“Tom? Rachel? I’m sorry, but I really have to pee!”
Nerina. She’d slept on our couch. Our apartment had only one bathroom—in here. I pulled a sheet up. “Come on in!”
She yanked the door open, a sheet wrapped around her shoulders. “Sorry.” She scampered in bare feet and slammed the bathroom door.
Rachel sat up, yawning. “Okay, I’m awake.” She swung her legs onto the floor. “She better not take too long in there.”
“Yeah.” I grabbed some sweatpants from the floor. “I’ll make some coffee. Can you lend her some clothes?”
“Sure.” She stretched her arms. “By the way, I’m still not sure about that Georgeanne bitch.”
I groaned. Georgeanne was a Rossini solder who, for some reason, had kissed me on the lips in front of Rachel last night. And kissed me on the cheek before that, although Rachel didn’t know about that. “Come on, we talked about that for hours. And she’s not a bitch.”
“Fine.” She opened the dresser and tossed me a T-shirt. “Just make coffee. And breakfast.”
Nerina Ariane was a 19-year-old woman I’d been hired to find by Andrew Russo. She’d been kidnapped by the Raen, or so he said. The Raen were a sort of doomsday cult who could do magic, like creating monsters out of thin air. Russo was part of the Rossini, a branch of the family that had split off from the Raen centuries ago. They’d been fighting a shadow war for control of mystical resources that could control—or destroy—the world ever since.
But Nerina hadn’t been kidnapped. She’d just run away with her boyfriend Ben. Unfortunately, Ben was part of the Raen, and he’d taken her to the house of Elliot Barsch, another Raen—who’d tried to assault her.
Now Ben was dead, and Nerina didn’t know what to do, because she wasn’t really Rossini. She’d been born to the Raen, but raised by the Rossini.
Also, she could raise monsters. Although she couldn’t control them. Yet.
I made pancakes. Nerina dug into them as if she’d been on a bread and water diet for weeks. “Thanks. I’m sorry about—everything.”
“Not your fault.” Rachel sipped her coffee. “Good pancakes, Tom. Old family recipe?”
“Mrs. Butterworth was my great-aunt. On my mother’s side.” I poured more syrup.
Nerina looked up from her plate. She was slim, with short red hair like Rachel, and a long thin nose. “I want to go home.”
“Is that safe?” She had an apartment near DePaul University, where she was majoring in photography.
“I can’t stay here.” She looked toward the living room. “I mean, thanks for letting me stay here last night, but—”
“The sofa is pretty lumpy.” Rachel speared a pancake with her fork.
Nerina laughed. “Thanks for the T-shirt, by the way.” Her previous T-shirt had gotten ripped when Elliot Barsch had attacked her.
“It’s Tom’s favorite.” Rachel winked.
“I want to talk to Andrew, too. Will you come with me? I can’t—I have a little money, but . . .”
“Don’t worry about it.” I probably wasn’t getting paid by Russo either. Although I was definitely sending him a bill—I’d done the job he’d hired me for, after all, finding Nerina, even if it didn’t work out like he’d hoped. “I’ll call him.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “I’m sorry about everything.”
The last time I’d been the house, Randall Russo had been dying. Now his nephew Andrew was in charge, apparently. At least of the Chicago branch of the Rossini.
We sat at a big wooden kitchen table: Nerina, Rachel, Russo, Georgeanne, and me. I wondered where Mika was—another Rossini soldier I’d seen last night. A large scrapbook lay on the table. A ceiling fan swung gently overhead.
Russo served coffee and sodas, and a poured a big bowl of Doritos. At least he hadn’t made Georgeanne do it. She was unarmed, in a white T-shirt, black gym shorts, and sneakers. “Hi, Tom.” She winked.
Rachel elbowed me in the ribs. I winced and gulped some Coke. “Uh, hi. This is Rachel. My . . . girlfriend. And associate.”
Georgeanne smiled. “Hi, Rachel.”
Russo cleared his throat. “Go ahead, Nerina.”
She glanced at me and then stared at Russo. “Who am I?”
Russo opened the scrapbook. “This is the history of Raen and the Rossini. There are charts here—too many to go through. But here . . .” He flipped through the pages. “The family tree, going back hundreds of years. My uncle Randall made me memorize this when I was 11. This . . .” He pointed. “Your father was Martin Renn. Martin’s ancestry traces back to the early days of the Raen.”
Russo reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. “This belonged to your mother. Emma Pinkton. It was in the house where we found you, next to a photo of her. You should have it.”
A purple stone on a silver string. Nerina stared, not touching it.
“Excuse me?” I lifted a hand. “How do you know it belonged to Nerina’s mother? You said last us last night you found Nerina as a baby.” Inside a Raen house that they’d “raided.”
“The resemblance was obvious.” He flipped a page and pointed to a photo pasted on the paper. “We confirmed it later. This is your mother, Nerina. And she’s in the charts. On the Rossini side.”
Yeah, the older woman looked a little like Nerina, especially the red hair. I glanced at Rachel. She shook her head slightly, but said nothing.
“Anyway, here’s . . .” More page flipping. “Ben Ajasic. A Raen cousin—”
“So what?” Nerina reached across the table and slammed the book closed. “He was my boyfriend! He wasn’t—I mean, we weren’t in love or anything like that, but he—he tried to stop Elliot from—from . . .” She grabbed a napkin from next to the Doritos bowl and tried not to cry.
“What does this have to do with Barsch?” I didn’t like what I was thinking.
Russo glanced at Nerina. “Let’s take this outside.”
“No!” She pounded a fist on the table. “I want to hear everything.”
Russo crossed his arms. “All right. Some of the scrolls we’ve recovered say that the Raen are trying to breed a—a sort of powerful version of themselves. They can create monsters, like you saw, and they’ve been trying to birth to Raen who can create more powerful ones. That means—”
“Wait.” I held up a hand. “Nerina is already the daughter of a Rossini and a Raen. Do you think—was Barsch trying to . . . “ My stomach lurched.
He shook his head. “I don’t know genetics, but some of our people do. The Raen have been getting stronger over time. There’s always been some intermixing, most of it—innocent. They sent Ben to make friends with Nerina and bring her to Barsch. We tried to tell her, but—”
“Yeah, telling a girl she’s dating the wrong guy usually backfires.” Had this guy ever seen a teen comedy? “So what now? Are you going to introduce her to some nice Raen boy and hope for the best?”
“We’re going to protect her! You.” Russo looked at Nerina. “Sorry. But we’re not the monsters here. We probably should have told you before this. It’s just—complicated.”
Then abruptly it got more complicated. Rachel grabbed my arm and pointed. “Tom!”
Rachel’s sort of psychic, so she can pick things up from people and her surroundings. This time she apparently sensed—
A grizzly bear smashing through the kitchen door on two thick, furry legs It roared, and then lurched forward, long claws extending from its paws.
The Raen. They didn’t always deal in mythological monsters. Sometime real beasts—like bats—were just as deadly.
“Oh my god,” Russo breathed.
Georgeanne kicked her chair over, pulled a drawer and lifted a big automatic handgun from a silverware tray. These guys sure were prepared for anything.
Nerina sat in her chair, trembling. More than trembling. Her shoulders jerked as if she was having a seizure.
Georgeanne fired three bullets into the grizzly’s torso. No effect. “Mika!”
Nerina fell to the hardwood floor, still shuddering, groaning in loud gasps. Rachel crouched to cover her. I stood frozen, trying not to soil myself.
And then Nerina rolled over and sat up. Except she wasn’t Nerina anymore.
A giant reptile lumbered to its feet. Seven feet tall, maybe more, with a long snout, rows and rows of jagged teeth inside wide jaws, and razor-sharp spikes jutting from its arms.
Georgeanne’s handgun boomed again. Three more shots, all straight into the giant bear’s chest. The grizzly barely flinched.
“Mika!” Georgeanne’s shout rose about the grizzly’s roar and the gunshots’ echo. “Bring the big gun!”
Russo dropped to the floor, out of the grizzly’s path as it lumbered forward.
The grizzly shoved the table over, spilling the coffee and soda and Doritos all over the floor. Georgeanne dodged and kept firing.
Then the reptile—Nerina?—stomped forward, swinging its spiky arms wide.
I ducked down as the creatures grappled with each other, roaring loud. Blood spattered the walls and the floor.
“You okay?” I pulled Rachel close.
She peered around my neck. “Stay down.”
I tried, but couldn’t resist. I twisted my head and saw Nerina take a bite out of the grizzly’s neck. But the big bear slashed its claws across the lizard’s chest, and blood spurted high in the air.
Then another gun boomed. Not Georgeanne, but Mika. “Die, bitch!” She wore black tights and carried her long AR-15 assault rifle from last night.
“No!” Russo lifted an arm. “Don’t shoot Nerina!”
But Mika kept firing. Bullets plowed into the grizzly’s spine and butt. Nerina’s reptile monster howled with fury, jabbing its spikes back and forth.
Both creatures fell, and I yanked my foot away as blood flowed over the floor. Mika stepped forward and fired the last of her bullets into the grizzly’s head. Nerina’s creature rolled away, groaning.
Russo staggered to his feet. “Mika! Georgeanne! Stand down!”
Mika lowered her weapon. Georgeanne ejected the almost-empty clip from her handgun and set it on the counter, breathing hard.
The grizzly’s body shivered and shimmered. After a moment, it faded away—just like the dragon Barsch had sent to attack us last night.
Then the reptile faded. Nerina reappeared, panting. Fortunately she hadn’t ripped through her clothes like the Incredible Hulk. That would have been awkward. Instead she leaned against the counter, hands on her knees.
“Wh-what happened?” She gasped. “Oh . . . oh . . . ohh . . . “
Rachel held her shoulders. “You’re fine. Just breathe.”
Mika peered at the shattered kitchen door. “Should I go out? There must be someone out there—”
“Wait.” Russo straightened up and shot a hand into his pocket. “I’m calling for more backup. Then we can go after them.”
“No!” Nerina pulled away from Rachel. “No more shooting! No more monsters! I just want to go home!”
“It’s not safe.” Russo punched buttons on his phone. “Let me find someone—”
“Come on, Andy.” I kicked at a pile of crumbled Doritos. “Barsch—or whoever it was—sent that grizzly right to your kitchen door. Unless you’ve got a safehouse the Raen don’t know anything about—”
“Of course we do. Lots of them. —Hello, Conrad? I need a team to take the subject to—”
“Shut up!” Nerina stomped a foot on the hardwood floor. For a moment I was afraid she was going to transform again. Instead she dropped her head, gasping. “I just want to go home . . .” She grasped the necklace and shoved it into her jeans.
Russo looked at his phone. “Conrad? Let me call you back.”
Dang!
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