FOUR

A New Set Of Rules

Niko gave me the eye. "Do mine eyes deceive me or do you actually have your shoes on?"

I stuck a sneakered foot out and waggled it. "Your eyes are lying bastards, Cyrano. These are house slippers."

"And you have them on – why?" Niko asked as he shrugged into his leather coat, then slung his duffle bag containing his work-out set and a pair of small hatchets over his shoulder. The hatchets were for precautionary reasons. My brother never heard of pepper spray. To him, mace was an actual mace. Complete with ball and chain.

"Didn't you read the memo on the calendar?" I quipped, slipping into my own jacket. "It's Bring Your Little Brother To Work Day."

Niko stared at me with hooded eyes, leaning up against the door post. I ignored him as I zipped up and straightened my collar, then ran a hand through my damp hair. Nothing like grooming if you want to look inconspicuous. I prayed he wouldn't guess the real reason why I wanted to go with him. I was scared shitless something was going to happen and I wasn't going to be there. I had made up my mind in the kitchen that until I could prove to myself one way or the other that what I had felt and seen last night was a dream, I was returning the favor of ass-saver.

"Well, are we going or what? I don't want you to be late for class."

"What's wrong."

"Huh? Wrong? Nothing."

He was still staring, damn it.

"I just thought it would be cool to see where you work and all that. Considering I've never actually been there, I think it's about time, right? Right." Great. I was babbling. I never babbled – no, scratch that, I always babbled. But usually it was while I was complaining about something or other. I never babbled nonsense. If that wouldn't tip Niko off, I don't know what would.

Niko, however, decided not to push it. Instead, sighing heavily, he unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, eyeing the name inscribed above the handle. "We're going to have to fix that somehow. I have a feeling our present landlord isn't going to enjoy this rather primal form of graffiti."

"We can pick up a can of paint or something on the way back from the jodo," I piped nonchalantly, brushing past my brother, careful to avoid looking at my name in the door. It creeped me out. One more piece of proof that what I had experienced last night was real.

"Dojo," Niko said.

"What?"

"It's called a dojo, not a jodo, unless you mean judo, which is a form of martial arts and not a practicing facility." At least, that's what most people would have heard coming from Niko's lips. Me? I heard, "Cal, why are you insisting on tagging along with me when I know all you want to do on Saturdays is watch bad television? And don't think I noticed the way you avoided looking at the word on the door."

"Shut up," I said, to both versions of that particular sentence.

Several hours later, I was regretting even thinking about Niko's welfare. Getting up from my sprawling position on the white mat, I grunted several obscenities as I felt the bruises begin to swell. Niko was standing slightly away from me, in a tank and loose, flowing pants, short hair pulled back in a stub of a ponytail, eyes happier than I'd seen them in days. Dragging my ass around the dojo in front of a large crowd seemed to have a positive effect on his mood issues – I'd have to remember that the next time he was grumpy.

"That, class," he said in his best teacher voice, "is exactly what a properly executed combination-arts routine is supposed to do to a would-be assailant." He raised an eyebrow at me, and his next words were for them and for me. "Let that be a lesson to you."

"Shit," I spat, and stalked off the mats toward the shower room, opening the white karate shirt some kid had loaned me and allowing the blasting air conditioner to evaporate the sweat on my chest. I should have known better than to try to babysit my brother, especially in such a dangerous environment. Throughout the whole duration of the lesson, I had been frequently called upon to participate, and by participation I mean incapacitation. Incapacitation at the apartment was one thing. Incapacitation in front of a crowd of students who oohed and ahhed over my every tumble was something else.

I knew Niko was doing it to get back at me for being so secretive and stubborn. It bugged him when he didn't know everything going on inside my head, especially if he suspected that lack of knowledge would result in a jeopardizing situation.

I pushed through the door to where lockers and benches piled high with people's discarded changes of clothes, and stripped down to my boxers, searching for the clothes I came in. Finding them stuffed in a wad in the corner, I limped towards them and picked up my crumpled jeans. Something fell out of them and landed with a soft thud on my foot.

Once again uttering that beautiful "S" word that was such a contingent part of my vocabulary, I jumped away from the thing and rubbed my foot with the other to rid it of the horrible slimy dead feeling.

The bird was dead, wings crumpled in broken heaps next to its limp little body. I crept back, nose wrinkled at the faint stink of decay, and squatted before it. It was fascinating in a morbid way – its little neck had been broken, the head twisted all the way around. The eyes were a cloudy white, the beak was gaping, revealing tiny teeth. Teeth, shit it. It's body wasn't feathered, I realized, reaching out with a forefinger and stroking the still bird's breast. It was scaled. Tiny slick scales like snakeskin covered it.

What the hell? What the freaking hell?

I wiped my finger on the ground and kicked the dead thing under the bench, then quickly got dressed.

Once Niko and I were walking back to the apartment – yes, walking, damn it, after what I had been through for the past four hours – I broached the subject. "So. You have anything in those precious mythology books of yours on scaly birds?"

"I might," Niko said casually. Then, just as casually, "Why?"

"My mystery stalker strikes again," I grunted, digging my hands into my pockets. "There was a dead bird wadded up in my clothes. It had scales and teeth. Teeth, shit it, Niko. Its neck was . . ." I made a twisting motion in the air with my hands, like I was uncapping a bottle, accompanying it with a sharp snapping noise.

"Where is it?"

"Back at the dojo place. I kicked it under the bench." I hadn't wanted anyone else to see it. I had enough problems without having to explain away a preternatural bird to a bunch of gaping idiots. Maybe a maintenance man would find it and get a million dollars donating it to science. Here's hoping someone got something good out of it. It sure as hell wasn't going to be me.

I noticed something suddenly, something not many other people would have. Niko's step had changed. While before he had been going along with a kind of easy swagger, now his steps were firmer, they hit the ground harder, and his back was straighter. He was staring straight ahead, jaw set.

"What's wrong?"

"Something's following us," Niko said gently, quietly, out of the side of his mouth. His hand was going to one of his pockets.

"Damn," I muttered, my own hand immediately reaching for my gun's grip. "What?"

"Don't know. I can't see it, I can only feel it. Hear it moving. Can you . . ." He flared his nostrils slightly to indicate his meaning.

Despite what someone might think, it was I – and not the beak-nosed Cyrano – who had the excellent sense of smell. Thanks to my Auphe heritage. Some people got X-ray vision, others got invisibility, and others got the power to climb the walls like damn spiders. Me? I got super-smell. Hooray for me, the short end of the stick, as usual.

I sniffed the air, concentrating. Werewolves had been here recently, marking their territory, but the urinal scent was stale and – while that didn't make it any less pleasant – it ascertained that it wasn't what was following us. There was the hint of revenant stink, but only slightly, lacing the air filled with human BO and feces. However, there was something else – something sharper and colder – I knew it instantly.

"Auphe," I grated.

"How many?"

"Damn, Cyrano, I can't count with my nose."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, and the knife was flashing in his hand. He kept it concealed under his coat for the benefit of the happily oblivious passersby, but I could tell he was ready to whip it out at a moment's need. He fell back to walk behind me.

Which was completely stupid. They didn't want me, not this time. They had promised that they would make me suffer before the end, by taking everyone who meant anything to me. That was their plan. So for once I was the one they didn't want, and Niko was the target. I dropped back myself, falling behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"Keeping your ass safe," I muttered. "You remember their promise. They're not after me, this time, big brother. They're after you."

"However, unlike you, I can take care of myself."

God, I hope, I thought grimly. "Humor me, will you? Just stay in front of me this once, Nik."

"I'm hardly . . ."

"Nik."

Niko fell back so we were walking shoulder to shoulder. "Care to compromise?" he queried grimly. "Let's just make it to the apartment. We don't even know if it's planning to attack."

"Since when do the Auphe plan to do anything but?" I wondered out loud.

As fate would have it, however, the Auphe – however many of them had been tailing us – did not attack. They didn't even make themselves visible. They simply got close enough to allow us to be aware of them, and then disappeared once we reached the apartment door. I hated it. At least last time you could be sure where you stood – if they found you, they tried to kill you, and you fought back or died. Simple rules. Now, it looked like there was a whole new set of rules.

"They're being cautious," Niko said as I drew up a kitchen chair to the table and rested my face on my folded arms. "They remember what happened to the others and they're nervous. Nervous is always good, Cal, it gives us the upper hand."

"Yeah, like, we're not nervous or anything," I muttered into my arms. "Nik, they aren't being cautious," I lifted my head and rested my chin on my stacked elbows. "They're being clever. They're playing cat and mouse with us and I hate it. Why don't they just come right out and try to attack like last time?"

Niko sat in front of me with a mug of steaming tea. He took a sip and then rolled the hot mug between his calloused palms. "I don't know," he frowned. "I wish I did, Cal, but I don't. Maybe we should lie low for a few days."

I agreed. Lying low – especially the lying bit – sounded extremely good right then. I was tired as hell – last night's sleeplessness and then today's action and suspense had me dead. Yes, lying low seemed like a good idea. It was not, however, to be acted out. We didn't get the chance.

Robin called only moments later, and he wasn't happy. Not one freaking bit.