Blue’s heart dropped into her shoes and ricocheted into her throat where it lodged, blocking the breath from leaving her lungs.
In Tonći’s hand – no, not in, but floating an inch or two above it – was a spinning sphere of flame, the color of sapphires or Artic ice.
She must have made a noise because, as one, the four of them turned to look at her. The tray dropped from her hand, plummeting to the floor, the dishes and silverware crashing against each other, sounding like a high-speed car collision in the gaping silence.
In that instant, Tonći’s wrist flicked, sending the ball flying at the old woman on her knees. She exploded into a whirling tower of flames and screams.
Blue bolted.
She sprinted down the hallway to the stairs, galloping down them, slipping over the last three in her haste.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She raced through the kitchen, dodging cooks and waiters to get to the back door. A flying leap off the back steps and she was in her car, foot on the gas.
Breathe. Think. Focus.
She needed to focus.
Follow the plan.
Don’t let fear distract.
Distraction lead to mistakes and misses.
And landed you dead.
She’d fire-drilled fast-escapes at least a hundred times over the years, determined never to be caught unawares should Jimmy ever get out of prison and come looking to finish the job. She’d stopped carrying a purse long ago, keeping the essentials – license, money, phone, keys – on her body at all times, just to cut down on the variables of things that could go wrong.
But always in those scenarios, she’d been running from her ex, not…not…Mother of God, that old woman had gone up like Joan of Arc on a pyre .
The light ahead turned red. She dropped the gas pedal to the floor and ran it. Stopping was not an option.
The car entering the intersection to her left screeched to halt. A horn honked, and a raised fist waved out the open window.
Blue gripped the steering wheel like a rosary.
Sokach’s eyes.
They’d glowed.
Glowed as though lit by a turquoise backlight. There had been nothing human about it.
Chapter Seven
For several heartbeat s , no one moved. No one breathed.
Sokach stared at the empty doorway, his mind struggling like a mired horse to comprehend what had just happened. In a matter of minutes, they had caught and lost their enemy.
And Blue had done exactly what he’d warned her not to do; she’d left the kitchen.
Damn it.
Beside him, Morana came alive first. “You fool! Ushi was going to give us Dragić. Hand him to us.”
With the speed of a cobra, her hand shot out and seized Tonći by the throat.
He crumpled, clawing at the fingers crushing his esophagus. “It was an accident. The girl startled me,” he managed to choke out.
“Your Grace, nothing is lost. We know she had a recording of him. All we need do is find it,” Velimir said.
In answer, Morana squeezed tighter, causing Tonći’s eyes to bulge.
Sokach agreed with her fury. Something important was lost tonight. “Ushi was an ally,” he pointed out.
Velimir gave a dismissive shrug that said humans were chattel at best. “And there’s dozens waiting to fill her shoes.” He looked back at Morana. “But daemons we cannot waste. We’ll need all hands when we go up against Dragić. So, let Tonći atone for his recklessness by retrieving the video. We ought not waste the opportunity we have here.”
Sokach didn’t like it, but Velimir had a point. They ought to move fast, find the video. And as much as he wanted to add Tonći’s smudge to Ushi’s, they were going to need all the soldiers they had for this war.
With a snarl, Morana released Tonći, sending him sprawling with a shove. She wiped her hands together as though his stupidity was contagious. “Bring me that video, Velimir.”
His brother nodded, walked over to Tonći and grabbed a fist full of his suit jacket, but before he shimmered away, he turned back. “What of…the other loose end?”
Sokach’s fists curled tight. “What loose end?”
“The girl.”
Damn him for bringing Blue back into this mess. Now there was no chance she’d be lost and forgotten in the chaos.
“She was terrified. She won’t talk.” Sokach tried to sound casual, as though Blue witnessing a vanquishing was of no consequence.
“She’s human. They always talk.”
Morana turned to him and Sokach met her eye.
“Even if she did, where’d she go? The police? Half of them are under contract. They’d just bring her here.”
She studied his face, which he kept free of all the tension and fury building in him.
“We can’t risk word getting out,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “See to it.”
She turned away, moving behind her desk. Over her shoulder, Sokach glared at Velimir, then shimmered.
Sokach landed i n Blue’s apartment and found it empty. He checked the clock. With traffic, she’d probably be home in ten minutes.
He paced the tiny living room area, six steps one way, six back.
He supposed he should be glad he was dispatched as cleaner and not Velimir. At least he would make it quick. Blue would never know what hit her.
The image of her, lying on the floor, staring sightlessly off into infinity, flashed before him and he put a fist through the nearest wall.
Damn it all to Hell.
Why hadn’t she just listened to him? Stayed in the kitchen. Stayed safe.
How could she , the woman who seemed to be the epitome of caution and self-preservation, be so careless?
He walked into her bedroom, stood staring stupidly at her bed, unmade with the sheet knotted in a tangle. She had nightmares most nights. The kind in which the dreamer flailed about, running from inescapable terrors, fighting off unstoppable fears, shooting awake with a gasp.
He turned away, went back to the living room, his jaw aching from clenching his teeth so tight.
Why should he care? She was nothing to him. A woman who baked and worked for them. In a hundred years, she’d be just another nameless, faceless memory, like so many humans whose finite candle winked out while his burned on and on.
Except, she wasn’t nameless, was she? Bluebell . And she wasn’t faceless. Not to him. Her imperfections more exquisite to him than any age’s iconic beauty – Salome, Helen, Godiva.
Enough.
Morana’s protection, loyalty to his queen – they trumped everything. His job was to remove threats, to kill. He would not allow this sudden weakness to get in the way.
He looked at the clock. She should be home by now.
As far as he knew, she had no family or none close by, so where was she?
Sokach closed his eyes, focusing all his thoughts on Blue, combing for her essence, starting at the house of the kid who worked the truck with her and moving outward.
It took some time, but he finally found her. At the bus station.
His brows shot up. Why go there when she had a car? All she needed to do to get out of town was hit the nearest highway and she was gone.
In his mind’s eye, he watched her striding through the bus station lobby, glancing left, right, behind her, before veering off toward the lockers where she used a key to unlock one and removed a small duffle bag.
She’d run before. She was prepared to drop everything and go.
Clever girl.
He shimmered to her, landing in the Bus Station Women’s room.
She stood at the sink, a blonde wig in her hands. The duffle bag lay open on the counter, a change of clothes and a stack of cash visible. She caught sight of him in the mirror and whirled to face him. The wig dropped, forgotten, from her hand to land on the tile floor, looking every bit like squished roadkill.
They stared at each other in silence. Her chest rose and fell with a frightened breath, and
he was surprised to find his own matched her pace. His nose caught scent of her fear, a heavy musk that suffocated him.
“Are you here to kill me?” she asked, her voice quiet and oddly calm.
He conjured a fireball in his hand instead of answering.
Her eyes went wide, staring at its spinning circles of flame. But then something changed. She drew up, her shoulders pulling back and down. Her eyes narrowed, and a mutinous rage washed over her face. “No.”
Sokach blinked. No?
“I won’t let you,” she said.
She wouldn’t let him? He almost laughed out loud. Oh, she was beautiful in her defiance.
“I’ve worked too hard. I climbed out of Hell to get here, and I’ll be damn if I’m going to lie down and die now.” Each word was spat out through lips tight with fury. The tears pooling in her eyes weren’t born of fear, but of frustration. She shook with it.
By the moons, she had grit.
In his hand, the orb’s sparks stung his palm, each lick reminding him of his duty.
His queen had given him an order. In over three thousand years, he’d never once disobeyed. All he needed to do was throw it and be done. It was as easy as that. He’d done it countless times. This one should be no different.
But, he could not let it fly.
“Besides,” she continued, her voice more confident now, “I think if you really wanted me dead, you’d have killed me by now.”
She gave the impotence, the doubts cutting through him perfect voice. Their truth as painful as a kick to the ribs. His heart clenched tight. He needed to decide. Loyalty or—
With a growl, he hurled the orb. She dropped to the floor with a cry as it whizzed by her, her arms covering her head.
He stepped up to her huddled form, another burning ball in his hand he held close to her face. He could still change his mind. But her dark eyes stared up at him, the courage still undiminished by near-death, and he knew he was lost.
Closing his hand, he snuffed out the flame, then took hold of her shoulder and shimmered.
He brought them back to her apartment.
When he let go of her, she dropped to all fours on the floor and retched.
“Put your head between your knees,” he advised, half wishing he could do the same. His own stomach roiled with guilt.
She sat back and did as she was told.
After several minutes of deep inhales and shaky exhales, she lifted her head, pierced him with a dumbfounded, horrified stare. “What are you?”
He pulled his power around him, rising up until he reached the ceiling, an enormous shadow growing long. “I am a shadow guardian of Morana, the Goddess of the Underworld. The White Death.” His booming voice made the apartment shake, causing knickknacks to dance to the edge of their shelves.
She blanched and shrunk down.
Point made, he squatted down before her, leaning in so that she was forced to meet his eye. “Don’t ever leave the kitchen again.”
At her numb nod, he left her there and shimmered back to The Adriatic to face the consequence of his decision.
Morana was alone in her office. She had the crystal decanter on her desk, a glass poured for him. Her own was full though he knew she hadn’t waited. Not after the night’s fiasco. And from the look on her face at that moment, more bad news had come in his absence.
At least the room no longer reeked of singed flesh, but instead smelled of evergreens, a hint of cinnamon, and new wool.
The blackened oriental rug had been swapped with another, he noted, and the leather-bound chairs returned to their places in front of her desk. He collapsed into one, reached for his drink and downed it. The liquor did nothing to calm the torment raging in his heart.
“Word from Velimir?” he asked, taking the coward’s route of delay.
Frost formed on the glass in his hand and on the decanter. “Ushi’s home,” Morana said, grinding out the words, “and base of operations were already in flames when they got there. Any chance of that video being found—” she sliced through the air with a hand, which then curled into a fist and slammed onto the desk. “How is he staying one step ahead of us?”
The Russian’s deathly face rose up into Sokach’s mind. “He has to have help.”
“You still think Anton.”
Sokach licked the liquor from his lips. “I haven’t found any proof. Yet.” He’d followed Anton, but the man had only met with Tonći, once with Velimir. Nothing suspicious there.
“You’ve been watching him too?” At his nod, a smile spread across her face, lightening it, loosening the tension from it. “Of course you would.” She sighed. “Velimir reports the same.” She sat back, thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s time to do more than watch. But keep it quiet.” The rolling clink of claws on crystal as she drummed the side of her glass filled the silence. “Did you take care of the girl?” she asked, the question coming out quiet and slow.
Sokach stifled the urge to shift in his seat, kept his body pressed hard to its leather, his feet to the floor. “Yes. She won’t talk.”
“You let her live?”
“I made it clear to her that her silence was the only thing keeping her alive.”
Morana’s eyes left off their study of the desktop’s wood grain to focus on him. He imagined them digging through him, burrowing down to the deepest darkest reaches of his soul, pulling his betrayal from its hiding spot, laying it bare for them both to see, like a mole yanked from the earth, squirming beneath the sun.
But she merely nodded and said, “I trust your…decision. She’s your responsibility from here on out.”
The rock in his chest shifted, lightened a little. He set his glass on the desk, stood to leave.
“But remember, Sokach,” Morana continued, her grave voice stopping him at the door. “Mortals are servants or playthings. Nothing more.”
He bowed low. “Yes, my queen.”
Outside the office, Sokach leaned back against the closed door.
Never again, he resolved, would he put himself in this position.
Chapter Eight
Blue woke t o bright sunlight streaming in through the living room window, its warm glow spilled over her where she lay curled on her side on the floor. She started to unfurl but stopped with a gasp.
Every joint – knees, hips, shoulders, elbows – ached.
But she’d take sore over dead any day.
Long after Sokach left, or disappeared rather, she’d stayed huddled on the carpet as though its tuffs were vines twining about her body, rooting her to it. Who was the poor woman she’d watched die? What had she done to deserve such a death?
That scream – more animal than human. No amount of therapy or liquor would silence it.
Or erase the memory of Sokach’s blazing eyes, the sphere of flame spinning in his palm, the icy burn of it as it flew past her.
Blue hugged her knees close to her chest.
Shadow guardian of Morana, the Goddess of the Underworld, he’d called himself.
Did that make him a demon?
He hadn’t used that term, but as far as she knew, “underworld” was synonymous with Hell and wasn’t Hell the land of demons?
That Morana was a goddess was oddly not surprising. She carried herself like one. But did that make her the bride of Lucifer?
Feeling her back pocket, Blue found her phone and sat up with a groan. She searched the Web for Morana. A wave of wooziness washed over her when the results page returned a hit.
The woman was real. Which meant everything else was real, not some elaborate practical joke.
A crazed giggle escaped her lips, ended in a hiccup.
All those times she’d marveled at Sokach’s striding confidence, the essence of ruthlessness emanating from him, and thought he couldn’t possibly be human. And here he was, really not human.
The phone in her hand vibrated. She jerked, dropping it like it was on fire.
The display flashed Ricky’s beaming face, white teeth aglow. Shit. She was
supposed to meet him at eight. It was half past.
She picked it up and answered. “Hey Ricky.”
“Ju standin’ me up?”
“No, I…I’m just running late—” Oh God. What if Ricky was now in danger too? She’d never forgive herself if something happened to him. “Actually, you know, I’m so far behind, why don’t you just take the day off instead of waiting for me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…um we made…um…really good money last night so think I’ll just put in a half day today.”
A moment of silence. “Ju ain’t getting ready to fire me, are you?”
Blue forced a laugh. If only the kid knew that getting fired would probably be the best thing for him. But she couldn’t do that to him. “Absolutely not. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Ok. See you then.”
She hung up. Going to work was the last thing she wanted to do, especially since Main Street by The Adriatic was the first stop, but if she didn’t show, didn’t keep to the schedule, would Sokach think she’d betrayed her word?
Best not to appear suspicious or do anything that would make him rethink his clemency.
After a few attempts, she hauled herself up off the floor and headed to the shower. Warm water spilled down on her, eliciting a tired sigh. There really was nothing like hot water and strong water pressure to make a person appreciate being alive.
Why had Sokach let her live? Had he gotten in trouble for it? Surely his orders had been to eliminate the witness. But he hadn’t. And why had she been so certain he wouldn’t?
She pictured him, standing before her in the fluorescent glow of bus station bathroom. At first glance, he’d looked like a conscienceless killer, a demon, bent on following orders without mercy. A true assassin would have struck her down before she’d even turned her head. Sokach, however, had appeared and – nothing.
Instead, his eyes had locked with hers. And that’s when she saw it.
Pain.
The sight of it had caught her breath.
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