King Tomb (Forever Evermore, #3)(8)
“I was already planning to.”
Sneaking in hadn’t been too hard. Even though we were on the outskirts of Kansas City, Kansas, the place was set up identically to my camp back in Australia, but with more vegetation; the leaves that were still on the trees in the nippy fall weather were reds and browns and golds. Elder Zeller and King Zeller had set up camp on farm land, which was genius really because food could easily be grown to supply the ranks. I had ordered Bonnie not to wander too far away from my Hummer, which I had parked in the woods about a mile away from the golden protection dome. Then I had jogged the rest of the way and scoped the place out from the branches of a bare tree.
It appeared what these people did when we weren’t around was party, because that was what was happening from what I could see.
There were multiple bonfires, Mysticals playing what sounded like bongos and guitars and possibly flutes, each to their own tune, but oddly, the sounds came together all around King Shadow to make a hypnotic melody. The rest of the Mysticals drank and laughed and danced around the fires, or went in and out of each other’s tents where it appeared the party continued on, some tents overfilling.
It wasn’t like we never had parties in Australia, because we did. I just never attended.
I watched a bit longer, memorizing how the tents were laid out. The set-up appeared to be multiple circles of tents starting from a center point — headquarters, in a black tent — and gradually working out, each circle of white home tents just a bit larger than the last, encompassing the previous ones. Sparring fields were off to the right, and to the left was a large red tent, their dining hall, where people continually milled in and out. Cocking my head, I noticed the majority of Mysticals had spelled hair, like mine was, to appear as Coms, which would work in my favor.
The party also meant that they were, more than likely, celebrating a victory. There hadn’t been anything in the files about current missions, but what I was watching was definitely a celebratory gathering, not just a drunken kegger.
Hopping down the branches, I slipped through the Mage ward on the backside of the red tent, and yes, helped myself to some of their grub while keeping my head down and staying in the darkness, which was harder than I expected thanks to all the damn bonfires. The only thing that really helped was that the majority of the Mysticals were already half lit, so while they partied to the enthralling beat, I watched and learned. It was difficult to detect which Mystical was of what faction with their hair as it was, and having to stay far away meant that all their power signatures were mixed before reaching me. Since I was masking completely, keeping all of my own power under lock and key, I had to go on their size and skin tone alone.
Tossing the bone of a chicken leg aside, I finally decided the camp was heavy on the Vampires as the files had indicated. It wasn’t as bad as what I had suspected, but being run by King Zeller and Elder Zeller, they definitely had their favorites. Moving on, I slipped silently between tents, memorizing the ones where the spaces between them were smaller, knowing those would be my best chances for escape if I was ever in trouble by a large group. I paused, waiting for a group to pass by that were laughing and talking about the battle they’d had tonight with a nearby air force base, confirming my assumptions.
Shadowing silently, I followed the drunken group to a tent, which was full of more inebriated Mysticals. I stood outside in the shadows listening to them brag of the Coms they had killed or taken as hostages, and even the airplanes they had captured. From what they said, it sounded like King Zeller and Elder Zeller had run an excellent operation. And that was when I got f*cking trapped as four groups came at all angles. Gritting my teeth, I knew I couldn’t just stand there because the place was Vampire heavy, and any one of them would be able to hear a heartbeat lurking in the shadows, so I slipped inside what appeared remarkably similar to my own tent, though decorated in a silver-and-black color scheme. I used my short height to advantage as I hopped behind tall men on the outskirts of the room, using them as shields. Beautifully, they were all wasted enough on alcohol and, from the smell of it, marijuana, so no one noticed as I glided soundlessly through another flap at the back of the room just as the other groups entered the tent and made the crowd in the room surge backward, cutting off any other direction to move.
I stopped, eyes quickly scanning. This section of the tent was a bedroom, so it was constructed just like mine. It was dimly lit, with only one lamp turned on beside the black king-sized bed. The golden glow was only barely on, as if the lamp had a dimmer — unlike mine. I made a mental note to ask Antonio about it because it was kind of calming. The black-and-silver color scheme continued here, so instead of cherry wood dressers, they were black.
Those items took up the right side of the room, and on the left against the tent’s wall there was a long, black leather couch, which looked damn comfortable, made to be reclined on. A bizarre coffee table made of marble and steel sat in front of it, with a litany of drugs showcased in a small compartment in middle, which would have been hidden if it wasn’t open. On the edge of the table was a large ashtray with a blunt still burning inside, sweet, perfumed smoke billowing up from it, making the entire room smell heavily of marijuana and throwing my senses off inside the smoky confines of the intimate room. There were large bottles, some empty and some full, on a marble bar next to the couch, and the back of the room had a small flap, which I was positive was for the bathroom.
No exit.