Page 169 of Red Rooster

A new slide clicked into view, a painting of a man with an angry, scowl, a dramatic mustache, and a ridiculous hat.

“His supporters accused his brother of killing him and arrested him. Valerian. I tried to buy him from them, but.” Rob shrugged. “They wouldn’t negotiate and they went deep underground.”

Rooster listened, disbelieving, thoughts growing fuzzier and fuzzier by the second.

“We’ve been in business for a long time now. I haven’t wanted to be on the Institute’s radar, so we haven’t intervened. But when I met Deshawn, I realized things have gotten really out of hand over there.”

“Red…” Rooster started, and trailed off, overwhelmed.

Rob’s expression became grim. “She’s a mage. A kind of vampire Familiar that can wield all sorts of magic. There aren’t many of them left – to my knowledge, Philippe was the only one of record who’s ever worked willingly with the Institute. So I see they decided to breed their own. Raise them up as lab rats.” His brows drew together, gaze darkening. “If I’d known that, before…” He shook his head. “We’re going to help you get her back, Rooster. And I’m going to have a word with whoever’s in charge.”

“A word,” Rooster said with a snort.

Rob just smiled, cocky. “It’s high time those of us that are left make our presence known. If the Absence is awake again…as you Yanks say, shit’s about to hit the fan.”

~*~

“We’ve got sandwiches,” Deshawn said as he led the way into a fairly standard mess hall. Long tables, vending machines, and a stainless steel kitchen that looked cold at the moment. He went to the fridge and started laying packaged lunch meats and cheeses out on a big butcher block island.

Two guys with crew cuts and green camo sat at a small table off to the side, eating and talking quietly.

Rooster’s attention went to the gray-headed, round-faced man slumped over another table, plastic cup at his elbow, snoring into the crook of his other arm.

“Is that…?”

“Tuck, yeah,” Deshawn said, following his gaze as he started setting bread slices on plates. “He’s like that a lot.”

“’Kay.”

Deshawn sighed. “I know you’re freaking out.”

“No I’m not.”

Deshawn put exactly three slices of ham on the bottom of each sandwich. “You are.”

And Rooster snapped. “Yeah, okay. I am.” He turned away from the sleeping man – fucking Friar Tuck – and stormed over to the island. Braced both hands against its edge and realized he was shaking. “Yeah,” he said, biting off the word now. “I’m freakingthe fuckout. The Deshawn I used to know would be too.”

Deshawn wiped his hands on his pants legs and lifted a deceptively calm look. “Oh, that’s how you wanna play this?”

“I’m notplaying, asshole. This is – this is – it’s fucking insane!” he spluttered. And oh shit, black spots were crowding his vision. He gripped the counter hard and tried to take deep breaths. Fuck this. Fuckallof this.

Deshawn’s tone softened, became soothing. “I know, man. Hey, I know, okay? It’s insane, yeah. It took me a long time to believe any of it. Just give it a minute to sink in.”

But that wasn’t what went down his throat like a jagged lump of metal. The thing that was slowly making his brain implode.

“You’re supposed to be the normal one,” he admitted, and the last thread of control snapped. “Jesus, D, you’re the stable guy. With the wife, and the kid, and – and fucking table manners.”

Deshawn cocked a deceptively mild eyebrow.

“You know what I mean! You’re the guy with his shit together; not the guy who goes and gets a crazy, probably illegal job with a buncha fuckingwerewolvesthey made a Disney movie about!”

“Oh, I get it. I’m just your support system. The boring sidekick. Got it.”

“No, that’s not what I–”

“I should stay home, and get fat, and leave all the scary shit to you, right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”