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Which is why I’d been in Carleen tonight.
Sal and his partners had created what the ghosts there called “false rifts”: balls of dirty energy that resembled regular rifts but were—as far as I could tell—nothing more than a means of quick transport from one location to another. I’d gone there tonight to investigate one of them, which is why I was out here alone. Cat and Bear—the two little ghosts who normally accompanied me on such journeys—were back home in our bunker. We’d learned the hard way that ghosts could not enter the rifts and I wasn’t about to place them in any sort danger if I could at all avoid it. They might be déchet, they might be ghosts, but they were also only children.
The graveyard gave way to a long slope that was filled with rock debris and the broken, decaying remnants of trees. Halfway down the hill lay a gigantic crater, its rim strewn with rocks, building rubble, and twisted, sick-looking plants. Weirdly, even though I was standing above it, I couldn’t see into the crater itself. I frowned, my gaze narrowing. It might be the middle of the night, but the vampire DNA in my body had gifted me with—among other things—the ability to see as clearly at night as I could during the day. But the shadows that clustered just below the crater’s edge were thicker than the night itself and they emitted an energy that was dark and dirty.
Rift, an inner voice whispered even as my skin crawled at the thought of getting any closer.
But the figure I was tracking had disappeared, and there was no place other than the crater he or she could have gone. If I wanted to uncover whether that person was one of my targets, then I had to keep following.
I started down the hill. Small stones and fragmented metal scooted out from underfoot with every step, the latter chiming softly as the pieces hit the large rocks in my path. The graveyard ghosts danced lightly to the tune, seemingly unconcerned about either leaving the graveyard or approaching the rift—which in itself suggested that whatever that darkness was, it wasn’t dangerous. Either that or it was one of the few stationary rifts and, as such, posed no immediate threat to either them or me.
I wished I could talk to them. Maybe they could have told me if my target came here regularly, or even who he or she might be. But these ghosts, like those in Carleen, had been human, and that meant I couldn’t directly talk to them as I could to shifter or déchet ghosts. Not without help, anyway. The scientists who’d designed us had made damn sure those destined to become lures could not use their seeker skills to read either their thoughts or their emotions. They may have created us to be their frontline soldiers against the shifters, but they’d also feared us. Mind reading wasn’t the only restriction placed on us when it came to humans—killing them was also out of bounds. Not that I’d ever tested that particular restriction—it had never occurred to me to do so during the war, and there’d been no need in the one hundred and three years after it.
Energy began to burn across my skin as I drew closer to the crater. The ghosts finally hesitated, then retreated. Part of me wished I could do the same.
I stopped at the crater’s rim and stared down into it. The darkness was thick, almost gelatinous, and lapped at the tips of my boots in gentle waves. It was unlike anything I’d ever come across before. Even the shadows that had covered the other false tears had not felt this foul, this . . . alien.
This wasn’t magic. Or, if it was, it wasn’t the sort of magic that had originated from this world. It just didn’t have the right feel. So did that mean it had come from the Others? From wherever they’d come from?
Were they even capable of magic?
I really had no idea. I doubted there was anyone alive who did know, simply because anyone who’d ever come across one of them hadn’t lived to tell the tale.
Except, I thought with a chill, Sal and his partners. They’d not only survived but—thanks to the rift that had hit them just as a wraith was emerging—Sal’s partners now had its DNA running through their bodies.
I stared down at my boots, at the oily, glistening substance that stained the tips of them. Revulsion stirred, and the urge to retreat hit so strongly I actually took a step back. But that wouldn’t give me the answers I needed. Wouldn’t help find the missing children.
And it was that desire more than anything that got me moving in the right direction. One step; two. No stones slid from under my feet this time. Or, if they did, they made no sound. It was still and hushed in this small part of the world—almost as if the night held its breath in expectation. Or horror.
The darkness slithered over my feet and ankles, and oddly felt like water. Thick, foul water that was colder than ice. It pressed my combat pants against my skin as it rose up my legs, and the weapons clipped to my thighs gained an odd, frozen sheen. I crossed mental fingers and hoped like hell this stuff didn’t damage them. I didn’t want to face whatever—whomever—might be waiting at the bottom of this crater without any means of protection.
The farther I moved down the slope—the deeper I got into the darkness—the harder every step became. Sweat trickled down my spine, but its cause wasn’t just the effort of moving forward. This stuff, whatever it was, scared me.
I reached back and pulled free one of the two slender machine rifles strapped to my back. I’d adapted them to fire small wooden stakes rather than bullets, as that was the best way to kill vampires. While there was a chance none of my weapons would work after this muck touched them, I still felt better with the rifle’s weight in my hand.
The darkness washed up my stomach, over my breasts, then up to my neck. I raised my face in an effort to avoid becoming fully immersed for as long as possible. Which was stupid. It was just darkness, not water, no matter how much it felt otherwise. I wouldn’t drown in the stuff.
But could I breathe?
I took one final deep breath, just in case, and then pushed on. The ink washed up my face, then over my head, and it suddenly felt as if there were a ton of weight pressing down on me. Every step became an extreme effort; all too soon my leg muscles were quivering and it took every ounce of determination I had to keep upright, to keep moving.
I pressed on, but I really had no idea whether I was heading in the right direction. Not only did the darkness envelop me, but it also stole all sense of time and direction. God, what if this was a trap? What if all along they’d intended nothing more than to lure me down here to get rid of me? Sal’s partners had to be aware of his death by now, just as they had to be aware that I was the one who’d found and rescued the five kids—after all, those kids had been nothing more than bait in an attempt to trap and kill me. That it hadn’t gone exactly as they’d hoped was due to good luck rather than to bad planning on their part. Or, rather, good luck and a whole lot of help from the adult déchet who haunted my bunker.
And while Sal’s partners might have no idea what I truly looked like—and therefore could neither stop me from entering their businesses in Central nor hunt me down—they were well aware that I lived in the old underground military bunker outside that city. And they’d undoubtedly realize I would not abandon the rest of those ch
ildren.
I had been expecting some sort of retaliatory attack, but against our bunker rather than out here in the middle of nowhere.
If this was a trap, then it was one I’d very stupidly walked right into. But there was nothing I could do about that now. I just had to keep moving.
But the deeper I got, the more crushing the weight of the darkness became. My legs were beginning to bow under the pressure, my spine ached, and my shoulders were hunched forward. It felt as if I was about to topple over at any minute, and it took every ounce of concentration and strength to remain upright. May the goddess Rhea help me if I met anything coming up out of the crater, because I doubted I’d even have the energy to pull the rifle’s trigger.
Then, with little warning, the weight lifted and I was catapulted into fresh air and regular night. I took a deep, shuddering breath and became aware of something else. Or rather someone else.
Because I was no longer alone.
I turned around slowly. At the very bottom of the crater, maybe a dozen or so yards away from where I stood, there was a rift. A real rift, not a false one. It shimmered and sparked against the cover of night, and while the energy it emitted was foul, it nevertheless felt a whole lot cleaner than the thick muck I’d just traversed.
