Sing Me to Sleep (The Lost Shards Book 3)

by Anna Argent

  The idea of having her near was both enthralling and terrifying.

  Such a pretty baby, Hazel whispered.

  Echo’s hand began to tremble. She pulled it from his grip and backed away. “All I wanted to do was make the voices in my head shut up. I was just supposed to drop off the paper and leave. Nice and simple. Barely even a detour. And now…this.” She spread her arms out to include the gathering as well as the space around them. “I don’t have time for this bullshit. The rat man will be back. I can’t stick around.”

  Stygian saw her fear and wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and offer comfort. But if he did that, he’d want more. Much more. She appealed to him too much for him to fool himself into thinking otherwise.

  He had to keep his hands to himself.

  But your hands feel so much better on her sweet body, Hazel whispered.

  Stygian ignored her and pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but it looks like neither one of us is going to get what we want. Get the map. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Garrick flew his Cessna to St. Louis, rented the fastest car he could find and raced through traffic until he reached the place he used to call home.

  The mansion sat on the highest hill in the area, overlooking the others as a queen might survey her subjects. It was a plantation-style house, but on a larger scale, with white pillars soaring over thirty feet high, holding up balconies that stretched all the way across the second and third floors. Ornate black iron fencing surrounded the entire estate, with plenty of lights, cameras and armed guards to make sure no one crossed the boundary without being seen and addressed.

  A wide driveway decorated in multicolored pavers curved up to the house, creating a complete ring near the massive front steps. A fountain punctuated the middle of the lush, green circle, showing off intricate landscaping that was as close to art as any wild, growing thing could be.

  There was a gatehouse near the street, and in it would be at least two armed guards, with half a dozen more roaming the grounds. Those posts had once been filled by Garrick’s friends—fellow Riven—but were now being held by former prisoners kept in hidden cells beneath the mansion.

  Starry, the owner of this stunningly beautiful estate, had once been his friend. His leader. She’d saved his life more times than he could count and kept him on the straight-and-narrow when the urge to seek revenge had threatened to overwhelm him. Because of her, he was still the good, honorable man he’d been raised to be. For that, he owed her everything.

  And now, after sacrificing so much of herself for so many, she was all but unrecognizable. She’d fought and killed, absorbing the shards of her victims so that others didn’t have to. She’d laid down her life time and time again until there was nothing left for her to give.

  Starry had killed one too many Vires and now she had become the very thing she’d once hunted. The balance of shards inside her had slipped too far to the wrong side. She’d turned on them and was now their most dangerous enemy.

  She knew all their secrets. She knew their habits and patterns. She knew their weaknesses.

  If Garrick didn’t find a way to stop her, she would kill everyone he loved. The only problem was, if he killed her, he’d become just like her. No way could the balance of shards inside of him withstand an influx that powerful without tipping the scale to the side of the Vires.

  Still, he loved her—not in a romantic way, but in the way he would have loved a sister if he’d been blessed with such a gift. She was older and wiser than he was, and far more cunning. But there was one thing he had that she could never match.

  He would never, until the day he died, give up on her. The Starry he knew and loved was in there somewhere, trapped and afraid. The essential part of her that made her the kind of woman willing to give up everything for those she led, those she cared about—it was still alive.

  Garrick was going to rescue her or die trying.

  Holt Bardrick waited for him inside one of the lavish homes neighboring Starry’s. While not as grand, it could have easily housed four families without effort. Currently, the owners were away at their summer home on some beach somewhere in Costa Rica, leaving this place the perfect spot for Holt to stay without being noticed.

  Garrick parked inside the open garage bay—one of seven—and went into the house. The display on the security keypad inside the garage door read DISARMED. There was no damage, no wires hanging out, no sign of tampering at all.

  Garrick knew that Holt had an affinity for tech, and that he had not yet met a challenge he couldn’t conquer, but even so, his admiration for the man ticked up a notch. No way had the owners of this home left without arming the security system.

  Holt sat in the kitchen with an array of screens spread out in front of him on the polished granite counter. The space was done in rich browns and golds, with high-end appliances that looked like they’d never been used. A glossy, hardback cookbook sat on a wrought iron stand, next to a marble pastry slab and hand-blown glass fruit bowl holding fake lemons.

  The whole space had an air of disuse about it, making Garrick wonder if whoever lived here preferred dining out more than enjoying a quiet meal at home.

  Holt lifted his head as Garrick walked in. The man was over six feet tall, with a big-boned, broad frame under plenty of muscle. His T-shirt strained to contain his biceps and shoulders. He had the precise grooming of a man newly out of the military, even though that wasn’t the case. His dark hair was short, his face clean-shaven, his gaze sharp and clear.

  Considering that he’d been doing solo surveillance for weeks without backup, that was a hell of a feat. Most men would have been sallow, unshaven and in desperate need of sleep and a shower by now. Somehow, he’d managed to do it all and still get closer to reaching Starry than anyone else had.

  “Garrick,” Holt greeted with a slight nod of his head. “Glad you could come.”

  “Where is she?” Garrick asked without preamble.

  Hold nodded to the screens he watched. “I don’t know where she was, but she’s back now. Came in a few hours ago.”

  Garrick stepped around to look at the trio of screens. On them were split images of security cameras from a variety of different angles—some from inside Starry’s home.

  “How did you set these up?” he asked.

  Holt shrugged slightly, but it made muscles bulge along his shoulders. “Hacked some of hers.” He pointed to the screen on the left—one showing images looking into Starry’s estate. “These are mine.”

  That he hadn’t been caught setting up those cameras, and that they hadn’t been found and removed was a testament to just how much of a badass Holt was when it came to surveillance.

  “Show me,” Garrick said.

  Holt didn’t need to ask what he meant. With a few keystrokes, he brought up an image of Starry Mandrake on the screen.

  She hadn’t even bothered to disguise herself. Her long, raven black hair flowed over her shoulders in glossy waves. There were no sunglasses to hide her striking silver eyes, no overcoat to conceal her tall, curvy body. She walked openly from where her driver let her and a man out of her car, went up the front steps of her house and inside without even the slightest hint of worry.

  “She thinks we can’t see her hiding behind her guards and iron gates,” Holt said.

  Garrick shook his head. “No. That’s not it at all.” He watched her as she let the man with her inside. He was short and skinny, with a pronounced limp. After he passed, she gave one sweeping glance across the estate before shutting her front door. There was a slight smile on her beautiful face. Almost a dare. “She knows we can see her. She just doesn’t care.”

  “So, what’s our play?” Holt asked.

  “We can’t risk going in after her. We’ll have to wait until she comes out again and follow her.”

  “Could be a while.”

  “I don’t mind,” Garrick said. “There’s nothing more important to me than getting
her back. She never once gave up on any of us. I’m not about to give up on her.”

  Holt nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Any idea who the guy is?”

  “The skinny guy with her, the one with stringy hair and a limp, that’s Sebastian Reznik. I’ve only seen pictures of him, but I’m sure that’s him.” It was more the sick feeling in Garrick’s gut than his memory convincing him of who the man was.

  “Who is he?” Holt asked.

  “Freelance torturer.”

  Holt lifted a dark eyebrow. “That’s a thing? Why is he with Starry?”

  “I don’t know, but that seems like something we should find out. Any sound to go along with those images?”

  Hold nodded. “Some, but probably not where we need it. There’s no coverage in Starry’s private suites or in the prisoner cells in the basement.”

  Garrick said nothing, but he doubted the microphones they had access to were going to be of much use. Because why would you bring a man to your house who could make even the strongest person spill their guts if you didn’t plan to use him? And if you were going to use a man like Reznik, then you were going to want him to work underground, in a place where none of your wealthy neighbors could hear someone scream.

  ***

  Echo thought about running away, but it wouldn’t have done her any good.

  Stygian had saved her life, killing the disgusting rat-thing that was hunting her. The least she could do was return the favor. She wasn’t sure how much of this prophecy nonsense she believed, but she’d seen enough weirdness in her lifetime to know that there was a lot of freaky shit out there, lurking in the dark. That there was some kind of magical handbook to sort it all out didn’t seem so surprising.

  Besides, it’s not like she had a social calendar brimming with important events. Her life was spent running, staying one step ahead, always moving around to avoid being captured or killed. This small detour—following a map her mother had drawn—could be a welcome distraction.

  Stygian’s life depended on her translating the map, so that was what she was going to do. Plus, she really did want to get Hazel out of her head before the bitch found a way to break free of her cage. If helping Stygian helped evict Hazel, then all that was one more reason not to bail on him.

  Echo and Stygian were both quiet on the drive to Oklahoma City. He drove fast, as if he were trying to get the task over with as quickly as possible. Or maybe he was anxious to have her out of his hair.

  She could still feel the slick, warm strands of his dark hair gliding between her fingers as they’d kissed. She hadn’t meant to be so handsy, but his body was meant to be touched, appreciated. The way he’d kissed her had nearly melted her brain.

  If not for Eden interrupting them, she knew things would have gotten out of hand. In the best way possible.

  As the miles slid by and the sky lightened, she tried to concentrate on the passing countryside. Sadly, other than cows, trees and red dirt unveiled by road construction, there really wasn’t much to see.

  Stygian was a far more appealing landscape.

  His big hands were fisted around the steering wheel, easily controlling the Mustang. Even though it was still spring, his skin was tanned except for a couple of small, pale scars across his knuckles. She wondered how he’d gotten them, but decided that the less she knew about him, the better.

  She couldn’t get involved, not matter how intriguing he was. If she got to know him, she might want to stick around and be a part of their little gang. And if she did that, she knew how it would end.

  She’d already lost too much to have the strength to rebuild herself again from the shattered remains grief left behind.

  The small confines of the car put her shoulder-to-broad shoulder with him. The earthy scent of his skin mixed with the leather interior and the warmth of spring to lull her into a false sense of relaxation. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that she was a normal woman with a normal life. No shards, no rat men, no magical maps only she could read.

  What a lovely fantasy—just her and a man sexy enough to melt her clothes off with a wink and a smile.

  In her small, impossible world, he pulled over the Mustang and turned to her, cupping her face in his big hands again. He looked at her like every other woman had evaporated off the face of the earth, then settled his firm, hot mouth over hers. She could almost feel his heat against her lips, feel his hands slide around her body and lift her up to straddle his lap. There wasn’t much space for her, but they made it work.

  She’d slide her fingers through his hair again so she could kiss him deeper, explore the secret taste of him and breathe in her fill. The scent of rainwater and moonlight would weave around her like a magical spell, binding the two of them together.

  He is yours, a small voice inside her whispered. Take him.

  The voice snapped her out of her fantasy, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. She had an audience.

  She straightened in her seat, squirming to ease the wet heat growing under her panties.

  If just the idea of him got her this hot, she could only imagine how good the real thing would be. She probably wouldn’t survive it.

  He is yours.

  Echo managed not to laugh at the voice in her head, but just barely.

  “Almost there,” Stygian said. “Where to next?”

  When they reached the edge of Oklahoma City, she gave him directions, guiding him over streets that were only vaguely familiar from her childhood.

  She consulted the map again, and as soon as he turned the corner, she knew where they were heading.

  “There’s a homeless shelter up ahead,” she said. “We spent some time here when I was little.” That was what the happy face near the final X had to be—a home of sorts.

  A flash of emotion pinched his face, but was gone so fast she couldn’t tell if it was pity or disgust she saw.

  Both were equally unwelcome. Both reminded her that her little fantasy world was just that: a fantasy.

  “I don’t see a sign for a shelter,” he said.

  “It may not be one anymore. Pull over here, in front of the building with the wide steps.”

  He did as she asked, guiding the Mustang out of the light, morning traffic.

  The brick building was two stories tall with windows that had been boarded up so long ago the wood was dark with mildew. The sidewalk in front was heaving and cracked with age. Everything looked smaller than she remembered from fifteen years ago, but this was definitely the right place.

  Echo checked the map again to make sure there was no other way to interpret the map. “This is it. It has to be.”

  “Okay. Now what? Is the locket inside?”

  Echo looked at the boards covering the front door, then back at the map. In the upper corner was a close-up drawing of a section of brick. One of those bricks was marked with an X. “I don’t think so. I think the locket is in the wall, behind a brick.”

  He looked up at the building, which consisted of thousands of bricks. “Which brick?”

  On the drawing there was a rough outline of a basset hound at the base of the section of wall. Something about the placement tickled her memory.

  “I need to get out and walk around,” she said.

  Stygian pulled around the corner and parked. As soon as she was on foot, her memories started to flow.

  She’d been ten or so when they’d stayed here. The place had been run by a sweet, old black man who’d taken to her like a grandfather. His name was Mac, and he’d taught her to play solitaire and how to make a quarter disappear between her fingers. Her hands hadn’t been big enough to quite pull off the trick, but he’d played along, pretending to be astounded by her feats of magic.

  He’d also looked the other way when she couldn’t bear to part with her little basset hound puppy.

  Mac had a strict no-pet policy, but for Echo, her magic extended to the puppy, making him invisible to Mac. At least that’s what she thought. She knew now that the man had si
mply been indulging a little girl with a tough life.

  As she led the way around the building, Stygian was right on her heels. He was alert to the point of hyper-awareness, eyeing every shadow and corner as if it might hold some deadly threat.

  Echo saw a couple of people sheltering in the doorway of an abandoned building across the street, but they seemed harmless enough. Still, his hand never strayed far from his gun, hidden beneath his untucked shirt. His head was on a swivel, watching all angles.

  “Are you always this uptight?” she asked.

  “Only when hunting ancient artifacts that are able to house the splintered soul of a powerful witch who is my own personal mental parasite.”

  “You sound like you hate the shards as much as I do.”

  “Possibly more. They may be handy on occasion, but they’re more of a pain in the ass than they’re worth.”

  She skirted the foundation of the building, searching for anything that caught her attention. As she slipped through the crooked gate on the chain link fence and surveyed the overgrown back yard, she was flooded with memories.

  She and her sister had played back here in the little sand pile in the corner. She’d made countless laps around the inside of the fence with Solo leading her around by his leash until he found a good spot to do his business. While she had no idea how long they’d stayed here, she remembered that it felt like home. It wasn’t until some older kids walked by and shouted insults at her that she realized that most people didn’t live like this, flitting from place to place and living out of their car more often than not.

  Echo trailed her fingers along the back wall of the brick building. There was a door in the center of the wall that was used mostly by the people who came out here to smoke. There weren’t any other kids here, leaving Echo and her sisters to play together.

  “See anything?” Stygian asked.

  She pointed to the remains of a wooden bench rotted out at the bottom. “Mom used to sit here and watch us play. When my puppy got tired, he’d lay at the base of the wall behind her and sleep in the shade to cool off.”