Free Chilled to the Bone by Sindra van Yssel Page A

least of their worries. Carla hadn’t wanted to call the cops, and seemed to have latched onto Genna as if she was her best friend, so that little emergency was taken care of for now. As much as he liked to be needed, he knew Genna and Angela could take care of Dark Xanadu very well. There were plenty of good people who came to Dark Xanadu, and they’d lend their support to the staff if someone got out of control.
    A few minutes later, he stood in front of the door, standing with Brennan shielding Kent’s activities from view. Before Brennan had gotten there , he’d asked why Kent was dragging him into it, and Kent had simply told him it wasn’t his secret to share. Charles didn’t object. It felt good to have his friend along. They had become quite a team in the process of running Dark Xanadu, and if any natural emergency had come up , Brennan would have been one of the first people he called. The Three Musketeers, coming to the rescue of the maiden. Pity Kent is the only one who knows how to use a sword. That was why he was carrying a red , white and blue striped bag with what looked like a large baguette in it.
    It seemed like an eternity before the lock clicked and the door opened. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes, more than enough time for it to look suspicious to people in the neighborhood. He glanced up. The light was still on upstairs.
    Kent took the bag from him and stepped in, stripping the bag from the hilt of the katana inside and tossing the foam rubber bread off the blade. He let them fall to the floor and looked around warily. Brennan followed him in. Charles shrugged, and stepped across the threshold as well. If there was a threat inside, it wasn’t at all obvious.
    Nothing happened. If the house was occupied at all, there was no new indication.
    Brennan sniffed at the air. “Downstairs,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. Kent nodded and followed Brennan as he walked slowly farther in to the house.
    What the hell? Charles had wondered why Kent insisted on having Brennan along, but now he felt his own presence wasn’t useful. Doesn’t matter. My sub, my issue. He followed the others.
    Brennan found the basement stairs behind a door right next to the kitchen. Kent opened it, sword held ready, and Brennan followed. The kitchen looked pretty normal, at least. And the basement was lit. Kent headed down the stairs.
    Something was not right down there, something that made the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck stand up on end. Doreen didn’t make him react that way, but this did. He opened his mouth to call out as the shot rang out. Kent slumped against the wall in the narrow stairwell. The air shifted around Brennan—waves of distortion like heat radiating off the sidewalk on an August day—and then his friend was gone. His ripped clothes fell to the steps. A huge red wolf had taken his place, bounding forward into the basement and out of Charles’ sight. Bang! Another shot, but the result of it was hidden from him. He let the door swing closed and ran downstairs, not sure what he could do besides check on Kent and be a target. But he couldn’t just watch.
    Kent moved before he got there, stepping forward into the room and then leaning back against the wall again. The bullet had struck his shoulder, and a dark stain was spreading on his shirt, the redness of it visible even against the black cotton. But at least it didn’t look like it was in a place likely to be fatal.
    A rifle lay on the concrete floor. The man who presumably had been shooting was down on the ground, pinned by the huge wolf. To their left, a pentagram had been traced on the floor in chalk. Doreen lay unmoving on a black slab table at the far edge of the Pentagram. Behind the table stood the man he’d seen at the club earlier, still dressed in leathers. And behind him there was a sturdy black L shaped counter set against the wall. The counter had a sink, a Bunsen burner, and rows of test tubes filled