathering the scents, he pulled off his tactical vest. “Can you run?” He asked.

  “What?” I shrugged. “Uh, sure.”

  He gave a grunt of approval. “Good. Keep up.” He started unbuttoning his shirt. “I have a scent, and I think it's Mariano's. I need to shift, and I need you to keep up.”

  “Got it.” I nodded, and I checked my magazine. I swapped it out with a fresh backup, and I waited for Foy to finish stripping.

  “Follow my lead. I won't be able to talk, so I'm going to need you to be good at picking up on me, all right?”

  I nodded. “Sure thing, Marshal.”

  “One more thing.” He said, before tossing me a pair of handcuffs. “Good hunting.”

  Foy crouched down, and in a matter of seconds, fur spread out from his skin and his body contorted, wet popping sounds filling my ears. After a five-count, a lion was crouched in front of me. It was smaller than ones I had seen in zoos. Foy simply didn't have the mass to recreate a real lion, but it was still impressive, a powerful hunter.

  “Lead the way, Marshal.” I said. Weres kept their intelligence, so I didn't have to worry about mistaken directions. Foy took off towards the fence. When he reached the gate separating the front and back yards, he didn't wait for me to unlock it. He leaped over the wood fence, feline agility surpassing any foolish ideas of gravity.

  I unlatched the gate and went after Foy. One thing that weres immediately had over humans was speed. Four-legged creatures could really haul ass. I had to hit a break neck speed just to keep up, my legs pumping. I was suddenly glad for all the running I did with Matt.

  Grunts grew from my throat as I mentally cursed Nick. Foy was about 20 yards ahead of me. I could see Mariano, or who I assumed was Mariano, about twice that distance. “Federal Marshals!” I called. Well, okay, I wasn't sure, but we'd deal with that later.

  Mariano hesitated for just a moment, and it was all we needed. He stumbled over an irregularity in the street, stumbling. Foy was on him before he could even try to react, pinning him with two large forepaws.

  I was only a few moments behind, rushing in and providing Foy with support. I lowered my pistol at Mariano. “Don't move.” I commanded, though Mariano already seemed to get it from the fangs at his throat.

  Chapter 18

  I used my silvered handcuffs to restrain Mariano. I led him back to the house, where we called an ambulance for the were I shot. We made sure that cops were going to see to the were's hospital room, before we sat Mariano down in the living room on one of the couches.

  Foy had shifted back. He left his tactical vest off, though he had redressed in his shirt and slacks. He looked down at Mariano as he paced around the living room. “So, we're going to ask some questions. I'm Federal Marshal John Foy. This is Eric Carp
enter, Knight of the County of Iron and Gold.” He introduced the both of us. “Having a kitchen full of Bliss isn't looking good for you, man.”

  Mariano wasn't all that impressive. He was short, a man in his thirties who I suspected was going prematurely bald. I placed him as a Pacific Islander, though where I couldn't even begin to guess. “Marshal? Fuck you.” He hissed.

  I restrained a sigh. “Well, how about one of the Knights?” I asked. I stepped closer to Mariano. “Ishmael hates Bliss. I know Modesto is a gray area, but if the Marshals don't scare you, Ishmael certainly should.” I lowered my voice. “Or even the Duke.”

  Mariano froze. The enigmatic Duke of Sacramento controlled most of California, and no one wanted to have his attention. “What do you want?” He whispered.

  “Where did you get the Bliss?” Foy asked. “How do you make it?”

  Mariano shook his head. “You're not going to believe me.” He said.

  Foy looked at him blankly. “Try me.” He said.

  “It's Faerie blood.”

  I looked back to Foy, who gestured for me to go to the other room. I followed, and I spoke in a hushed tone once we were in the hall. “Faerie blood? He can't be serious. Where's he even getting it?”

  “I think that's a question for people higher up.” He sighed. “Faerie blood does have stimulant properties. It's possible that some mixture in fact yields narcotics.”

  “So, what do we do?” I asked.

  A voice behind us answered. “I get called in.” Nick was behind us. I hated it when he did that. The head of the Federal Marshals was a tall man, with dark hair that went below his shoulders. He had bronzed skin, and he had a Mediterranean look to him. The man could make an entrance, and he was damned impressive. “Marshal Foy, Mister Carpenter.” He nodded to each of us in turn.

  “Sir,” Foy nodded brusquely. “We've got Mariano restrained here. He's told us that his Bliss is made with Faerie blood.”

  Nick focused his gaze on Foy. “You're kidding. Faerie blood?”

  “That's what the man said.” I shrugged