It was a nice house built on a quiet block in Overland Park, which was a pretty nice suburb of Kansas City. The neighborhood slept as the sun crested the horizon and paperboys made their deliveries. When one copy of the Kansas City Star slapped against this particular house, the impact knocked the door open an inch or two. It wasn’t enough for the delivery boy to notice, so he kept going, and the rest of the city went about its morning routine.
A man in a cheap suit walked down the sidewalk with his hands stuffed into his pockets. His eyes slowly absorbed everything around him and his nostrils flared as he got closer to the house with the door that was ajar. Upon reaching the porch, he sniffed the air, shook his head, scooped up the paper, and walked inside.
The entry was very tidy, apart from a shattered coffee mug on the floor of the entry way and streaks of blood smeared on the tile. More blood led up a carpeted staircase to the second floor, where the coppery smell was even worse. A television was on up there, but played the music from a DVD menu that hit the end of its loop and began again. Mr. Burkis tightened his grip on the newspaper he’d brought in from the front step and scowled at the upper end of the staircase. The corner of one nostril twitched and his eyes snapped toward the source of the new scent he’d picked up beneath the odor of not-so-fresh kills. Someone had just opened a fresh can of coffee.
“’Morning, Randolph,” chimed a voice from the kitchen.
Burkis seemed mildly uncomfortable to hear that name, but didn’t refute it. He stepped over a hutch that had been knocked over, crushing some of the fine china that had spilled from it as he walked into a rustic dining room. A mess of splintered chairs and broken glass lay scattered near an upended, solid oak table. A chunk of the kitchen counter had been broken off, leaving the rest of the adjoining room mostly intact. A skinny man dressed in a baggy gray sweat-suit stood in the kitchen. He held a can of coffee in one hand, pulled the top off, and sniffed the plastic circle. A narrow smile slid across his sunken features as he said, “I’ve grown to love coffee since crossin’ the pond. Care for a mug?”
Randolph narrowed his eyes and walked over to where the kitchen table had landed. He righted it with as much effort as someone might use to lift a box of cereal and slapped the newspaper down flat upon it. “What have you done, Liam?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” the skinny man asked in a thick cockney accent.
Scanning the headlines for all of two seconds, Randolph slammed a finger down on a lower corner of the front page. “This is what I mean!”
Liam took the carafe from the coffee machine and filled it. Squinting as he scooped some grounds into a filter and put it all together in the machine, he asked, “Might you be referrin’ to the gas prices or the construction?”
Randolph didn’t move.
When Liam spoke again, his accent was smoother and more natural than it had been before. “They were bound to notice us sooner or later.”
“Especially since you’ve been running down the streets and howling at the moon like an idiot!”
“That’s fine talk comin’ from you, Randolph. What about the street wars you instigated back in New York?”
“I didn’t start those, and that was long before pictures and video could be spread so easily. For God’s sake, there’s hardly even a record of it! This,” he snarled, while pounding his fist against the newspaper, “is even worse than your incident in Whitechapel.”
Liam got the coffee brewing with the tap of a button and then glanced back at Randolph. “That was also over a hundred years ago. Besides, I’ve never been linked to those gutted whores.”
Cocking his head slightly, Randolph narrowed his eyes to a point where the other man couldn’t bear it.
Finally, Liam snarled, “All right, fine. I may have had a little something to do with the Whitechapel incident, but it wasn’t just me killing a bunch of women for no reason. Those uptight constables had the gall to try and run us out of London! Don’t you remember that?” Dark hair was plastered against his scalp and forehead in a way that would have seemed perfectly natural in the faded portrait of a banker from the eighteenth century. Even his facial structure seemed outdated. His bony shoulders and narrow limbs were built for old suits that hung in museums.
“Times are different now,” Randolph reminded him. “Even if they weren’t, what you’re doing is unacceptable.”
“Perhaps,” Liam said as he raised his eyebrows, “you could have kept things in line if you’d been here. I did invite you, but you’re so hard to find. I only recently learned the new name you’ve taken. Burkis, is it?”
The other nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Almost back to your roots, eh? I like it.”
Randolph snatched up the paper and practically rubbed Liam’s nose in it. “What do you hope to accomplish with this? You’re purposely creating Half Breeds?”
“Yes. They’re rather like machines. While I’m not altogether fond of machinery, it is nice to wind it all up and watch it go.”
“Don’t try to smooth this over with a bunch of prissy talk,” Randolph snarled. “Do you actually hope to accomplish anything with this or are you just making another spectacle?”
Liam took the newspaper away fast enough to leave a few shredded scraps in Randolph’s hand. After looking over the article, he let out an amused, snuffing breath. “Whoever wrote this is still blaming the deaths on dogs or criminals! There’s been bloodier months when human criminals fight amongst themselves. You should know that better than anyone.”
“Gang wars are started and fought by human gangs,” Randolph said. “People know how to react to that. When those wars are over, everyone goes back to their lives. This can’t possibly be forgotten so easily.”
While Randolph spoke, Liam rolled his eyes and walked back to check on the coffee. “You weren’t always such a stickler. In fact, didn’t I hear about a bunch of hunters being slaughtered in a cabin that just happened to be in your stomping grounds?”
“Those hunters were Skinners.”
“All of them?”
“No,” Randolph replied. “One was a Mongrel in possession of a Blood Blade that was meant to kill our kind. Skinners should know to stick to the leeches in their cities or the Half Breeds that slip through the cracks. As far as Mongrels are concerned, I kill as many as I can find. The one I chased away from that cabin won’t be a problem anytime soon.”
Liam leaned against the counter and ran his finger along the side of the heated pad beneath the coffee carafe. “Oh, I see. When you kill, it’s justified. Always against prey that should know better than to overstep your bounds. Didn’t you hear the truth that Henry broadcast to the rest of us? Haven’t you seen for yourself that the leeches don’t rule the cities as we’d always believed? How the hell did we fall for that rubbish anyway? Doesn’t that make you feel foolish?”
“I’ve lived in cities,” Randolph said. “The leeches and Skinners can have them.”
“Oh, sure. We get to live in parks or the little green patches of woodlands that the humans rope off like fucking zoos!” Liam roared. With every word, his voice swelled to fill more of the empty spaces within the house. “The days when we can live where we please are fading, Randolph Standing Bear. Just ask the Natives who gave you that name.”
“Our arrangement has worked just fine. We can’t—”
Slamming his fist down hard enough to shatter the countertop, Liam shouted, “There is nothing we can’t do! We are Full Bloods! The only reason we scampered into the forests while the humans built their cities was because we allowed it to happen! I warned you about the Skinners, Randolph. I warned you they would figure out new ways to poison and kill us, and look what’s happened! At least the Gypsies show some craftsmanship with their Blood Blades. The Skinners are grave robbers who prod us with sticks.”
“You can stuff your warnings,” Randolph said. “I’m the one that’s been thinning the Skinner herd while you’ve been out spilling blood for no good reason. If you truly wanted to help, you’d help me remove the thorns in our sides without creating more of them to deal with. What purpose could such public slaughter possibly serve?”
The fist that he’d used to break the counter now unfolded so Liam could gently sweep away some dust that had settled next to the coffee machine. He grabbed the carafe and poured the fresh brew into his mouth. Leaving his chin up and his eyes locked upon a spot on the wall, he swallowed and said, “They should fear us. This whole world would be much better if people had the good sense to fear. It’d be quieter at least.”
“What kind of manure is that?”
“Humans are arrogant. They strut about, flapping their gums, making their noise and tossing about idle threats because they’re not afraid anymore. I’m not even talking about a crippling fear of the dark. I’m talking about that bit of common sense that warns them against walking into dangerous places or provoking someone who might do them harm. You know what humans do when they make a mistake or bite off more than they can chew?” After swigging some more coffee, Liam said, “They sue. Some idiot spouts off, gets beaten for it, and they sue. Another moron ignores a sign, stumbles under a load of bricks, and they sue.
“If they see something greater than them, they need to challenge it. If something is sacred to one group, another group just has to knock it down to show their will is more sacred. When these damned fools find something dangerous, they seek it out just for the thrill of it! There used to be a time when creatures that stupid were wiped out through the good sense of a harsh natural order. We’re that natural order, Randolph.”
“And humans are the arrogant ones?” Randolph scoffed.
But Liam shook that off with ease. “When a species becomes too large, they are culled by predators or disease. Humans hide behind machines and suck down drugs to combat disease. They’ve cheated their way through an existence that should have been ended hundreds of years ago. We’re the predators made to do the culling.”
Randolph straightened up to his full height, which put him several inches over Liam’s head. “All you want is to restore the natural order?” he said with sarcasm dripping from every word. “You’re so much nobler than I remembered.”
“At least I’m doing something, you self-righteous prick!” While Randolph’s tone had softened, Liam’s took on more of an edge. The longer Randolph looked at him with his wide eyes and friendly smile, the more Liam’s teeth crept down to form the start of rounded fangs. “The humans may be too fucking stupid to ever admit their place in the real pecking order, but the Skinners know all too well. What I’m doing here will bring those killers to us instead of allowing them to hide and plot and build in the dark just like their whole cowardly species has done for so goddamn long.”
“I’ve only smelled two of them throughout this whole state.”
“Which must mean there’s precious few of them left,” Liam pointed out. “When they’re gone, there’ll be that many less thorns in our sides. And after the events I’ve started, Skinners will gather here from across this continent and probably others. They’ll come looking for us, and if we can’t snuff them out, we truly do belong skulking in the woods.”
Randolph nodded slowly. “You’ve done some real culling, eh? If you’d killed even one of those two Skinners, you would have bragged about it by now. Instead, you’re wincing when you move and favoring one side over the other. Those arrogant humans probably just snuck in a lucky shot, right?”
Leaning to get a better look at the right side of Randolph’s face, Liam replied, “You’ve got no room to talk. That wound’s new and has the looks of one that will never heal. Blood Blade, I’d guess. With your rugged Celtic looks, I bet that just drives the girls crazy.”
Although Randolph didn’t move to touch the thick, jagged scar that ran from his right cheek down to his jaw, he twitched as if that part of his face was about to leap away from his skull.
“Who did that to you?” Liam asked. “Was it a little brunette with the tight ass or the fellow who looked ready to piss himself?” Liam waited for a second and then nodded. “They’re very creative, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if another one of their kind was somewhere scooping up our droppings to mix into some sort of potion.”
The expression on Randolph’s face would have been enough to force a lion back into a dark corner, but Liam only acknowledged it with a wary chuckle.
“You know it’s true, pretty boy.”
“I have the blade now,” Randolph growled. “That’s all that matters.”
Liam’s narrow features were made even sharper by the cruel grin that took them over. “Carried it away while it was embedded in your face, huh? Great plan, my friend. Since you’d probably like to get some more Skinner flesh under your nails, you can help me pick off the ones that did that to you. They flocked to this place thanks to me, and if there’s more of them anywhere nearby, they’ll come too.”
“So that’s your real reason for all of this?” Randolph asked. “Force the Skinners into a fight and bring me here to join you. What about that other stray you found?”
Drawing back as if preparing to defend his young, Liam said, “Henry is a Full Blood who knows more about our enemies than either of us.”
“He’s tainted by the Nymar.”
“Not anymore. The Skinners saw to that. They cut it out of him and killed it using a Blood Blade and some of their own witchcraft. It was quite a sight to see. Now that the leeches are out of him, Henry can focus the gift that vampire gave him.” Flashing a grin that was just a bit too wide, Liam proudly added, “He’s a Mind Singer. Unfocused, but the gift is in him.”
“And where is he?”
For the first time since he’d started the conversation, Liam faltered. He glanced toward a glass door that was mostly covered by a set of white vertical blinds as he replied, “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for weeks. He buggered off to find one of the Skinners that hurt him and I ain’t seen him since. He’s still alive, though. We may not be able to sniff him out for whatever reason, but we know he’s alive.”
“He is a Mind Singer,” Randolph grunted. “The world’s gotten loud enough as it is, but I still hear his song when I’m not even listening. As do the Mongrels. He’s told us the Nymar aren’t as organized as we thought, but the chatter never stops.”
“Try havin’ a conversation with the poor bastard.”
“Wherever he is, he can stay there. Just as we’ve stayed out of the cities because everything moves along smoother that way. That’s how it should remain.”
“No,” Liam snarled. “You stayed out for convenience. The rest of us were chased out by cowards and held at bay by a bunch of bragging leeches. It makes me sick knowing that our kind runs and hides from anybody. Once word spreads about what I’ve done here, every Full Blood will see just how easy it is to stake a claim of their own.”
“Word has already spread.”
“Ahh,” Liam sighed contentedly. “Machines can be good for somethin’.”
The closest machine at the moment was the one that had produced the coffee. Randolph let out a measured breath and let his eyes wander from that machine to the others in the kitchen and eventually to the entertainment center in the living room. Lowering his gaze toward the bloodstained carpet, he asked, “What about the family that lived in this house?”
“They’re brewing into another batch of reinforcements. Half Breeds may be a pain in everyone’s collective arse, but they work cheap and bring plenty of friends.”
“The children?”
Liam set the carafe down and stepped up to stand toe-to-toe with the other man. Even though he wasn’t nearly as burly as Randolph, he stuck his chin out and balled his fists as if hoping for a confrontation. “After all the decades of being hunted, of hiding, of being exiled, of scampering away from the idiots in these cities, you’re going to question how I go about my affairs?”
“I merely asked about the children who live here.”
“How do you know there were children here? Can you smell ’em? Some might consider that a little peculiar.”
“There’s crayon pictures on the fridge. Little bowls and little plastic spoons in the sink. Should I bother looking for toys?”
Liam blinked, stepped away, and took another swig of coffee. “Whatever children that live here must be away. They’ll sure get a nasty surprise if they come back, eh?”
For a few seconds Randolph was quiet. The breaths that rolled through his chest were growls that simmered much like coffee in the machine next to Liam’s hand had. When one of those breaths reached fruition, it spilled out of a mouth that was beginning to form into a snout. Abruptly, Randolph turned and headed for the door that led from the kitchen and opened to a set of stairs leading down. The door was nearly ripped off its hinges as he stomped down to the basement.
Liam moved toward the doorway at a leisurely pace.
Randolph stopped at the bottom of the stairs, which was far enough for him to see the broken cement, dirt, and other refuse that had piled up when a large hole had been dug into the basement floor. The hole was just big enough for three Half Breeds to lay curled up in a bundle of gnarled flesh and had the stink of a den, but was empty.
“Where are they?” Randolph growled.
“I planted them somewhere near a snack for whenever they get hungry,” the skinnier man replied from the kitchen. “Even if you do find them, you won’t be able to get to all the others. I had quite a busy evening.”
Just to be certain, Randolph checked the rest of the basement. “If you want to force the humans’ hand,” he shouted from the musty space, “do it yourself. Don’t drag any other Full Blood into it and don’t make any more Half Breeds! If we were ever to have a curse, those wretches are it. Creating them to fight your battle is—”
“Is what?” Liam chided. “A sin?”
“It’s a disgrace.”
“Not the noble crusade like your fight against the Skinners?” Liam sneered in a quiet voice he knew the other Full Blood could hear. “However many you’ve killed, it’ll never be enough. They’re humans, so they’ll only reproduce until you’re smothered in a blanket of them. But it’s not just you being smothered. It’s all of us. Something needs to be done to wipe them out or put them in their place.”
“And you think this will do the job?” Randolph asked. “Have you truly lost your mind?”
Liam stalked down the stairs, raking his nails along the wall while using his free hand to tap his forehead as if he was sending code. “I’m using my brain! You’ve never understood strategy, Randolph. I’m drawing as many of our enemies to one place and then doing whatever I can to tear that place to fucking pieces!”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Randolph grinned. The movement not only gave his fresh scar a curl, but displayed some of the rounded teeth that had extended halfway out from where they’d lain dormant beneath his gums. “Sounds like a hell of a war. Too bad you’re too gutless to fight it on your own.”
Although Liam shook his head and waggled a finger at the other man, the hand he’d pressed against the wall tore chunks of it away as if the structure was made from cheap plaster and balsa wood. “Don’t try baiting me. You know damn well we work better together instead of when we butt heads.”
“We haven’t worked together for a very long time.”
“Back then, you knew I had things to teach you. At the very least, you listened to me. Do you even know that these two Skinners have claimed Chicago as their home? Wasn’t that your territory at one time?”
“Most of this continent is my territory,” Randolph growled. “If you truly are this crazy, maybe it’s time I claimed the rest.”
“More blood will be spilled, but all for a good cause,” Liam replied with an offhanded wave. “And with your help, the fight will be that much shorter. You may not believe me, but the Skinners cannot be allowed to run loose. Listen to the Mind Singer. Lord only knows where he is, but when he dreams, he shows everyone what horrors the Skinners are capable of. He’s seen them firsthand. He was there at the start of their so-called science. He’s a product of it!”
“There’s no way you’ll convince me to stand aside while your wretches fight our battle,” Randolph said as he nodded toward the pit as though he was regarding a crudely dug latrine. “You’ll dispose of them, as well as any others you’ve buried around this city.”
“Don’t get hasty. Wait until you’ve heard what else Henry has to say.”
Randolph’s nostrils flared and the seams of his suit were tested by the bulky mass of his growing torso. Thick brown fur sprung up from beneath his collar and slid out from his sleeves, but not enough to completely shred the cheap fabric. “I’m putting an end to this,” he snarled through a mouthful of daggerlike teeth.
“You like chewing up Skinners so much, I thought I’d just—”
Leaping up the stairs, Randolph grabbed Liam by the face and slammed him against the closest wall. “You didn’t think,” Randolph barked. “You never think. You didn’t think when you threw London into a panic by eviscerating those women and you’re not thinking now.”
“To be fair, we were both a little out of control in London,” Liam mused as he dusted himself off.
When Randolph swiped at Liam, his claws slashed through empty air and dug a row of trenches through the wall. The skinny man with the greasy hair landed on all fours and had already replaced his sweats with a thick black coat.
“I don’t care about your reasons for doing any of this,” Randolph said. “Just clean up the damned mess you’ve made. I’m through dealing with you, and I’m through treating the Skinners like respected enemies. Either one of you pushes me again and I’ll scatter your remains from one coast to another!”
“That’s more like it! There’s the wild fellow who stumbled in from the forests all those years ago!”
After letting out a snarl that quickly rose to a frustrated growl, Randolph eased back into a human form. He lowered his head, stomped away, and left through the front door.
“Welcome back, friend,” Liam sighed. “I truly missed you.”