Daughter of the Night

Aaron’s P.O.V.

As soon as the door slammed in my face, I knew Cross was screwed. Looking up and down the street, I saw only a scattering of city folk, all of them with their hands in their pockets and their gazes cemented to the ground in front of them. None of them paid any attention as I returned to the door, now locked and, judging from the sound of heavy wood crashing against metal that I had just heard, barred, in front of me. The outside city noises weren’t much of a distraction, seeing it was about four in the morning. The city that never sleeps was just starting to wake up.

Carefully, I pressed my ear to miniscule crack that ran vertically between the pair of great oak doors. That was no good; I couldn’t hear anything. What was this door, like two feet thick?! Who the hell would make a door two feet thick? The only time that would be even remotely sensible would be if you had an Army base as your next-door neighbor.

I strained my hearing to the best of my abilities for a few more seconds, even though I already knew it was useless. Cross could probably do it. She could do anything. Man, I have never seen such an insanely capable person. Er, vampire. But seriously! The first time I met her, she promptly took out twelve beastly drunk men. They had guns and daggers and a two-foot/three-hundred pound advantage over her, and she steamrolled them in under a minute. I would have been more able to express astonishment if I hadn’t had a knife wound pouring blood out of my back. Man, those back stabbing wounds can really get you down.

I stepped back from the door, eying it evilly. There was very little I could do if it was barred unless I had paper thin steel and leverage of some sort. I mean, I can’t unlock something that doesn’t have a lock.

I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out the key I had lifted from the guy who held me. Simple design, of stainless metal. Easy to keep track of, easy to pickpocket. Geez, even if they were werewolves, those guys were total idiots.

I rubbed my throat absentmindedly. It was still sore and dry, cracked from where the wolfbane had scalded it. I hadn’t even known that was what had poisoned me until Cross mentioned it a few minutes ago. When she had been bartering with the werewolves in the station, I was too busy hacking up blood to turn my full attention to their argument.

I had been standing on the stoop for maybe a minute, contemplating the door, before I heard it. A roar penetrated the night, as vicious and bloodthirsty as any rabid tiger. My eyes shot upward; it came from the roof. The sound, a cry for vengeance, penetrated my every thought, stabbing into the pool of my emotions and injecting fear like a fatal poison. If I hadn’t already been hanging around with Cross, I might have fallen over from such a brutal mental attack. As it was, I staggered against the door and had to remind myself to breathe. The fear that was dormant in my veins had awoken, and for several seconds I remained incapacitated against the wall, too paralyzed with an instinctual panic to move. There was no doubt about it, that was Cross making that noise. She was in trouble.

But... how could I help? My eyes fell to the key in my hands. Besides that, I had also stolen the wolf’s wallet, which contained an ID card, although it didn’t look like any liscence I had ever seen before.

I flipped the worn brown leather over in my hands, searching the wallet for anything else that I had missed earlier. I mean, I had only had half a second to snag the thing before the werewolf turned around and saw me. Besides the strange ID there was a lock of long brown hair, tied together with a pink ribbon. I lifted it to see it more clearly in the light from one of the street lamps. A werewolf sweethart? How droll. I didn’t care much for such personal possessions.

Besides that there was a wad of cash, maybe sixty dollars or so, and a Swiss Army knife. Now what would a werewolf need that for? I knew from experience that their wolf claws were enough to do anything within the range of a Swiss Army knife. I shrugged and pocketed it anyway.

I reached up to my throat and pulled up a long chain from the folds of my shirt. Any passerby would think it simply one of those gangster chains that teenage boys my age and younger seem to have a fondness for. As opposed to a giant blang-blang dollar sign hanging off the end, though, there was a small black leather case. I opened it and smiled at the sight of my lock-picking tools. My beautiful, well-used, thirty-two piece lock pick set. The MPXS-32, as they’re known as among professionals. Not that I’d care to rank up among there, but God knows I’ve had practice with these.

I gave the front door of the stoop one last glance before I shrugged, slipped my tools back under my shirt, and left the premises. From the sidewalk, I gave the building a lengthy glance. It was probably thirty or so stories high, and I knew from the way Cross had exploded through the floor that it had a pretty big basement, too. There was definitely more than one entrance.

I walked down the street, waiting for the old apartment building to end so that I could slip down an alley. I had walked nearly half a block before finding an alley. Red brick, rusting trash bins, twelve-foot fence. Nothing new. I scanned upwards, looking for the telltale reflection of light against glass to locate a window. I didn’t want to bother with a ground-level door. There was no doubt that that would be the most heavily guarded; I’m not sure how many enemy werewolves chose to crash through a third-story window.

Finally, I caught sight of a window, quite a ways up. Probably a four-story climb, up sheer brick. With just the brick, I would have some difficulty, and by that I mean I could get probably two stories or so up before the skin on my hands got scraped off from the texture of the brick and I wouldn’t be able to keep my grip. I didn’t have to worry about my shoes, though. I had welded the rubber to and had molded it into flat, triangle-ish shapes for specifically this purpose.

I followed the bricks until I caught sight of a rain pipe, metal and tubular and strapped to the wall. I followed it up with my eyes and was gratified to see that the rainpipe was only two feet or so away from the window.

Stretching my arms to loosen my back muscles, I analyzed the conditions; the night was still dark, although the moon was out. This would make it harder for me to climb but it would also make it harder for me to be seen, although the werewolves probably wouldn’t have that problem. Fortunately, the little breeze that there was in such a still night I was downwind of, so my scent wouldn’t be blown into the building. The brick wall would be difficult to scale, but I had long since developed the necessary calluses on my fingers, and the drainage pipe made everything possible.

Walking up to the wall, I did a final check on my tools, under my shirt. They were secure. Inhaling deeply, I placed one hand on the brick and another on the pipe (it wouldn’t have been able to hold my entire weight) and began to climb.

I swarmed up the wall like some sort of freakish spider; I was careful, slow, but steady. On top of that, I had had loads of practice breaking in through windows, so this wasn’t much of a problem.

The bricks passed through my hands as I ascended, my toes gripping the wall with the required strength. I did my best not to look down; I had a good head for heights, yet whenever I looked down my weight would become off-center and I would be in trouble, so I avoided looking down unless it was absolutely necessary, like that one time when the police officer’s stupid guard dog.... Nevermind. That had just been a college prank. In case you’re wondering, I’ve never done anything illegal. At least, nothing too illegal. Like stealing, or murdering, or joining a gang.

After I had climbed a ways, the rain pipe guiding my path as I pressed myself against the wall, I finally made out the glint of glass in darkness that gave away the location of the window, just to my left. With a sigh, I positioned myself against the strain of gravity, one hand clenched to the pipe and the other pressed, unused, against the wall. Slowly, oh so slowly, I reached out to the window ledge.

This part was the test of luck. It was a hot night, so the window might be opened slightly, but these were werewolves, and there were no guarantees. If the window was locked, I could either continue upwards or give up and go back down. But a burning curiosity kept me determined; I wanted to help out Cross.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I wrapped my fingers around the bottom lip of the window. Careful to gauge my weight and balance, I slowly exerted a force upwards. To my utmost delight, the window slid open, albeit with some difficulty. I was lucky that it didn’t squeak; someone had oiled it recently.

When the window was a few inches open, it was too high for me to exert more force, so I let go of it in order to scale a few more inches up the brick before using the newly acquired leverage to lift the window higher.

As soon as the window, a good three meters tall, was as open as it would get, I settled myself against the drainage pipe and brick. This was the really tricky part. I was four stories up a New York City skyscraper, fiddling around with gravity and rusted windows.

I had to get through the window without making too much noise, but the main concern was getting through the window. It was a solid two feet away from me, and there was no protruding ledge. Even if there had been a shutter, I knew from experience that those were entirely untrustworthy.

With a large inhale of breath, I bunched my muscles against the wall, preparing my legs to spring forward. Now or never, baby.

I heaved my legs off the wall, throwing my weight parallel to the wall but not against it. My outstretched hands reached for the open window, and they found a grip. As my hands snagged, the rest of my body was pulled to a screeching halt. My shoulders screamed as my hands and fingers supported all the weight of my falling body.

After I had safely caught myself, I dug my rubber-tipped toes into the brick and used the generated friction to heave myself into the window. Most of the support, however, came from my arms and shoulders. I was suddenly grateful for all the hours my ex-girlfriend had forced me to log in the gym. Not that I’d ever tell her, but they really paid off.

As I pulled my head and shoulders into the inside of the building, the first thing I noticed was that the room was black. A good thing, because it meant that I was in an uninhabited region of the building. The bad side, obviously, was that I couldn’t see. At all.

Sighing, I reached into my jeans pocket, groping for the lighter that I seriously doubted was there. Fortunately for me, it was. Elated, I held it in front of my face and sparked the fluid.

The little orange flame extended light only to several feet on either side of me, but it certainly helped.

From what i could make out, I was in a hallway. This hallway had creamy yellow walls, a deep red carpet, the occasional dusty waist-height vase, and not much else. Sighing with relief that I hadn’t dropped in on a group of werewolves playing poker or something, I sagged back against the wall.

I had no idea where Cross was, I had no idea what the layout of this building was, and I was not about to leave. Thinking quickly, I concluded that my best chance was to find some werewolves and follow them.

With a sigh, I began my silent and adrenaline-riddled walk down the empty hallway. No matter what happened, I knew it was going to be a long night.