Page 9 of Ghoul Huntress (Maelstrom Duology #2)

9

As Big Mo made the turn to crawl back inside the scraper, punching through a window and part of the wall around it, Cyn decided to tell her beasters something of her worries. Mo bulldozed into the room and over sofas, chairs, and tables—this seemed to be a corner of a furniture warehouse—then he paused as if to regroup. They’d be two thirds of the way up this scraper if Mo had done as he was supposed to, and this would be the story Maura and the rest of the Worshippers were on and where they’d meet them.

Unless something had gone wrong. She crossed her fingers and wished she had some wood to touch.

Mo clank-thumped forward.

“I worry, guys, that we have been running on the spot.”

“Say that again?” Vargr asked.

She released the chair from its brakes and swung it around so she could see them both. “We’ve done so much, coming here, fighting, discovering things no one ever suspected about ourselves and the Ghoul Lords, and yet…” She splayed out her hands. “What have we really accomplished? How much closer are we to getting rid of our overlords up there? We still cannot make everyone resist the Lure. I’m it , the only one who has power over the Lure, and even that is limited to only sometimes.”

Only when she fucked these two enough. Maura’s secret about what her demon nanites could do pulled at her to test that theory and her limits.

“We’ll get there.” Rutger leaned over and patted her knee. “We will.”

“Together we are stronger,” Vargr added. “Do we need a motto or something? Because that sounded good. No, wait, scratch that. Too cheerful.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, staring at her perfect fingers that had once burned her lover but not her. Definitely too cheerful.

“Princess, I don’t like this mood you’re in.”

“Me? I’m fine. Mo!” she sang. “You know how to find Maura?”

“I do. I have knowledge of the internal layout of War Quarter up here, and so I estimate our ETA at being in ten minutes.”

Mo soon found a four-lane roadway with a high ceiling and switched from the bone-jarring stomp of his many feet to wheels. The debris was scarce and limited to desiccated bodies and a few cars that could easily be steered around. Five minutes after that, they turned left and exited the roadway, slowing at an already slid-aside steel-grated gate before Mo continued. They drove beneath a road-spanning sign: DAMOCLES ARMORY.

A line of apartments with their walls stretching to the ceiling rose beyond a parking area, where cars lay abandoned and silent. Dusty, dead metal things waiting for their funeral . Vargr was right, she was morbid today. The roar of people pulled them onward.

Once through the gap between the apartments, armored vehicles loomed into being in the smoky air, lined up for rows and rows, and as her gaze cruised along that assembly and Mo advanced into the strange fog, she found where a crowd of beasters stood watching a stage.

Some of them were turning, no doubt to check out the noise of Mo’s engines. A few raised weapons.

Up on the stage beside a beaster male was Maura, her neat white hair distinctive at a distance, and for a second Cyn déjà vued to the time she’d seen Willow on stage exhorting them to go to war on the Ghoul Lords. The beaster next to her was twice her width and half again her height.

That would be Drummer, the leader of War Quarter. They’d been told to look out for a beaster with red-stained horns and blue-gray spikes running from shoulders to arms, as well as the normal scintillating blue eyes. The gray foot-claws he was supposed to bear were not visible.

Maura leaped off the stage—leaped. Her near-geriatric friend had done that. Beaster nanites, fae nanites, were good for her. After vanishing into the small sea of beasters, she emerged at the back, parting the crowd before she turned to face the War beasters. Her voice carried through the speakers.

“These are my friends!” She was calming them. “Do not shoot!”

Still…

“Mo, pull up here, and open your door.” She vaulted from her seat, and Vargr and Rutger joined her at the door, swinging down after her. Despite a few weapons pointed their way, they jogged forward.

“Hey, Maura! We made it!” As she slowed and stopped, Cyn waved to those staring at the three newcomers, and beyond her at Mo. “Hi. We come in peace, uhhh, what do I call you? War beasters?”

“Warriors, we call ourselves,” a male told her.

Not that distinctive but okay. She would’ve picked War Freaks.

“Okay, Warriors. Maura, how has this been going?”

“Different. Promising, though.”

Behind Maura, Worshippers were gathering though outnumbered by the Warriors.

She scrutinized them, looking for any signs of an idiot choosing aggression over negotiation and friendship. One never knew. Cyn shook out her fingers, ready for battle.

Nothing. Good, if a little disappointing. She smiled at her old companions, murmured greetings.

It was strange to feel she belonged with the Worshippers, yet every time this feeling struck, she loved it, and she nodded to them as they collected around Maura.

“So, you made it, demon-girl. We’ve been talking, myself and Drummer.” Maura linked arms with Cyn then swung them to face the stage. “Come and meet him. He’s… something.”

The pause said a lot—doubt, incredulity, maybe even a warning. Her spine prickled intensely, and she heard the crunch of footsteps though no one was visibly walking their way.

As if summoned, Drummer stepped from the crowd. People separated to either side, moving away as if he were a messiah parting a sea. This was yet another enormous beaster, which was dead normal nowadays.

Cyn kept her smile and travelled her gaze up his body.

Clawed feet. Check . In fact the claws had scored the floor. Quite impressive. No boots because of this. Check.

Red leather pants. Showy.

No shirt, though he lacked wings, so again he was just showing off those well-defined abs. Every beaster had those, for it came gratis with the nanites. Not so impressive.

Blue spikes all the way up his arms, tipped with red.

Add in the curly-wurly branching horns on his head, also red-tipped. She almost winced thinking about hugging this guy, he was like a fucking porcupine, and his eyes had a smoldering cross leering look to them.

Her spine tingled even more.

“Cyn.” Vargr tapped her arm. “You’re burning.”

“What?” Confused and worried, she looked at her fingers but they were fine.

“Not there,” he said through his teeth. “It’s your back.”

Oh fuck. So that was why the prickling. Nothing she could do about it. No idea why it’d decided to become combustible.

“Hi,” she said loudly to Drummer, determined not to turn and let anyone see behind her. “Is my shirt on fire?” she asked Vargr, in a side-whisper.

“No. You’re just glowing. Orangey-red.”

So, not really on fire then. That was a relief. “If it starts smoking, tell me.”

“Fuck yeah.” He gave her a subtle thumbs up while trying to look casual, but a grin broke on his face.

Shit. Cyn stared at Drummer. “And what did you and Maura decide?”

He was staring at her, clearly wondering what words she and Vargr had exchanged.

“In summary, this: Maura has told me of what you discovered—that we are part gargoyle, fae, dwarf, and… even that you are part demon. I find it fascinating that we are descended from mythical people, from legends, even perhaps from the god-like. We are a new advanced race, though this was already obvious to me and to anyone who dares to consider our abilities.”

Dares ? Was that a passive aggressive dig at those who didn’t agree with him?

His rumbling voice scraped the air; his eyes bored into hers. “I acceded to her request that we allow use of our communications tech for contact with other beasters. By relay, we can bounce a signal around the world. While this is happening, she has promised me you, the Worshippers, will retrieve the drone.

“Of course, without proof of what’s happening above, as well as of an ability to resist the Lure, you all may as well give up on your plans.”

That was some summary. She frowned and scuffed the floor with her boot toe, considering this beaster. He made her want to smack him into next week with her flaming hand.

Maura probably would not like that.

“Wait.” Rutger stepped up, towering to her left, above Maura, taller than this Drummer. “We don’t aim to give up on anything that easily.”

“You want to help this cause of yours? Then finding the drone is your first task. After that we will talk again… about strategy and whatever you wish.” Drummer smiled grimly. “I will never commit my beasters to a plan that is poorly managed. Prove everything, before you come to me with any plans of battle. We…” With a curving toss of his horned head, he indicated the beaster Warriors ranked behind him and to either side. “We have survived so far by being smart. The Ghoul Lords have decimated the humans. Soon all humans will be dead and there will only be us and a few remaining sick creatures.” His eyebrows rose. “And those we can convert to beasters. It may be our destiny to be the next dominant race on Earth.”

He bowed to Maura.

“Your cultured nanites will be valuable.”

“You cannot simply dismiss humans as an extinct race!” For once Rutger sounded truly angry.

Maura’s hand clenched on Cyn’s waist. What had Drummer already said to her?

“Of course I will not. Of course we will not. Finding the drone is however an imperative . Without that I will not sacrifice a single Warrior beaster to this cause.”

The threat in Drummer’s smile seemed to communicate to the spikes and horns on his body, and he dripped blue nanites in a mini storm that swirled outward then cleared.

That impressed her in all the wrong ways. Drummer was a dominant man used to getting his own way by force. Every word he’d said had made her back prickle more intensely.

“Find the drone?” she repeated mildly.

“Find the drone,” Drummer agreed. “We view the footage from it. Then we decide what step to take next. Currently… I favor doing nothing except informing the other beasters who share this Earth with us of what we descend from.” He spread his arms wide. “You are all welcome to change my mind.”

“Thank you, Drummer. We appreciate that you’re loaning us the comms,” Maura said. She sounded sincere, but she was likely seething. She held out her hand and Drummer shook it.

This Drummer had the words and demeanor of a snake—one that could talk.

As he walked away from them with his people following him, her back calmed. The prickles went away. She rolled her shoulders then adjusted the cling of her buttoned, black shirt. Vesuvius aborted.

“I don’t like him much,” Maura said.

“Me neither,” Vargr agreed.

“Or me.” Rutger grunted. “I trust him very little.”

“He stinks.” Cyn wrinkled her nose. “He smells of something bad.”

“Really?” Vargr sniffed. “Not to me. You exaggerating?” The others looked puzzled.

She wasn’t. Something was rotten in War Quarter. Cyn stuck her thumbs in her pants pockets, wondering what the population was in this quarter, and how outnumbered they might be.

“The smell might be the compost back there.” Rutger pointed past Big Mo, which was when Cyn noticed Little Mo had exited too and was hugging her boot heels again. She crouched to stroke his metal carapace with her finger.

“Between the refurbished tanks and personnel carriers,” Rutger continued. “There were garden beds and there’s artificial lighting strips too. My guess is they once tried to grow things here, but the lack of easy power would’ve defeated that.”

She let them think that as they ambled to Mo, though it appeared Mo had decided they were too slow and was driving slowly in their direction.

The garden bed reference had made her study the armored vehicles more closely. Uncared for, for five years, the first she’d seen had been dusty and plain, but the ones closer to the stage had been recently painted. Emblems glared at her in bright hues—claws, wings, spider webs, and various other symbols.

They reached the nearest which bore pink kitty cat whiskers and paw marks, marching all over the hull, the gun barrel, and the turret. Warriors was also splashed on the side in ragged letters.

“Is he planning a war? Who with? The Ghoul Lords?”

“Him?” Vargr sniffed. “Unlikely. He strikes me as a very dictator gargoyle. And I think good natured respect for the law was a part of what we were given?”

“It is. That’s a good question, Cyn.” Rutger had kneeled and he peered under the vehicle. “This looks like it’s had maintenance too. If he wants a war, I’m betting it won’t happen until the GLs leave.”

“Interesting.” No wonder he’d smelled awful.

The crunch of Mo’s tires made them all swing to look as he drove up and halted a few yards away. “I overheard the summary given. Find the drone, he said. I can do that. I pinged its location while we climbed up. I have good news and bad news.”

“Oh?” Maura rocked her head from side to side. “Spit it out.”

“The good news is that the drone is locatable. The bad news is its miles away, across the game reserve. I deduce that something took it elsewhere or its system fed it incorrect information and sent it flying there.”

No brainer. It had to be one of those two.

“So.” She propped her fists on her hips. “When do we leave?”

Though Rutger and Vargr merely looked to her, Maura answered. “ASAP. I want this figured out. I want to give Drummer as little time to decide he wants to shut this down as possible.”

A question begged for attention in her mind: What if he did something dastardly while they were away?

Such as killing all the Worshippers? Was that even possible with a gargoyle beaster?

No one else was equipped to go out there in the wilds. It had to be her and Mo. If they encountered Lure problems, she could handle it, whereas a couple of wing-soldiers would be plucked from the sky by the Ghoul Lords.

Least, she reckoned she could handle it.

“Either way, let’s not dismiss him so quickly. We may be able to convince him to help us if we present a good-enough argument. I don’t blame him for not wanting to sacrifice people needlessly. The Ghoul Lords are scary. We all know that.”

Cyn listened to them discuss what had happened, and they shifted to talking about provisioning Mo since supposedly the drone was a day’s drive away. Maura wanted to examine them all before they left. The fae nanites had turned her into a persnickety particular organizer too, like Willow had been. Although a research scientist might have that already? Other Worshippers joined them and milled about, listening, talking about everything and anything.

It seemed a backdrop, a distant hum to her, and she was wondering why she felt so distant when a few words drew this into focus—the details of the Warrior beasters.

She recalled none of what was said. There had been Drummer and one beaster who’d followed him closely, perhaps a lieutenant of some sort. Orin, she thought someone had called him. He was horned too but black and glossy and winged, the perfect specimen of a beaster rendered so dark a human would never see him in the night. His blue eyes had shone like jewels.

She remembered him and Drummer.

The other Warriors were pawns, ghosts, nothings to her memory, and this was not right. She felt that in her bones.

To not see the individuals and to only lust after punching the leader through a wall… it was so wrong it sent a chill through her flesh.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, Cyn,” Rutger said and she nodded.

“Good.”

She would take this time alone with her beaster mates to settle what was happening to her, somehow.

“Vincent is coming too.”

“Okay.” Make that almost alone. Vincent was a friend, and surely she needed more of those?

Theoretically, yes. Could a demon-girl have friends if she went full demon?

Avidex contemplated the remains of yet another Willow clone and decided he was getting… bored.

Was this not a human trait? Boredom?

Yes , said the Willow brain within his core.

He harrumphed at the brain that mostly had stayed silent, in spite of his many tortures of its human replica.

The others keep me quiet. They insulate me from your fun, from the scariness.

They do?

Yes.

They shielded her from the torture? A curious concept. He poked the bloody remains with a tentacle. Such a waste.

Yes.

The yes from Willow was enigmatic. It said little and yet could mean so very much.

Thoughts can have many meanings.

Philosophy again?

The six other brains he carried drowned out whatever she said in reply.

Shush , he commanded, sending most of them to the corners of his jelly-like core. Where was he? What had been that thought?

You know you endanger yourself by carrying this many of us brains.

Oh? If he’d possessed an internal eye, he’d be narrowing it, Avidex decided. I am suspicious of your implication. You wish me to divest myself of my other brains? Leave you as the only one?

Yes. I say this honestly. If you die, so do I, and my beaster friends aim to invade the Top soon. You will regret being burdened by the weight of these other brains when you need to move quickly. Your core grows sloppy, your body slow.

Besides, she added, I am far smarter than all the others combined.

That was true, in a way. The others degenerated rapidly, and he constantly had to change the brains or have imbeciles within. Avidex sighed and watched a flock of birds fly in a V overhead. Their wings were haloed against the sun, their cries to their flock members reminiscent of his own kind crying to one another.

Except more beautiful?

Such an anomalous thought. Had the human Willow prompted the thought?

Perhaps I should rid myself of you instead? I suspect you of subtle influences.

I am in you. I am you, to a degree. I suspect that keeping human brains in general is seeping into your thought processes.

Did she now? Smart-ass human.

For the first time ever, Avidex looked about the plain of the Top, and what he saw—the vivisection, sadistic torture, and mass consumption of humans—bothered him.

Unnatural. He really should throw the Willow human away.

She was the smartest, however, and there in lay his diabolical conundrum. To keep her or to lose her? Was it better to weather the slings and arrows of… He trailed off as a string of words sprang to life in his mind, whole and perfectly formed.

“Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.”

What madness was this? There was more, much more, but he was loath to think them.

The Willow was correct. The humans were tainting him, perhaps irrevocably.

Ugh. He gnashed his triangular teeth and slid to an empty part of the Top to ponder this.

Things are leaking in, human things.

He wasn’t even sure if he had thought that, or one of them.

Bad, or good, or in between, this leaking was new for him, for any Ghoul Lord.

Different.

What is bad or good , he mused. These concepts were also new.

I could tell you , the Willow insinuated. I could tell you everything you ask me.

He smiled in the way only a Ghoul Lord could smile, with many sharp triangular teeth and the stored intelligence of a millennia of experience.

Could you? I see your plotting, human. I see it very well. Let us discuss bad and good.

Except the slither of another Ghoul Lord’s swathe of flesh and the shadows of waving tentacles cast on the surrounding farmland gave Avidex pause. He turned to find one of the Most Ancient waiting. Gromexar.

I will speak with you about the thoughts of these brains, Avidex , Gromexar began.

That a Most Ancient wished to discuss brains, or anything with him was stunning. He was of a younger spawning, barely recombined, with only two queen eruptions to his name, whereas Gromexar was a few millenniums older.

Yes, that was stunning, but more stunning were the five or six brains already bobbing about in his core.

Of course. He bowed, sweeping his foremost tentacles before him. I listen.

Tell me how to best use them. All the good things. I keep wanting to snack upon them, and that ruins things.

Avidex shielded his dismay, his amusement. For the first time he saw the stupidity of his… superiors. Where oh where was his species headed?

To the toilet , whispered Willow. Perhaps you would like me to suggest tactics and strategy to this Gromexar?

A novel concept, and immediately he realized it was ripe for traitorous betrayal, by her.

Please do. I will be watching for signs of betrayal.

And if you see them?

What a question. He turned it over, looking at it from all sides—sides he’d never known a question could have, until now. These humans were fantastically complex.

Keep going. Speak. I watch and listen. Now, how much would this Willow dare?