I was allowed to be here.
Pushing through the building’s door, I inhaled the familiar scent of home. It was mostly stale and earthy—nothing spectacular or inviting. But it was familiar. It was mine.
With boots that clomped way too loudly, I climbed the stairs to my apartment. More yellow crime scene tape covered the door, but the seal had been broken, which meant someone else had already returned after the official agency investigation had wrapped.
I hesitated, using my senses to detect what—if anything—lay waiting for me inside.
“Excuse me.”
I bit back a curse at the sound of a familiar voice. Not the person I’d come here to draw out. Dammit.
“What?” I demanded, channeling my inner asshole.
Rourke frowned at me from where he’d emerged from the stairwell at my back.
“Do you have business here?” he asked, glancing between me and my apartment door. Had he seen the broken seal on the crime tape too?
I drew myself up to my full (newly borrowed) height. “I’m agent Rigo Garcia for the SSF. My business here is none of yours, kid.”
Hearing my words in Rigo’s voice was disturbing. Not as disturbing as my “self” inside his body, but still. Weird.
At my sharp words, Rourke’s eye twitched. “You go around announcing what you are to just anyone then?”
“You’re a warlock,” I scoffed.
“You couldn’t be sure,” he argued.
But I leaned in until Rourke was forced to blink and back away. Then, I gave a very deliberate sniff. “I’m sure,” I said in obvious disgust.
Rourke looked ready to spit at me.
I took that as evidence I was pulling off the illusion. No one who met Rigo left smiling.
For a moment, I thought he might lash back, but Rourke only stepped away, saying, “Apartment’s been swept already. You won’t find anything. The tenant skipped days ago.”
I didn’t answer, and after another moment, he left the way he’d come.
Faintly, I heard him mutter in a language I didn’t understand, but I was beyond caring what the strange words meant.
Shoving through the door, I stepped into my apartment.
The air inside was stale and smelled faintly of gummy bears. That made me smile despite the fact that Rourke had been right. The place was wrecked. Couch cushions ripped open, drawers lying on the floor, my mattress overturned.
The agency had been looking hard for something. Or maybe just a select few supes inside the agency. A few who reported to a certain corrupt Neph.
I stepped over the mess someone had made of my Diana Gabaldon book collection. Pages had been ripped and the spine cracked.
“Monsters,” I muttered, picking them up carefully to see what could be salvaged.
“I didn’t peg you for a Jamie fan.”
I dropped the book.
It crashed against the others, but I ignored the mess and stared across the room at the blonde perched on the windowsill.
Faith?
Of all the people I expected to draw out by coming here, she wasn’t even on the list.
I blinked, forcing myself to remember who I looked like right now. “What the hell are you doing here, Burkhart?”
She smiled knowingly. “Enjoying your new look, for one.” She shoved off the window ledge. Behind her, my crooked curtains blew in the breeze from the open window.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I suggest you get the hell out of here before I report you for trespassing,” I said. “The agency has sealed this location for investigation—”
“The agency might like to know Gem Hawkins is hiding in plain sight.” Her gaze raked over me before she added, “In the body of the perviest guy I’ve ever met.” She shuddered. “You’re braver than I am.”
I hesitated, but there was no use attempting to lie anymore.
I blew out a breath, shoulders sagging. “How did you know?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I aced Charms and Glamours. Not to mention I kicked your ass in impersonation. And,” she leaned in, whispering, “I’ve known for a while now you were a shapeshifter. Not that I agree with your current choice, but . . . it works.”
I sighed. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m—”
“Drawing out the enemy?” She arched a brow, still way too smug about shit she shouldn’t know.
What was happening here?
“Looks like it’s working,” I said, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
She smirked. “I think you have my allegiance confused.”
Her smug expression irritated me, but as she blinked back at me, the pieces clicked suddenly into place. “You’re the one Starla assigned to find the list.”
“Bingo. Not as dumb as you currently look.”
I bit back the urge to shift into a giant hand and wipe that look right off her Bitchy Barbie face.
“Fine. If you’re not the dirty agent spying on my place, what are you doing here?”
She pulled out a knife. “I’m your backup.”
A tentacle landed on my shoulder, its poison burning right through my clothes and singeing my skin.
I yelped and jumped away as I turned to face the demon behind me. I blinked in shock at the sight of the octo-demon. It looked vaguely similar to something I’d read about in my training, but the official name escaped me.
As did its poisoned tentacles, though barely.
With a battle cry that would have made Xena-the-warrior-princess proud, Faith leaped from her place at the window and brought her knife down on the limb that had tried grabbing me. She severed it with her blade and went to work on the next one.
In a quick glance, I counted eight more still to go.
Shit, make that nine, I realized as I watched the severed tentacle grow back.
“That knife isn’t doing us any good,” I yelled to Faith, who was trying to round the demon’s large torso and scoot in behind it.
“Better than just standing around, slacker,” she called back.
I scowled, weighing my options.
The space was way too small for my griffin.
But knives were also useless at this point.
Unless…
I leaped clear of a tentacle as it swung out for my chest. Then I sidestepped a second one and hurried for my bathroom.
“Where are you going, Hawkins?” Faith demanded.
“Hold it off,” I yelled. “I’ll be right back.”
Faith shrieked curses in my wake, but I darted into the bathroom and yanked open the cabinet doors. The fake bottom was intact, and I prayed that meant my secret stash was still here.
Lifting the loose edge, I grinned at the sight of my favorite crossbow tucked down below.
“Hawkins,” Faith screamed. “You get in here right now, or I’ll let this thing eat you.”
“Calm your tits,” I shouted and hurried back into the living room.
I planted my feet and took aim, hoping I was right about this.
“Move,” I told Faith when I’d lined up the shot.
She sliced through an ever-reproducing tentacle, unaware of the tentacle closing in on her from behind. I dropped the crossbow and sent a wave of magic at the demon, my body shuddering with the effort. My shot sent the demon staggering back long enough for Faith to recover.
“Move,” I said again, breathless and weakening after using so much of my reserves.
Faith jumped clear just as I let my arrow fly.
It struck the demon in the center of its rounded, squishy-looking head.
The demon screamed, tentacles writhing as it fell in a disgusting heap. Behind where it had just stood, Faith put her hands on her knees, panting. I walked over and shot the demon again, this time in its eye.
The thing fell silent and still.
Faith looked up at me, not the slightest hint of gratitude reflected in her expression.
“You’re welcome,” we both said in unison.
Chapter Twenty-Two
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Faith and I stared down at the dead demon. A pool of blood and goo was leaking from both arrow wounds. I debated the wisdom of yanking my arrows out and trying to reuse them later. Probably not a great idea what with all the gooey poison coating them.
“Mind telling me how a level six octo-demon got into my apartment?” I asked.
Faith glared at me. “How should I know? It’s your apartment. And not very clean either. Maybe it was here all along and you just couldn’t see it through all the dust.”
“I did not come here to argue my cleaning schedule with a girl who didn’t even wipe the demon poison off her knife before putting it away.”
She scowled down at the holster where she’d slid her knife and then back at me. “I’ll clean it when I get home, genius.”
“Which is where again?” I folded my arms. “Let me guess. Mommy’s spare room?”
“This is bull shit,” she muttered and started for the window.
A figure stepped off the fire escape and up onto the sill, blocking her exit.
I reached for a fresh arrow, but recognition had me relaxing again.
“Starla, what the hell,” I said, “I almost shot you.”
She gave me a strange smile. “For all the good that would do.” I didn’t miss the way she glanced back and forth between Faith and me. Something about the gleam in her eye made me nervous. I also realized she’d had no trouble recognizing me.
I looked down, and sure enough, I was Gem again.
My magic had been spent on that stupid demon.
“You two make a good team,” Starla said, nodding at the dead demon.
“Hardly.” Faith scoffed. “I saved her ass, and she tries to take the credit.”
My jaw fell open.
“Gem, it’s all right to accept help,” Starla said.
“Are you kidding me? Those arrows are mine—”
“I had a feeling you two would be a tough partnership.” Starla waved off my argument as she stepped over a pile of broken dishes. Not that I was mourning them. They’d been dirty anyway, and at least now I didn’t have to reload the dishwasher.
“But that’s what makes your alliance smart,” she added, coming to stand between us. Her dress shoes were only a few inches from the octo-demon’s head, but she didn’t even glance down. “No one will ever suspect that you two are working together.”
I glared at her. “That’s because we’re not.”
“Gem.” She turned to me, her smile polite and distant. “Your trip to the Delta building shook things up. The council knows you’re on to them, and that’s good. It’ll make them nervous. More likely to make a mistake.”
I tried not to gloat under her praise.
“But,” she went on, some of the approval leaking out of her voice, “Your visit to the research wing cost us.” She frowned. “Adrik’s rescue of your friend and the lupine demon nearly cost Faith her cover.”
I glanced sharply at Faith, who had the nerve to silently gloat back at me.
“You two can help each other better if you know you’re on the same side,” Starla said. And then, before I could come up with a decent argument, she turned to Faith and held out her hand. “Did you get the list?”
“Yeah.” Faith pulled a slip of paper from her back pocket and handed it over.
“Wait. Is that the list of fall guys you asked me to get for you?” I asked.
Starla unfolded the paper and scanned its contents.
Faith smirked at me. “I guess they knew who would get the job done.”
Do not shoot her with the crossbow. Do not shoot her with—
“Faith was in a better position to retrieve the list without detection,” Starla said, looking up as she slid the paper into her own pocket.
“Who else is on the list?” I asked.
“I think it’s best if you don’t know,” Starla said. “For your own protection.”
“Oh, now you’re concerned for my safety,” I said, “After Az sent me here and only minutes later, this octo-demon showed up and tried to kill me. How convenient.”
“Az did as you requested,” Starla said, unruffled by my accusation. The woman was a concrete wall when it came to emotion and expression. “He cloaked you effectively so that none of your friends can track you. A predicament your panther is currently trying to remedy with any witch he can get his hands on.” Her brows lifted. “He seems quite bent on finding his way back to your side.”
“What about Adrik?” I asked, ignoring her bait. “Can he track me?”
“Not yet.” Starla glanced at Faith. “But that won’t last long. Not for another Nephilim. You should make sure you’re not here when that happens.”
“Works for me. I plan to track down a certain Nephilim who tried to kill me earlier.”
“If you’re talking about Raguel, he discovered the tracker and disposed of it an hour ago.”
Shit.
I sighed.
So much for ending this thing tonight.
Faith looked ready to burst with the temptation to rib me about all the men I was juggling.
“Adrik will want answers about where you’ve been,” Starla said. “I highly suggest you leave me out of whatever explanation you give him.”
“Fine. I’ll go see him,” I said, exhaustion suddenly weighing heavily.
Starla nodded. “It’ll work to our benefit if you maintain your partnership with him.”
I shook my head. Of course that’s what it was about for her.
“What about me?” Faith asked.
“Go back to work tomorrow. Az is taking care of any suspicion surrounding your part in all this.”
Faith nodded and started for the window.
“Wait,” I called. “I want medical supplies and access to whatever antidote you have for Tony.”
Faith looked ready to refuse, but Starla nodded. “Do it.”
Faith scowled. “Fine. I’ll bring them when I can.”
She left, and Starla started to follow.
“I have to know,” I said, and she turned back, her hand on the curtain. “Did my dad work for you?”
As usual, Starla’s face gave nothing away. But something in her eyes flashed once before it was gone. “Your father didn’t answer to me,” she said, her mouth twisting wryly. “And not for lack of trying.”
I nodded, relieved. She flashed a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and then she was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After Starla and Faith left, I tried shifting back to Rigo’s form without success. Exhaustion and a crazy-ass day as a June bug had taken its toll, and no amount of determination or force was going to coax my magic into complying. Re-assessing, I took five to change into a fresh pair of clothes and then ventured back to the dead demon carcass to retrieve my arrows after all. After a generous rinse, I doused them in what was left of the rum I had stashed in a hidey-hole underneath my dresser. A girl had to have a stash of emergency ex-boyfriend alcohol. Or in this case, a sterile solution against demon acid.
With fresh, poison-free arrows and my crossbow strapped to my back, I left through the same window Starla and Faith had used. Outside, the night was moonless and dark. Clouds had rolled in, and it smelled like rain but not for miles yet.
Hopefully, I had time to do one last mission before Az’s cloaking wore off and I was forced to go see Adrik. With any luck, I could double back to the Delta building and track Raguel to his private residence or wherever he did his dirty, dark magic and catch him red-handed. But once on the rooftop, movement below stopped me, and my entire plan shifted in an instant.
Rourke exited through the apartment building’s front door, a black bag clutched in one hand. My gaze snagged on the bag, and my eyes widened as the fabric bulged with a sudden movement.
What the. . .
Something inside that bag was alive.
Rourke pulled his coat collar high and paused to glance around. When he angled his neck and looked right at the rooftop corner where I crouched,
I jumped out of sight and hoped he hadn’t spotted me.
How had he even known to look up?
And where was he off to?
I peered back over the roof’s edge and watched as he put his head down and darted away. Not toward the Quarter or any of the main roads that led to other parts of the city. But straight into the alley in the back. From the roof, I tracked him until he turned out of sight.
I bit my lip.
Something about his demeanor was off.
Abandoning my first plan—or delaying it, hopefully—I hurried to the rooftop of the next building and shadowed Rourke as he made his way through a series of alleys and shortcuts.
Twice, I almost lost him and cursed my magicless, exhausted body for not letting me shift into a bird or something that would make this a lot easier. But I finally managed to find a way to the next rooftop and caught up to Rourke just as he stopped.
The alley he’d chosen was nothing special. A copy of all the others. But this one dead-ended against an abandoned factory, and the walls of the buildings on either side were blackened with strange markings. If they were magic, it was like none I’d ever seen.
Graffiti maybe?
Hopefully.
Rourke bent to set the bag on the ground and went to work drawing some kind of symbol in chalk.
A pentagram.
When it was done, he bent and opened the bag. I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of what living thing he’d stuffed inside. There was a rustling as whatever it was resisted his attempt to grab it.
A moment later, he stood, clutching a rat.
The animal fought furiously, but Rourke’s movements were firm and practiced. He held it out over the pavement and grabbed it by both ends of its struggling body, snapping it harshly. A crack echoed as the rat’s neck broke.
Without flinching, Rourke pulled a knife out and sliced into the dead rodent, letting its blood drip over the pentagram at his feet.
With the blood leaking onto the symbol, Rourke began uttering words in a foreign tongue. Not the language of witches, that was for damn sure. This was something else. Something old and powerful enough to make my skin crawl.
It reminded me of the mutterings he’d made back at my apartment, but now, hearing them out loud and with the rest of the ritual, my stomach roiled.
Knock Em Dead (Supernatural Security Force Book 2) Page 22
