by Arlene Webb
She hustled through the bookstore and into her connecting home, while punching numbers into her cell. If her car was done, she’d truck into Payson and see if more than a cabin burned. Not as if she’d be in the way. Fire trucks or cops would come the other direction from Phoenix.
Frank answered on the third ring. “Yep, car’s drivable, but I had to order some parts for the dashboard. Never seen a steering wheel snapped like that. What the hell happened to you?”
Crap, even the mechanic suspected she’d fallen into Satan’s arms. “You don’t want to know. See you shortly.”
On the way to her bedroom, she unbuttoned her white blouse. She should be going to a shrink, not looking for trouble with a red capital T, and using shopping as an excuse. Better yet, she’d brushed with a demon. Her agenda ought to be joining a church. Still, for evil, he’d been very—oh yes, back to the shrink. Was this what it was to be schizophrenic? The memory of his touch almost made an incurable disease worth it. Electric magic hands—shut up, girl.
Painkillers dulled the throbbing in her arm, and Jaylynn managed to pull the black tee over her head, then down. She patted her black pants’ pocket, compulsively rechecking for her cell.
It was only a few blocks to the garage in the afternoon heat, Frank’s flirting didn’t take too long, and he said he’d finish the repairs next week. Small cities had their merits. Not like Albuquerque, her prior home. She’d never have gotten next day service there.
The charming town of Pine faded in the dust behind her, and she reached for—the power button for the stereo no longer existed? Every knob seemed to have disintegrated, including the one for the air conditioner. Jaylynn sighed. With insanity to worry about, who cared about a hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade? She debated whether the dry air blasting in the open passenger window cooled or simply annoyed her.
* * *
Damon heard the sirens long before the vehicles on the ground arrived. Caream by his side, they watched in wonder as a whirling machine in the oppressive sky flew closer and closer. From forty feet high, it hovered and dumped some sort of liquid that smelled like water. The drops landed, a spot hit on top of the cabin feeding the fire. The front wall of the cabin collapsed and smashed down the bike.
As the second machine dropped its load, Damon realized he’d made a terrible mistake. They’d destroyed their shelter from the light, and in four minutes he’d be outnumbered. For some reason, twenty-three approached from within the trees. The labored breathing sounded like men, and they dragged something.
Fluid cascaded from the air-machines, the beautiful flames rose to meet the liquid, and their union made Damon clench his fists. Fire and liquid disappeared into dead wisps.
The light, trees, sky, metal in his shoulder, it all added to a frustration that a confrontation would ease. His problem? The girl beside him. Thoughts of metal hitting Caream worried him. Thoughts of not fighting infuriated him. Thoughts that twenty-three men wouldn’t want to kill him were stupid. So many conflicting ideas hurt his head.
Damon started toward the flames to save the motorcycle. To his aggravation, Caream grabbed his arm. Tiny feet dug into the dirt, and she burst into howling tears. One smack knocked her to the ground.
He yanked her up and shook her. When she shut her mouth, guilt bothered him, like when he’d broken Jaylynn’s arm. He hadn’t meant to be the mean man. His whack upside his head tugged a smile from Caream, and a brush of his fingers through her hair calmed her.
Hand in hand, they turned. He shook free as they fled for the shelter of the trees. When they reached the road, Caream looked up at him. Damon stood still and listened until his head screamed. Many noises, too many to count, and all wrong. Forget listening. He drew a deep breath. Finally. Very faint, far away, he found the scent he wanted.
His feet exploded in happiness. His arms and hands joined in. He danced and ran at the same time.
* * *
Oh, oh, oh, it can’t be. A couple raced toward Jaylynn, a blur of speed not even Olympic runners could maintain.
Impossible. Red couldn’t be real. A petite, very orange woman, also dressed in black, ran by his side. Stopping for hallucinations wasn’t—did she have a choice? Red shot across the road. One powerful leap, he crouched on the hood, demon eyes hidden by broken glasses.
Jaylynn slammed the brakes and came to a squealing halt. Before she’d stopped on the shoulder, black boots entered the passenger window, and that ninja body poured onto the seat. Her mouth fell open in disbelief.
His smile vanished. Knees toward her, long legs crunched, he drew his shoulders into the closed door. “Stay, Caream. Wait.” He flung his hair back, and that scowl filled his face. “Jaylynn afraid. Confused. Caream won’t hurt Jaylynn. Want Damon gone?”
Caream? The woman with orange hair and skin? Oh my God, another color? But where’d she go? Jaylynn glanced at the empty road behind her, and then her gaze snapped to the visible fantasy only an arm’s length away.
Her demon bit his lower lip—like a little kid, to keep from crying? Because he’d frightened her to death. He shifted to pull himself out the window.
“Don’t go yet.” She threw the car in park—oh Jesus. He shone more vibrant than ever as the afternoon sun glittered on his grim face. He’d stopped chewing his lower lip, but he drew a bitter sigh. Waves of charged energy rolled off him, sparking red. His bright hair flowed like a cloud of fire and looked so beautiful against the black shirt. He curled in the passenger seat, pressed against the dash and the crack of the door.
“What um…are you? Who’s Caream? Your name’s Damon?”
“Don’t know what um…are.” He took his hand from the dented window frame. “Tim said not Deeemon, but Daaamon. Want Tim not afraid, so no more Demon. Kevin said help at psych hospital. Damon went. Won’t go back.” He grunted and loosened his fists. “Damon learn not to break Jaylynn. Okay? Damon not mean-cruel-Demon?”
I can’t answer him. Her throat closed up. Simple things like talking and breathing were impossible, while she fell further down the acid trip. How could she dream up such an exotic creature as the one who peered into the window at…Damon?
Good God—tangerine delight.
Demon or not, Red snarled at the orange creature dressed in an oversized, silk chemise. The lovely little thing leaned through the window and pushed against his shoulder, obviously wanting him to sit on the seat, not skulk against the dashboard.
“Damon found Caream in psych-unit.” Damon swatted the woman from his arm.
Awesome. Even my hallucinations are nuts.
In an agile scramble, Caream crawled through the window, threw slender arms around Damon’s neck, and leaned into him. She stared through sunglasses at Jaylynn and blew away any remnants of the line between reality and delusion. Short delightful hair, creamy skin, tiny hands and fingernails, shades of orange were everywhere.
Crimson detonated and Damon ripped Caream from his neck. He angled her legs to avoid hitting Jaylynn, and thrust the woman into the backseat. He curled backward and his blow snaked, knocking Caream down. “Jaylynn breaks easy. Stay. No talk.” He crouched into the doorframe. “Jaylynn says mean. Hurts Damon’s demon head.”
Jaylynn fought her fear. So what her apparitions multiplied? She must defuse the fiery one too close to her. Damon looked miserable, rubbing his temple. His shirt had a small rip in the right shoulder, and that smear on his arm had to be crusted blood.
“I don’t mean to hurt your head…Damon,” she said. “I shouldn’t have called you a demon. Sorry. Is your shoulder hurt, too? Maybe I should get you to a hospital.”
Her heartbeat stuttered. Rage darkened his eyes. “Hospital no good. Forget shoulder. What is Damon?”
Jaylynn swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know. Does Caream know?”
“No. Caream’s stupid. Like Damon, but not beautiful. Jaylynn not afraid of Caream. Help Caream?”
“No-no-no.” Caream slammed against the seat, lips quivering, and honest to God, orange tears sli
d down her thin face.
“She’s from the psych ward?” Jaylynn asked, stalling the woman’s howl. No way would this enchantress allow the red man to leave her, at least not quietly. “Can she speak English?”
“Yes. Try to listen. Stupid girl likes Damon to talk. Damon said shut up. Caream bad. Damon angry.” He leaned forward with his hand raised—Jesus!
He froze. With an exasperated snort, he inched his fingers toward Caream. He understood she feared he’d hit Caream?
Caream slapped his hand from her face. She took her sunglasses off.
Damon grunted, shot backward into the door as far away as he could get, and wiped his hands on his jeans. He looked like he’d bolt any second, as if he couldn’t tolerate either woman much longer. Jaylynn tore her gaze from red.
Beams of light spilled from Caream’s eyes. Her long, exotic lashes looked black on the top and orange underneath. Her delicate, unhappy face radiated beauty. Enthralling, laser eyes enhanced by unshed tears. She smiled, hesitant, as Jaylynn gawked at her. The smile lit her elfin features. Unbelievable.
“Jaylynn afraid of Damon? Caream afraid Damon leave,” the woman grumbled in a soft, lilting voice. “Damon stay with Caream.” Her lip curled, so similar to Damon. “Damon want Jaylynn not afraid? Stop yelling.” She beamed that seductive light at Jaylynn, leaned forward, and grasped Jaylynn’s hair. Black strands curled around her tangerine fingers. Jaylynn reluctantly shifted her examination from the young woman with irresistible orange eyes. That low rumble from the redhead wasn’t good.
“Jaylynn won’t stop water from eyes,” he snapped. “Damon red-eyed Demon. Jaylynn not afraid of ugly Caream?”
Caream giggled. “Caream is beautiful. Damon is red-eyed, big, dumb…” Caream choked at the cold look on his face. “Sorry. Caream stay with Damon. Caream stay with Damon. Caream—”
“Shut up,” he barked. “Damon break arms, legs, not wait for Caream.”
Oh Jesus, was he serious? “Calm down,” Jaylynn said. “Please. What do you want me to do?”
“Teach why men mean. Want to fight. Damon wants to kill. Demon will. More coming.”
“Not, Demon, no. Daaamon needs help. Hurt.” Caream’s luminous eyes pleaded with Jaylynn and yes, that sound would be approaching sirens.
“I don’t know how to help, but I’ll bring you somewhere until we can figure it out.”
Jaylynn started the car. She took an abrupt U turn and sped for Pine. Damon shifted to sit on the seat correctly, still pressed into the door, maximizing the distance between them.
“That looks like a bullet wound. What happened?” she asked.
He sighed. “Man want Caream have clothes. Damon put him in the closet. He found Damon. Gun hurt Damon. Can’t stop Damon. Nothing can. No man takes Caream. No psych center. Will rip mean head off. Damon want kill hospital. Damon want kill Mom. Jaylynn, where’s Mom?”
Stomach twisted in knots, she fought terrified squeaks passing her lips instead of words. “I don’t know. Did-did you rip the man’s head off?”
“Jaylynn want him dead? Okay. Fun. Damon go back.” He scowled at Caream. “No more Damon hurt. No more Jaylynn afraid. Jaylynn teach home.”
Jaylynn swallowed hard. “Damon, listen. You mustn’t kill anyone. Where is your home?”
“Are you always stupid?” His jaw clenched. “Said don’t know. That’s why Damon ask you.”
Not only was she ignorant, she didn’t have a clue how he’d react, and her next question could well be her last. “Sorry. I don’t know either. Damon? Did you start another fire at the cabin where you took me?”
This time it wasn’t fear catching her breath as his grin snaked across his face. “Yes. Jaylynn gave Damon fire. Beautiful. Damon gave Caream fire.” His volatile excitement disappeared. “Fire killed cabin. Twenty-three men coming. Damon found Jaylynn. Damon won’t move wrong colors like dead cabin.”
Coiled tight beside her, his low voice softened. A sign of impending doom, and Jaylynn held so hard to the wheel her fingers ached.
“Color can’t take Damon. Damon is Demon.” He rubbed his head, and his lip pushed out. “Jaylynn, shut up with afraid. Teach drive. Damon run faster than Jaylynn drives. Damon wants out of light.”
“No, Damon break car.” Caream hopped over the seat and settled between them. Damon growled and knocked her into Jaylynn.
Physical contact with an exotic female hallucination wasn’t bad. The male one slumped against the door. Jaylynn had to stop thinking of him as a demon, maniac, and the sexiest guy in non-existence. What if her mental fantasies could read her mind? Did that make any sense at all?
Jaylynn grabbed a bottle of water from the cup holder and tossed it at him. “You need to trust me. If we go too fast the police will come.”
His lips moved. Was his mumbling audible to Caream? Did he describe what he’d do to the police? To a driver not relinquishing the wheel? Caream punched his arm. Damon bit the top off the plastic bottle, and Caream shook her head with disgust. He poured the water between his lips, over his face, drinking most of it before dumping the remainder into Caream’s mouth.
Almost home with two non-humans somehow connected to each other, Jaylynn felt further and further disconnected from reality.
Things like this just didn’t happen to her.
Chapter Sixteen
In the living room, Evan’s sense of reality wavered as the three-way computer chat closed. A wounded blue alien wanted him out of his house, a yellow psycho strove to kill him, green was on the way, and Malcolm wanted to find orange. This colorful adventure would be beyond cool, if Evan wasn’t scared out of his mind.
He didn’t know anything about fixing injured humans, let alone man-angels. This Aaron guy was hours away. California, across the goddamn country. Any friend Evan had would be so blown away by a naked, golden lady they’d be a liability. Exactly like Malcolm thought Evan was. His mom would insist on the police. Screw his dad. He’d assume Evan was stoned.
Aaron had suggested water and ice, but Evan was afraid to leave Malcolm. There wasn’t even an ice tray in the freezer. He closed the refrigerator door and noted its ivory surface. At the very least, he could do better than a white gauze barrier between blue and the yellow hell-bitch.
In the laundry room, a shiny, white cabinet held utility supplies. Evan jammed the items into the cupboard beside it. Pain shot through his chest as he lifted and dragged the awkward thing, praying it’d protect him if that frickin’ door opened.
His luck held. The laser eyes that locked on him were the sane ones. Evan settled the cabinet on top of the gauze in front of the door, squeezed around, and called down the hall into the blue glare. “I’ve left the gun with you. I’ll be back in ten.”
Malcolm shook his head and mouthed, “Go home.” He looked terribly injured, like he stood by sheer willpower. The scratches on his face still oozed, and both arms appeared useless.
Evan turned and ran for ice.
* * *
Malcolm picked up the electrical device he’d made, and rated his survival odds below twelve percent. He would have liked the opportunity to meet Jade, and he feared for her once he was dead. If she’d echoed with such apprehension talking to him, how could she handle a homicidal yellow? There’d be no joint effort after Jane Doe grabbed him again.
He mentally played out the likely scenario. She’d hasten his demise by skin removal, fingernails slashing his throat, eyes gouged, and so forth. Yet, it stood to reason while his epidermal layer was raked off, he could make his broken fingers free the taser from his hip pocket and bend his shattered arm to trigger it against her.
That left the sixty-two percent she’d understand more vulnerable areas, and her aim would be below his waist. She’d incapacitate him and destroy the gun before he could remove it from his pocket. He had to hide the weapon. Held visible in his hand, yellow would never let him closer than the killing range of her foot.
Which lead to the question of why he didn’t go for the twenty-two per
cent odds a proper weapon would reach her before she dodged? Or a current rigged to a container of water to confuse her?
The ultimate would be a weapon that zapped without needing connecting probes. A wireless, long-range electroshock projectile, fired from perhaps a shotgun. If one had a twelve-gauge, and a chance to rig it, it’d be a viable option. There were endless what ifs, but the mitigating factor was thanks to yet another opponent. No time to arrange a best-case scenario. His “help” was doing something surely unnecessary and would return at any moment.
Malcolm had a serious handicap. Suicide dominated his thought process and hindered his cognitive abilities. He’d off himself without pause, if he only had Malcolm James to consider. Damn his servant, the many vulnerable police, and the others.
Yesterday’s news filled him with dread. A red-haired man had stormed the Arizona Medical Center, removed a patient, attacked guards, and survived a fourth floor jump.
A hack into the Tucson police system discovered more chaos. 911 calls to a Desert Oasis Motel, owner treated for broken bones, concussion, an unregistered, recently fired rifle at the scene. At the same motel, another uncooperative male with a broken arm claimed a red man and an orange painted prostitute had stolen his motorcycle. In Phoenix, the closest large city to Tucson, forty-six calls reported a motorcycle traveling at an extreme speed earlier this morning.
A current report concerned a fire that threatened to set the mountains ablaze near a town called Pine. Helicopter pilots spotted a man and probable woman at the scene, resulting in a statewide bulletin—top of Arizona’s most wanted.
Malcolm had retrieved Yellow from the morgue, but removal from police custody would be a formidable, yet irrelevant worry. Neither Red nor Orange would allow a human to take them.
Red. Surely, the strongest being in existence. Malcolm hadn’t discovered any connected fatalities, a positive indicator Red had—yet—to become a ruthless, killing machine.
