The guards. The one who’d let me into Juliet’s cell carried that huge ring of keys. One of them had to open Juliet’s shackle. Once the silver was off her, she’d gain strength and start to heal.
I hoped.
I hurried to the guard who’d fallen in the hallway. His key ring jutted out from his hip. I removed the keys and started back to Juliet’s cell. Along the way, I noticed that one of the gray metal doors was stenciled with the word Kitchen. I tried the knob; it opened.
The Goon Squad’s kitchen looked more like a break room. In its center stood a table, magazines and newspaper sections strewn across its top. There was a microwave and a coffeemaker on a counter to my right. Beyond the counter was a refrigerator.
I opened the fridge and surveyed its contents. On the top shelf sat a carton of milk, a couple of brown bags, and a Tupperware container of some kind of pasta. The next shelf down held what I was looking for: bottles of blood. Juliet had complained it was cold and watered-down, but it would give her some nourishment.
With four bottles clenched in my arms, I left the kitchen and returned to Juliet’s cell. She was still on the cot, rhythmically kicking the dead Old One with her good foot. As soon as she saw what I carried, she reached for the bottles. She downed the first two without taking a breath. I started to uncap the third, but she shook her head.
“Can you get this silver off me?”
I sorted through the keys until I found a few that looked like they might fit the shackle. On the third try, the lock clicked open. Juliet sighed with relief as the silver fell away from her skin. I dropped the shackle on the floor, away from her. A puff of smoke went up where some silver links touched the Old One’s body. I picked up the chain again, considering—it made a pretty good weapon against the Old Ones.
I wrapped the length of chain around my waist, like a belt, the perfect accessory for my ruined dress. My kind of fashion statement: Mess with me and you’re dead.
Juliet scooted forward to the edge of the cot. “I’m a bit better now,” she said. “Let’s go.”
I checked her leg. It didn’t look better. If anything, it looked worse: foul-smelling, greenish pus mixed with the blood that ran toward her ankle. I cut a strip of cloth from the fallen Old One’s robe and used it to bind up the wound.
I looked at Juliet’s bright orange prison outfit, PRISONER stenciled in bold letters across the back. Not exactly subtle. “Would you wear that thing’s robe?” I asked. “We could pull the hood forward to hide your face.”
She wrinkled her nose with distaste, but she nodded. I stripped the robe off the Old One, revealing an emaciated body. Yellow, leathery skin clung to elongated bones.
Juliet shuddered. “And to think I once wanted to join them.”
It was the first piece of information she’d given me about the Old Ones. But we didn’t have time for more questions now. Black Robe had been about a foot taller than Juliet, so I had to cut more fabric from the bottom of the robe. But once the garment was on her and the hood pulled up, she was impossible to recognize. You almost couldn’t tell there was anyone inside the robe at all.
Juliet stood and took a step. Immediately her injured leg gave way, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor. She howled with frustration and pounded the Old One’s corpse with her fists.
“Hold these.” I handed her the bottles of blood and then scooped her up in my arms like a child. I tucked Brown Robe’s sword under my arm. As I carried Juliet out of the cell, she twisted around to stare at the headless, dried-out yellow corpse that lay on the floor. Then we were down the hall, up the stairs, and breathing the frosty air of a cold March night.
6
THE ALLEY BEHIND CREATURE COMFORTS, A MONSTER BAR in the New Combat Zone, is narrow and dark, piled high with trash and reeking with the scents of urine and vomit. Not the kind of place where you want to hang out at one o’clock in the morning.
Lucky for us. I was planning to hide Juliet here until I could talk to Axel, the bar’s owner, about giving her refuge. The scarier and more deserted the alley, the better.
After we’d slipped out of the Goon Squad building, I headed straight for this alley, hugging the buildings and staying in the shadows. I was pretty sure no one had seen us. Now, I looked up and down the deserted alley. Certainly no one had followed us.
I set Juliet down gently, but her leg buckled and she collapsed on the sidewalk. She lay on her side, her face hidden by the robe’s hood.
I checked her injured leg, unwinding the blood-and-pussoaked bandage. The silver burn looked better—the blisters were gone, and taut, shiny skin covered the burned-raw places—but the gash looked worse than it had before. The stench of it made me gag, though I tried not to let Juliet see. The skin at the edges of the cut, a sickly shade of purplishgreen, was ragged, like something had been eating at the wound. This wasn’t right. Juliet should be healing. Had the Old One’s blade been poisoned? What could poison a vampire?
Juliet struggled to sit up. I slid my hands beneath her arms and lifted her to a seated position. The hood fell back as she rested her head against the brick wall. Sweat plastered her tangled hair to her face. I wouldn’t have guessed vampires could sweat—but when they did, it obviously wasn’t good.
“Juliet, I’m going to go inside and ask Axel if he’ll let you stay here.” Creature Comforts was her best hope for a hiding place. The New Combat Zone was like Boston’s version of the Wild West. Although the Goon Squad patrolled here, the Zone operated by its own rules. And nobody messed with Axel, the owner of Creature Comforts. Or if they tried to mess with him, they never tried a second time. Axel wasn’t human—seven feet tall and solidly built, he looked more like a mountain than a man. Nobody knew what he was. There was a story that when government workers came to get a blood sample to analyze his DNA and determine his species—something everyone was subjected to in the months after the plague that had created Boston’s zombies—one scowl from Axel’s shaggy brow had sent the workers scurrying away, their vials empty.
Juliet needed protection, and I couldn’t think of anyone better than Axel to give it.
Juliet was shaking her head. “Axel lets no one into his lair.”
True. I’d seen him win a standoff with the Goon Squad when they’d threatened to break down his door. Yet that was precisely why Creature Comforts was the safest place in Boston for Juliet right now.
“Let me talk to him. He likes you.” At the very least, he’d set up a cot for her in the storage room until I could come up with a plan B. I tried the back door, the one that led into Creature Comforts’ storage room. Damn. It was locked. Well, I’d look at that as more evidence of Axel’s first-rate security.
“I’m going to hide you behind some boxes here,” I said. “Just for a few minutes, while I go talk to Axel.” I couldn’t risk carrying Juliet through the bar. Business throughout the Zone had been slow lately, with the code-red restrictions on zombies and fears of the Reaper keeping norms home at night, but once the story of her escape hit the news, even one witness could threaten Juliet’s safety.
Juliet’s face clenched with pain, and she didn’t say anything else. I assumed she was okay with my plan.
But I wasn’t—not quite. A pile of boxes wasn’t exactly armor, and I couldn’t leave her alone and vulnerable with the Old Ones after her. We hadn’t been followed, but I couldn’t be sure she was safe. For all I knew, her enemies could track her by smell.
I thought about leaving her Brown Robe’s sword but decided against it. If the Old Ones arrived, it’d be too easy for one of them to use it against her.
I unwrapped the silver chain from my waist. The Old Ones wouldn’t get within lashing distance of it. As long as it didn’t come into direct contact with Juliet’s skin, she could use it to fend off Brown Robe. Unless he arrived with an army.
The robe’s sleeves were too long for Juliet’s arms. I knotted the right sleeve at its opening so it couldn’t slip up her arm and expose her skin. Then, feeling through the cloth, I closed her fingers around the chain’s shackle end. “If that Old One comes, whip the chain at him. Show me you can do it.”
“If an Old One comes, you’ll never see me again.” But she flailed the chain a few times. There was more strength and energy in her movements than I’d expected. Good. And I’d get her out of here in a couple of minutes.
Working quickly, I surrounded Juliet with a stack of empty boxes. I checked from several angles, rearranged some boxes, added a few more. Then I hurried to the end of the alley and down the street to Creature Comforts.
AS SOON AS I OPENED THE FRONT DOOR, ANY HOPE THAT Axel was having a slow night fled. Laughter and music blasted out. Creature Comforts was packed with women, dressed for a night of partying. They filled all the tables and spilled out of the booths. As I stepped inside, I was hit by the bar’s characteristic perfume of beer, tobacco, and a slight whiff of human blood—shot through tonight with a strong scent of musk. On tables at the back, two half-naked, human male dancers performed an athletic bump-and-grind routine.
Oh, great. I’d walked into a werewolf bachelorette party.
Massachusetts was one of a handful of states that recognized marriages between paranormals. Other states had passed laws restricting marriage to humans only. Although some norms in “Monsterchusetts” objected to paranormal marriage, no one seemed to mind the money it brought the state. It had become fashionable among werewolves to have a norm-style wedding in addition to whatever ritual they performed at the full moon. In Boston, a whole industry had sprung up offering destination weddings to werewolves.
I scanned the crowd but didn’t see a face I recognized. I knew most of Deadtown’s werewolves through Kane. These were definitely tourists.
“Hey!” A woman pointed at me. She wore a tight, supershort, low-cut black dress and a crooked tiara sparkling with pink and white rhinestones. She flipped her glossy blond hair over her shoulder, managing to make the gesture an act of aggression. “This is a private party. The bar’s closed.”