Drawing Dead: An Urban Fantasy Thriller (Dana McIntyre Must Die Book 1) by SM Reine

Author:SM Reine [Reine, SM]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-06-19T06:00:00+00:00

10

As the day wore on, Dana remained in the blacked-out med bay, listening to Hunting Club associates elsewhere in the building. The Lodge was a sprawling fortress that could—and had—survived the likes of a zombie apocalypse. Their second basement was sturdy enough to survive an atomic bomb. Their water tanks could sustain a dozen people for a year. Food supplies could last a similar duration.

Aesthetically, the building was unlike any other in Las Vegas. Brutalism wasn’t popular in Nevada. The Lodge had a lot of hard edges, sheer faces, and functional geometry that verged on ugly.

The Hunting Lodge was fucking badass.

Dana spent most of the time in the back, around Penny’s forge. Today, she pulled her laptop into the med bay for work. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to her wife.

Not a day went by that Dana didn’t comb through police reports, with Charmaine’s blessing, and track crime trends throughout the city. The routine activity felt hollow that day. She didn’t have time to hunt down crime trends anymore. Dana’s skin was getting paler as her body made use of the last of its blood; she kept getting colder even though it was over a hundred degrees outside.

She felt herself dying as that single sunbeam crept across the med bay wall.

And then the sunbeam vanished.

It was only five in the afternoon.

Dana closed her laptop lid, stood up. “The fuck?” The med bay was on the third floor of the Hunting Lodge. It wasn’t like someone could be standing on the other side of the window, blocking the light.

She yanked the curtains aside. Dana halfway hoped she’d be bathed in the sunset. Instead, she found herself facing a wall of gray brick.

Another building abutted the Hunting Lodge.

This was physically impossible. There was no room outside the Hunting Lodge for another building. It was between McCarran International Airport and Dick’s Barbecue, so there should have been a wall with coiled barbed wire on top and eight lanes of freeway outside her window.

Instead, there was a cathedral. Not a small cathedral, either.

Holy Nights Cathedral wasn’t exactly fussy about the laws of physics.

“Linc,” she grumbled.

Brother Lincoln Marshall’s timing was impeccable.

Dana pried the med bay window open in an explosion of caulk. She kicked out the screen and climbed onto the windowsill.

There was nothing brutalist about Holy Nights Cathedral. It was more gothic. Think gargoyles, think bell towers, think creeping vines and stained-glass windows. A stained-glass window on the cathedral had been opened for her. “Wanna chat?” asked Brother Lincoln Marshall, cowboy hat tipped low to shade his face.

“Damn straight.” Dana leaped across the gap between buildings. She overshot and had to catch herself on the top windowsill, swinging her legs inside the cathedral.

Her boots thudded to the stone floor.

“Hey McIntyre,” Lincoln said, shaking her hand in greeting.

Not much had changed about Lincoln since their last encounter. He was still a good-looking guy, as far as men went, with all those symmetric features that straight ladies soaked themselves over. His linebacker shoulders were hidden under voluminous robes.

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