No wonder she’d managed to convince so many men to kill themselves; she saw right into them, stabbed deep, and twisted.
CHAPTER 13
Lilith ran. She didn’t know if the Guardians she’d sensed pursued her or stayed behind with Hugh, but she wasn’t going to give them a chance to kill her. Not now.
Michael and one other. Selah, perhaps; Lilith didn’t know her scent well enough to be certain.
Rushing through traffic, glancing off bumpers and rebounding with a few choice curses, she made it across the city to Fisherman’s Wharf within minutes. The area was lousy with tourists; she’d be safe among them.
It was the second time in twenty-four hours that she’d had to flee for her life; normally, she’d have been upset by the repeated humiliation. Instead, she strolled through Pier 39, grinning like an idiot.
Their reunion had gone well, until she’d had to call Hugh a spineless worm.
A stiff breeze skimmed across the pier, carrying voices and a mixture of aromas. She singled out an oily, musky thread, and followed it to the northwest end of the dock. A crowd always gathered near the sea lions that sunned themselves on the boat docks. If she mingled long enough, she could determine whether the Guardians had followed her; if they had, the strong odor of the sea lions might mask her scent, and provide enough confusion to enable another escape.
She couldn’t feel Michael or Selah now, but she hadn’t expected to; Michael was particularly adept at blocking psychic probes, and Hugh had been Selah’s mentor. He’d have taught her well.
Too well, she thought with a touch of self-disgust. Lilith hadn’t known the Guardians were near until she’d scented them the usual way: with her nose. Until that moment, she’d been stupidly unaware of everything except Hugh; she’d been swimming in his flavor, intoxicated by the brief taste she’d had of him.
Her lips held the tang of sea and fish now, but she rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, savoring the memory of their kiss, trying to recapture the sensation. She’d never before noticed that humans smelled and tasted alive in a way immortals could not; when Hugh had been a Guardian his body had been sterile. Today, she’d perceived the routine of life on his lips: the bitterness of coffee, the warmth of cinnamon toothpaste, the bite of pepper and tomato.
She’d decided she would kiss him again and soon. But first, she’d had to pretend—for the Guardians’ sake—that her interest in him had vanished. If they knew how he affected her, they’d be at an advantage, and expect her to approach him again. It did not fit her plans to show up at Hugh’s house only to find Michael and Selah waiting for her.
Better to let them think she found him revolting. Michael could easily look into Hugh’s mind and find the same fear she had, and verify the reason behind her apparent disgust.
The number of people watching the sea lions had dwindled, so Lilith joined a group of retirees on their way to a restaurant. Conscious of her dark and formal suit amongst the plethora of pastel knit shirts and khaki shorts, she smiled brightly at a grandmother and inwardly cursed Lucifer. Once, she could have looked as matronly as any of them and shifted into different clothing with barely a thought.
With a short laugh, she forced her shame and embarrassment away; neither emotion was useful, and limited her as much as her missing powers did.
Strange, that someone like Hugh harbored doubts about his worth, but the fear had been real and lurking at the edge of his thoughts like a sharp-toothed eel. He had probably been able to feel its presence, but it would have slipped away if he attempted to see or name it. Her experience had allowed her to simply catch hold of it and drag it to the surface—but she’d been surprised when she’d felt the shape and heft of it.
She couldn’t determine if the fear was recent, or if he’d managed to hide it when he’d been a Guardian. If it was new, then what had Hugh become in the past sixteen years to give him such doubts? Was it just a fear—or an unconscious acknowledgment of truth?
Either way, if—when—Lucifer decided it was time for Lilith to fulfill her bargain, she could easily manipulate it, make it grow and fester like a cancer.
Her stomach was heavy and throat tight when she broke away from the retirees and darted through the restaurant kitchen. She found the exit, joined a small party of teenagers leaving the pier, and waited with them for the bus. Squeezed in among tourists and commuters, she determinedly forced thoughts of Hugh from her mind.
Bad enough that Guardians might sense her vulnerability—disastrous if another demon did.
By the time she entered the federal building and passed through the security check, her psychic defenses were tight, impenetrable. Even so, she was almost relieved when her query at the front desk received the same response as earlier: SAC Smith was unavailable.
Smith might have the answers she sought, but he would wonder why she asked them—and, given incentive, he had power to look deeply enough to find Hugh.
But he wasn’t the only source of information.
She entered the stairwell and ran up one flight. The Bureau was housed on the thirteenth floor of the building; Congressman Thomas Stafford’s offices on the fourteenth. The foyer welcomed her with soothing cream and aquamarine; the receptionist, in a conservative blue dress, narrowed her eyes and frowned. The perfectly coiffed redhead clutched her purse in one hand. Must be quitting time, Lilith mused. Not much daylight left.
“Is he in?” Lilith smiled her widest smile as she strode toward the desk.
“I’m sorry, but our offices have closed for the evening.”
Lilith kept on walking. “Too bad.”
The receptionist’s mouth fell open, and her free hand fluttered in the air. “You can’t go back there!”
“Silence, twit,” Lilith said pleasantly. It wasn’t difficult to find his office; she simply headed toward the corner of the building with the best view of the city. The double mahogany doors were closed, but unlocked. She shoved them open, pushed them shut behind her and engaged the lock. “Hey, Tommy.”
Behind his desk, Thomas Stafford sighed and shifted from a demon to a middle-aged human. “Must you be so obnoxious with my staff, Lilith?”
“She’s new,” Lilith said.
The congressman vanished his swords and relaxed back into his chair. Handsome, tanned, with graying sandy hair and a perpetually honest expression, he was the image of the perfect West Coast politician. “Not really. She’s been here almost two years.” Peering at her through lowered lids, he added, “I assume you aren’t here to kill me.”
“Not today,” she agreed.
The beep of the intercom was followed by the twit’s urgent voice. “Should I call building security, sir?”
Lilith could see that he considered it for a moment before responding. “No. Thank you, Lynne. Agent Milton is an old friend of mine.”
A lie, but then, not all of Belial’s demons were idiots.
Lilith laughed softly at his compliance, and dropped into the chair facing his desk. Her gaze roamed over the room, taking in the expensive furnishings, the plush green carpet and dark wood, and the United States and California flags hanging in the corner. “Your constituency has been kind to you.”
“I’ve been kind to them. What do you want, Lilith?”
She leaned forward and picked up a grizzly bear paperweight from his desk. “There are nosferatu in the city—a lot of them. I want to know why.”
“Ask Lucifer or Beelzebub.”
Looking up from the ceramic animal, she pinned him with a stare, let her eyes glow crimson. “I’m asking you,” she said coldly.
He spread his hands, palms up, the consummate politician. “Ease down, halfling. They started coming in about a month ago; they travel in pairs, so every demon’s attempt to hunt them has failed. Every one of my liege’s demons’ attempts, that is.”
Lilith frowned. “They won’t kill Lucifer’s?”
“I don’t think Lucifer’s demons are hunting them.”
That matched what she’d b
een able to parse from Mondiel’s cryptic outburst. “What of the Guardians?”
It was no surprise that the demons had been killed off; they fought singly, never trusting their brethren to watch their back. But Guardians would work together to rid the city of nosferatu if they could.
Not that they’d been very successful ridding it of demons—but demons couldn’t kill humans, only tempt them to murder or suicide. Anything more would interfere with human free will. The nosferatu followed no such rules, making them an immediate danger.
“I’m hardly privy to Guardian intelligence, halfling,” he said.
She snapped her teeth together in frustration. Really, this should be easier. Hopping onto his desk, she perched on the edge closest to him. To his credit, he didn’t flinch. “This halfling ripped two bloodsuckers apart with her bare hands this morning. Want proof?” She waved the fingers of her sword hand under his nose. Despite numerous washings, the stink of the nosferatu’s blood lingered on them; she’d smelled its nauseating odor all day. “Just imagine what I can do to you with this little bear here, particularly as you’ve been riding a desk for twenty years.” She hefted the paperweight and bared her fangs with a smile. “Come on, Tommy. Give the halfling a break.”
“You’re Lucifer’s halfling.” Disgust filled his voice.
“I’m not the one who followed him in his rebellion, then put him on the throne Below.”
She felt him relent; he pushed back his chair and wandered over to the window. “Last week, a contingent of thirty Guardians located a nosferatu nest. Only one or two made it back to Caelum’s Gate.”
Unbelievable. They must have been heavily outnumbered—and surprised—to endure such a loss. Could so many nosferatu exist in one place without the Guardians being aware of it? Or had the nosferatu been assisted by Lucifer’s demons?
“Since then, we’ve heard reports that Michael is scouting the city alone, preparing another advance.”
Michael wasn’t alone in the city; there had been another Guardian with him. Stafford’s information was incorrect—or he was lying.
He was probably lying; she would have. No sense in giving an enemy accurate data—not that the exact numbers mattered. Even if Stafford exaggerated, and in fact only ten Guardians had been defeated, then Michael’s next strike would have to include at least four or five times that many. How could he hope to bring in such a large group and remain undetected by humans?
And how had the nosferatu managed to hide? They didn’t need to feed, but how had they managed to live amongst humans and control the bloodlust?
“I’ve looked over the missing persons reports and murder dockets for the past three months,” Lilith said. “I couldn’t find any activity that might be related to nosferatu, and no spike in frequency.”
She didn’t mention the body she’d found that morning; Hugh was too closely connected to that memory, and she didn’t trust this demon any more than she did Smith.
Hopefully, that human had been the first. And the last.
“Vampires,” the congressman said flatly. “The nosferatu have been hunting down their offspring and feeding from them. I’ve had several vampires come to me for help, but”—he spread his hands in a helpless gesture—“as one of Belial’s, I can offer little protection.”
Even if he hadn’t been powerless, Lilith doubted he’d have helped the vampires. She pushed her rising concern for Colin aside; she had good psychic blocks, but she didn’t want the congressman to suspect she might be worried about a vampire’s well-being, nor let him know that she’d become friends with one.
There were some things demons just did not do, whether they followed Belial or Lucifer.
Outside the office window, the sun descended slowly toward the horizon. Sensing that Stafford had nothing more to tell her, she slipped off the desk and landed silently on the carpet. “Thank you, Congressman. You’ve been helpful.”
His deep chuckle made her look back over her shoulder. “If platitudes such as those fall so easily from your mouth, you’ve spent far too much time amongst the humans.”
She gave him an assessing glance. His current form fit him comfortably. “As have you.”
“Perhaps. Earth is preferable to your father’s kingdom.” His humor faded. “Join us, Lilith. You would be welcome on Belial’s side. Once he takes the throne, he promises to restore us to His Grace.”
She arched a brow, her cynicism obvious. If Belial won, did Stafford honestly believe the demon lord would relinquish the power he’d spent centuries securing? “Thanks for the offer,” she said. “But I’ll take my chances with the devil I know.”
The activity around the crime scene had settled into a slow, methodical rhythm. Uniformed officers milled around the perimeter, just outside the yellow tape that cordoned off a section of the path and a hundred foot circumference around the body. Floodlights had been set up to illuminate the area, and a team of officers walked in ever-widening circles, searching for evidence with flashlights in hand. Within the tape, Detectives Preston and Taylor consulted with the medical examiner, and a pale-faced photographer recorded the scene on film.
From his seat atop a picnic table thirty feet away, the strobe of the flash left afterimages on Hugh’s vision. He couldn’t see the body on the ground, but didn’t need to; it was impossible to forget.
A uniformed officer had already taken his information and initial statement, along with the woman’s whose phone he’d used. She had been sent home an hour earlier, but Detective Taylor had asked Hugh to wait until she or Preston could collect a full recounting of his discovery of the corpse.
How had she managed to fight two nosferatu? The few times they’d worked together in the past had been while hunting the creatures; even with their combined skills against one nosferatu, they’d rarely emerged unscathed.
She’d been lucky not to have been torn apart.
Lilith. He bent his head, ran his hands through his hair. Hard not to smile, knowing she was alive, but it was a pleasure dulled by dread: Lucifer did not give second chances. He did not give anything, but made his subjects pay for them with his favorite currency: pain.
What had Lilith’s price been?
A shout from the team sweeping the outlying vegetation drew his attention. Preston ducked his round bulk under the tape and jogged heavily toward them; he’d taken off his jacket, and the dull glow of his white shirt allowed Hugh to track his progress outside the reach of the floodlights.
“The nosferatu placed his clothing and possessions beside a fallen log. The searchers just found them,” Michael said from behind him.
Though the voice was familiar, Hugh froze and had to stifle his impulse to leap into a defensive posture. The day’s exciting moments were becoming less and less welcome.
Michael walked around the side of the table and sat down, the wood creaking under his weight. He wore a crisp EMT uniform, but the short black hair and bronze skin were his own.
“You’re cold,” Michael observed.
Hugh glanced down at his bare arms, and fought the rage that began rising in his gut. Cold, hungry, tired—and alive. “Are there any nosferatu here?”
“No. Only their scent on the body and the surroundings.” Michael watched him for a long moment. “The symbols allow the nosferatu to call for power, for a transformation.”
Hugh nodded, but couldn’t speak. A terrible pattern began to fall into place.
Why had he never seen it before?
Though Michael didn’t appear to move, a woolen blanket settled on Hugh’s shoulders.
Hugh pulled it securely around his chest, gathering the edges together in his fisted hand as if containing himself within the coarse fabric.
Michael’s corroboration of the nosferatu’s involvement should have relieved him. He’d been wondering for the past two hours if she’d been lying to him, and he hadn’t been able to read the truth. He had been wondering if she’d tempted someone into performing that ritual. Had been wondering if he’d let his memo
ries of her cloud his judgment.
Instead of relief, a new concern rose: if Lilith had been telling the truth about the nosferatu, then this probably wouldn’t be the only death to result from their presence.
“If you aren’t protecting them, then these men don’t need your assistance.” They needed Michael to slay the nosferatu left in the city, needed him to prevent further rituals.
“You do.”
With a hollow laugh, Hugh drew the blanket tighter and nodded toward the clearing. “So did he.”
“You are not in danger from the nosferatu.”
“But I am from Lilith?” Hugh guessed and shook his head. Lilith was many things, but unlike the nosferatu she wasn’t a murderer.
And he knew her tricks too well to fall prey to them.
“From Lucifer,” Michael said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “Using this death and the humans’ laws against you. He has more influence than ever. His demons have infiltrated the government and social systems in this and many other nations.”
It was a different kind of power than Lucifer had previously wielded then. He’d always had indirect influence, using his demons to tempt humans to act in certain ways; putting his demons in positions of authority was a bold move and a cunning one.
“And Lilith?”
“FBI. Lucifer has her under Beelzebub’s supervision.”
Hugh gave a brief laugh. Trying to control Lilith would be a monumental task. “Why would Lucifer go to such lengths?”
“For you? I don’t know. I can’t see his entire plan yet.” Michael raised his face to the heavens, and smiled grimly. “There was an Ascension.”
Ascension—the opposite of a Fall for a Guardian. Instead of reversing the transformation and returning to Earth to live out the remainder of his life, a Guardian could choose to meet whatever fate the afterlife had to offer him. “How many?”
“All but seventy. And I lost half of them against the nosferatu.”
Hugh stared at the ground, at the scatter of leaves and dirt. When he’d Fallen, there’d been thousands. That an Ascension had occurred didn’t surprise him; immortality did not sit easily. Though an individual could make the choice at any time, occasionally a fervor would sweep through the corps, and many would go together. He’d witnessed two Ascensions during his time in Caelum, but each had only been a group of a few hundred.
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