“Yeah?”
“Monq has turned them into demons.”
Whatever administration snafu Storm had been expecting to hear about, that wasn’t it. He sat back in his chair slack jawed, wondering if there was any chance it was a joke.
Like he was mind reading, Glen said, “And no. I’m not kidding.”
“You mean full-fledged, real deal demons? Like Deliverance?”
Glen took in a deep breath and moved his head in a circle. “No testing has been conducted, but according to what Rosie says, yeah. Full-fledged, real deal. Like Deliverance.”
Storm was scrubbing a hand down the front of his face when Rosie arrived.
“I see you’ve already told him,” she said. “How’s he taking it?”
“Don’t know yet,” Glen said as if Storm wasn’t there. “Any minute he’s going to speak.”
“I take it this was an accident.”
Glen gave Rosie a nervous glance. “Honestly, until just now, it hadn’t occurred to me that it might be deliberate. I mean, Monq can be a royal fuck up, as we all know, but he wouldn’t go rogue scientist. Would he?”
Storm looked at Rosie, who shrugged. “I’d like to say it wasn’t intentional, but he seemed so damn pleased about it.”
“You know what they say about a thin line between genius and crap crazy,” Storm proffered. His eyes moved from watching the wine pour to Rosie. “How are they taking it?”
“The hunters?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve only seen three. I’m meeting with the rest tonight at the Abbey in Scotia. I’m not sure the rest of them know. I think Finngarick kind of figured it out like a puzzle. He may be more observant than most.”
Storm harrumphed. “Who would have guessed that?”
“I take it from your tone that you don’t like him?” Rosie asked. Storm just took a sip of wine and declined to answer. “Why?”
“Why?” He looked at his daughter like she needed to get a clue. “Rosie. The elf is good for nothing. He botched his life. Botched every assignment he was ever given. I’m pretty sure Black Swan would have loved to get a resignation letter.”
Rosie cocked her head. “Maybe he’s changed.”
“Uh-huh.” Storm looked unconvinced.
“Well, he’s not botching D.I.T. Matter of fact, his team seems to look up to him.”
“In what way?”
“Well, when they came to see me, I’d ask a question and they’d look to him to answer.”
“Sound familiar?” Glen asked Storm.
Storm shrugged. “When it really counted, he let Elora and everybody else at Jefferson Unit down.”
“Whoomp! There it is!” Rosie said to Glen as she threw her hands up in the air. “Might have known that if you’ve got a beef with somebody we could trace it back to Elora.”
Storm gaped and then clenched his jaw. “Do you have something to say?”
“I guess not.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I got your memories up to the time I was conceived. Remember? I know you were in love with Elora. And I know Mom was worried you always would be.”
“But you don’t have the memories we’ve made since then, do you?”
“No.”
“Rosie. Your mom and I are solid as it gets. If she thought I was in love with Elora, Elora wouldn’t be her best friend.”
“He has a point,” Glen put in.
Storm looked at Rosie with a newfound curiosity. “Have you been worried about this your whole life?”
“Well, sort of,” she said.
Storm’s face softened. “You should have said something sooner. The way I felt about Elora was a thimble of moisture in the ocean of love I have for your mother. Litha wasn’t a consolation prize. She was a trade up.”
Rosie immediately misted over. “Really?”
Storm held up two fingers in some kind of mock pledge. “Demon’s honor.”
“Oh. Ha. Ha,” she said.
He smiled. “You’ve got more important things to do than worry about your parents’ love lives. If it means so much to you, I’ll keep an open mind about the new improved Finngarick.”
“You should. He’s mated to his partner. And she was abducted in the passes. By a music demon.”
“What in gods’ name is a music demon?”
“That’s what I said,” Glen put in before draining the last of his glass. “You guys are making good wine here. We’ll take a case. Matter of fact, J.U. will take ten cases.”
“You’re late to the party,” Storm said. “We already have a contract with every Black Swan unit in the world.”
“Who authorized that?”
Storm chuckled. “You really want to talk about wine requisitions?”
“No. I really want to talk about what to do about Monq.”
“Yeah. That’s the question.” Storm glanced between Rosie and Glen. “If he did it deliberately, he has to go. And that’s no small thing because the man is a Black Swan institution.”
“When he laid out the possibilities, there was a moment…”
“What are you talking about?”
“He said, you know, that he could give the vampire hunters the same serum. It would make them immune so that not a single knight would ever die at the hands of a vamp again. And it’d also make the hunters so fast that they’d be able to wipe out vampire, all vampire. He said in two weeks.”
Storm looked at Rosie. She nodded confirmation.
Storm’s eyes glazed over as Glen’s had imagining what the world would be like with no vampire. “Hard to walk away from that.”
“I know. I told him we’re not in the genetic engineering business.”
“You did the right thing. So why do you still look worried?”
“I’m wondering if I can take responsibility for this decision or if I need to kick it upstairs.”
“Simon?” Glen nodded. “You’re in charge of Monq.”
“Yes. But it’s kind of a technicality, only because he chooses to live near New York. In fact, he’s The Order’s version of science at large.”
Storm looked at Rosie. “You think he should take this to Simon?” She shook her head. “Why not?”
“Just between us?” Storm and Glen both nodded. “Simon is so close to the D.I.T. project. Because of Sorcha. It’s personal with him. I don’t know that it would cloud his judgment, but it might.”
“And what?” Glen said. “You think he might order Monq to start converting employees to demons so that he can keep aliens out of Loti?”
She took a sip of wine. “Crossed my mind. Yes.”
“There’s your answer,” Storm said. “If this circles round, I’ll back you up on the decision.”
Glen nodded. “Thanks. Appreciated.” He sighed. “Meanwhile, I’ve told Monq to find out if the effect is temporary or permanent.”
“Good. So what’s the problem?”
“I have this awful feeling that he might strike off on his own. You should have seen how animated he looked when he started talking about making more demons.”
“Keep a close eye. If you get any hint that he’s stepping outside the lines, I’ll get involved and go to Simon with you.”
Glen stood and shook Storm’s hand. “Thanks, Dad.”
Storm rolled his eyes. “I will never get used to you calling me that.”
When Rosie dropped Glen off at the office, he kissed her on the top of the head. “Glass of wine, huh?”
“What do you mean?” She batted her eyelashes.
“You knew he was going to be there.”
“Oh.” She twirled a lock of hair. “Somebody might have mentioned it.”
“Manipulative little minx.” He patted her ass.
“I may be manipulative, but it’s just what you needed.”
He smirked. “Good luck tonight.”
“Yep. Later.” And she was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHARP LEFT
Kellareal kno
cked on Rosie’s office door at Hunter Abbey where she was preparing for her dinner talk on ‘becoming demon’.
“Come in,” she said. When the door opened she was surprised to see Lally on the other side. He normally just appeared wherever. “This is a surprise. Wasn’t expecting you.”
“There’s been a development in the whole kidnapping case. Since your hunters are now demons, Lyric can’t legally hold Finngarick’s mate. But if she’s elemental, she can walk out whenever she wants.”
“Sounds right. So why are you telling me this?”
“I can’t go get her because, if she’s free to walk out on her own, I have no grounds. But if she doesn’t know she can walk out on her own, it’s a Catch 22. Baby elephants.”
“What?”
“You know… The thing about baby elephants.”
“No idea how this relates.”
“If you chain a baby elephant to a post, it will try and try and try to get free. Once it learns that it won’t get free no matter how hard it tries, it’s captive forever. They restrain the adults with the same relatively little ankle chain they used when the creature was a baby. As an adult it could easily break away. But it doesn’t try.”
“Because it believes it can’t.”
“Precisely.”
“So how are we going to get her out now?”
Kellareal shrugged. “We’re going to have to get creative.”
“Okay. Good. What does that mean?”
“I’m going to ring Lyric’s doorbell and ask to see Sheridan O’Malley.”
Rosie angled her head. “You think he’d say yes?”
“Beats me. Demons are super unpredictable. So it’s worth a try.”
“Thanks, Lally. I told Finngarick that, if we don’t have her back in two days, I’m going to go get her. One way or another.”
“A deadline, is it?” The angel nodded. “I can work with that.”
“Glad to hear it. Keep me posted.”
He gave an exaggerated salute. “Yes sir! But first.”
“First?”
“A question about your Wild Bunch, who it seems were really appropriately nicknamed, since they really are a Wild Bunch now. Full-fledged elementals. That idiot scientist could have at least made them angels. The question now is whether they’ll use their expanded prowess for Black Swan or not.”
“Of course they will.”
Kellareal shrugged. “Hope you’re right. Power is the ultimate mind fuck.”
Rosie grabbed a mason jar out of the screened bookcase behind her. There hadn’t been a mason jar there, but she conjured it so smoothly it appeared as if it had been there all along.
“Put a favor in the jar.”
“What?”
“A favor. You can’t say the word ‘fuck’. Angels aren’t allowed.”
“That is bullshit.”
“Two favors.”
“When did you become the language police?”
“I’m not objecting to the language. I’m objecting to you using it. Somebody has to rise above. If the rest of us feel free to be common, coarse, or just downright vulgar, that’s on us. You, on the other hand, have to be the standard bearer.”
“Again, that is bu…”
“No. It’s not.” She shoved the glass jar toward him. “Going for three? I can always use help. Especially now that I’m D.I.T.” She took the lid off the jar and waited for him to deposit the favors.
“I want to say bad words like everybody else.” He pouted.
She shook her head. “No. Sorry. You can’t.”
“You don’t sound sorry. Why do you get to?”
“Because I don’t have wings.”
It might not have been logical but it did have a certain kind of sense to it. So, with a sour expression on his otherwise beautiful flawless face, he dropped two little swirling orbs of white light rimmed with yellow into the jar. They hummed and circled like they were on a carousel. Rosie was quick to put the lid on the jar, screw it down tight, and put it back into the screened bookcase.
“Those had better not fall into the hands of…”
“Stop your worrying. They’re safe with me. The jar is spelled and won’t open for anybody else. Neither will this book cupboard.” She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “These don’t have to have air or anything. Right?”
He smirked, shook his head, and muttered, “Favors needing air. What next?”
“So let’s go get her!”
“Sure. But don’t you think you should have a talk with your, um, hunters? They may be wondering what’s happening to them.”
“You think? How would you like to wake up as a troll? After being an angel for… how long have you been alive?”
“Long time. And your analogy is ridiculous.”
“It’s not so farfetched. But point taken. I’ll stay here and talk to my people. Or demons. You get Sheridan O’Malley and put her back where she belongs.”
“Suits me.”
He vanished leaving Rosie feeling like that was one enormous item she could safely check off her list.
CHAPTER SIX
BABY ELEPHANTS
Sher looked at the glass display on the wall where her bow and arrow were encased.
Lyric followed her gaze. “Strings,” he said. “We have that in common, you and I.”
When her head swiveled his direction, he pointed toward the room where he kept his collection of every imaginable musical instrument. “This, for instance.” He reached for an acoustic guitar that Sher hadn’t remembered being there before. “What kind of music do you like?”
She raised her chin. “I do no’ like music.”
Lyric laughed and shook his head. His dark hair ruffled with the movement in a most appealing way. “Don’t be childish, Sheridan. It’s unattractive.”
“I’m no’ interested in appearin’ attractive to you, demon.”
He sighed. “Hmmm. Well, everybody likes music. Perhaps people get different levels of pleasure from music, but everybody likes it.”
Sher cocked her head. “Let me tell you what’s unattractive. Bein’ a know-it-all.”
The demon smiled wickedly as the gleam rose in his eyes. His eyes had a sort of inner light that was frightening, captivating, and aggravatingly sexy all at the same time. At times his irises seemed to have little flames that responded to various emotions and danced for the benefit of the observer. Perhaps the flames were a warning. Perhaps they were simply a reflection of interest, mirth, or desire. It was impossible to know. And just as impossible to look away when it was happening.
He pulled the guitar into his lap and began to casually strum a pleasing arpeggio. If Sher had been sleepy, she knew she’d already be yawning and thinking about a nap.
“Would you like to learn to play the guitar, Sher?”
As a matter of fact, she would love to play the guitar, which made it really hard to say, “I can no’ stand the sound of that contraption. ’Tis like the squeakin’ of old rusty wheels.”
Lyric’s eyes slanted toward her slowly in a measured way as if testing for the truth of that. “I could teach you easily,” he said, ignoring her proclamation of distaste. He just chuckled when she looked the other way.
In looking away from Lyric her eyes had landed on the wall display, which seemed to have been put there to taunt her with her helplessness and captivity. She toyed with the idea that she might be experiencing punishment for being too proud of being selected for D.I.T. For being mate to a beautiful and brave veteran vampire hunter. The folklore she’d heard among the people of Black on Tarry all her life was resplendent with such superstition.
On impulse, without plan or too much thought, she rose, grabbed the guitar out of Lyric’s hands and smashed it against the display. The guitar didn’t break, but whatever had been the transparent material magically holding the bow aloft vanished. It clattered on the floor as the quiver fell with a soft thud beside it. With a speed and presence of mind she didn’t know she had, she picked up the bow,
strung an arrow, and whirled around aiming it at Lyric, who was still sitting calmly on the divan.
He got to his feet and raised his hands in a, “Please don’t shoot me,” pose.
“So you lied after all,” Lyric said with more interest than anger. “You are a demon. Why play games?”
“I’m no’ a demon, eejit. I’m an elf who’s ready to go home. Now show me the way or prepare to get stuck and let me warn you these arrows are coated with a juicy little surprise designed especially for creatures such as yourself.”
“Sheridan.” Lyric lowered his chin and gave her a sobering look. “Only another elemental could break the spell holding your bow.”
“Deceiver.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Not in this case. I wish it wasn’t true. I’d like to keep you.”
“I’m no’ a demon.”
He looked pointedly at the wall where the bow had been. “Circumstance says you are.”
She bit the inside of her lower lip while contemplating whether or not there could be any truth to that. It was then that she finally pushed her own emotions aside long enough to add up the score. Her unhappiness, missing her mate as she did, worrying about him as she did, had been all she could manage to deal with.
When her reason finally decided to show up for the party, she reviewed the evidence. She hadn’t eaten or slept for two weeks. Which was utterly impossible. Unless… If the demon was telling the truth about why she was able to break the bow free, then…
She looked around and, sure enough, her senses told her where there was an active portal that could be used to step into the passes. In her haste to see if she could leave, she forgot all about the homing necklace he’d taken from her. But when she stepped into the passes, she realized she didn’t need it. With the other changes, she had, apparently, acquired an internal compass along with incredible speed. She knew exactly how to navigate her way to the D.I.T. house in Dublin. She didn’t know how she knew. She just did.
The house was quiet except for an ancient Swiss clock housed in an elaborately carved German style that stood in the front hall. When it was quiet in the house, the clock noises seemed to grow in volume. Torn glanced toward the front hall and wondered if it would be noticed if he carried the clock over to the commercial trash containers at the end of the next block. He would ever so much more prefer silence to the increasingly irritating tick tock.
Irish War Cry (Order of the Black Swan D.I.T. Book 3) Page 4
