Free Howling Legion (Skinners, Book 2) by Marcus Pelegrimas Page A

dangerously low on her hips. The scars on Cole’s hands had started itching like crazy since they’d gotten within sight of the Blood Parlor, so he couldn’t rely on that as his only warning system. Since the woman wasn’t wearing pigtails, and neither one of them had any black markings on display, he let them pass.
    Still nobody at the upper windows.
    About halfway down the alley, near an alcove that must have been one of the parlor’s side doors, pinpoint laser beams emanated from a security device somewhere in the alcove. The lasers looked as if they’d been shot through dirty water, and when they hit the substance in Paige’s clothes, formed a dim bubble around her. No alarm sounded and nobody rushed out to check on the alley, so none of those beams registered as having been broken.
    He watched those lights for a second and then glanced around to make sure nobody else had noticed them. A car had pulled up to the curb in front of the parlor, thumping a bass line from a cheap set of speakers, so most of the attention inside the building was probably focused upon it.
    Once Paige was through, the flickering stopped. There was a creak followed by the brief glow of interior light spilling into the alley before she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
    “Well,” he muttered, “time to fly the flag.”

Chapter 6
    The entrance to the Blood Parlor was just what anyone would expect after looking at the outside of the place. There was a bar covered in coasters representing different brands of beer, foreign and domestic. A couple dart boards hung on the far wall, music from some college band Cole had never heard of drifted from a large jukebox, and a couple televisions hung from brackets on either side of the room. He wasn’t allowed to take more than two steps inside before he was blocked by the slick guy he’d spotted earlier. Up close, Slick was a little taller and a lot beefier than Cole had expected.
    Extending one arm to put his hand flat against Cole’s chest, Slick said, “If you’re with those jackasses, you might as well go home with them right now.”
    The man had a dark, East Indian complexion and spoke with a cultured British accent. His straight black hair was primped to the far edge of masculinity without quite crossing over to the fairer side, and hung just over his ears. When Cole tried to push forward another step, he didn’t even move the man a fraction of an inch.
    The jackasses in question were being herded from a staircase at the back of the room to the front door. A bunch of young guys and even younger girls were escorted outside by bouncers in suits that looked to be cheap knockoffs of Slick’s. After a whole lot of grunting and swearing, the jackasses piled into the car with the thumping bass and rolled down Rush Street.
    “I’m not with them,” Cole said. “I’m here to see Stephanie.”
    “No one here by that name. Come to think of it, we’re closing.”
    “Closing?”
    “Yeah,” Slick said. “So hit the bricks.”
    Cole turned at the shoulders as he scoped the inside of the bar to make sure the doorman or one of the others could see the flag that was being flown.
    The doorman with the borderline hair was on his game. “What’s on your back?”
    “Ask Stephanie. She should know all about it.”
    “Let me see your hands.”
    Although Cole took half a step back, he wasn’t retreating. He just wanted some extra room in case things got interesting. He held both palms up and out so the doorman could have a look.
    When Slick saw the scars on his palms, he took a full step back. “Where’s the other one?” he asked.
    “Who should I say is asking?”
    Just then, descending the back stairs as if she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make her entrance, Stephanie announced, “His name’s Astin. Forgive him if he’s being rude, but he’s new in town.”
    Stephanie wore a black dress with red polka dots that cut straight across the top of her breasts and was held