by S W Vaughn
Chapter 10
The Nephil's train would not arrive in Syracuse for two more days. Lorin couldn't risk another public killing with the Hunters after her. She planned to lure it away from the station into the nearby woods. In the meantime, there were others to be found.
The rundown nightclub she entered for a drink yielded a happy accident. A Nephil sat alone at a corner table, sporting sunglasses and a light jacket with the hood pulled up. Power trickled from it in low, steady waves as it idly twirled a finger beneath the table to spin a glass ashtray on the surface. Wasteful. And stupid.
Lorin wordlessly urged a human at the end of the bar to seek another seat. She settled on the still-warm stool and watched the Nephil openly. It glanced at a watch on its wrist every few minutes, occasionally looking toward the main entrance of the club, as though it were waiting for someone. She skimmed its mind and realized it sought company of the female persuasion, though it had no one particular in mind.
It noticed her at last. Glanced at her, then stared. A weak, whispered suggestion flitted through her mind: you want me.
It was trying to seduce her.
She laughed. It was male, and beautiful in the sterile manner mules possessed. She would let it believe it controlled her, and play with it for a while before she summoned Silver. She had not taken many lovers since Silver's father. The idea of birthing another abomination, Nephil or otherwise, disgusted her. However, the half-breeds could not reproduce. She could enjoy the pleasures of the flesh without the risk and watch it die afterward.
Come to me. Ask me to buy you a drink.
Lorin manufactured a sultry smile and slid from the stool. The ashtray stopped its undulation as she approached the Nephil's table. It feigned disinterest until she took a seat beside it and said, “Buy me a drink?"
It turned to face her. A practiced smirk crossed its lips. “Sure,” it said. A probing ripple entered her head, seeking her thoughts. It wanted to impress her by predicting what she would drink. She let it hear Corona. “You look like a Corona kind of girl."
Lorin widened her eyes. “How did you know that?"
"Lucky guess. And as it happens, that's what I'm drinking.” It raised a hand, held up two fingers. A human behind the bar nodded in response and began to fill the order. “Do you like my club?"
"Your club?” Lorin allowed disbelief in her voice. “You own this place?"
It nodded. “This and three others. Are you from around here?"
"No. I just got here yesterday."
"Alone?"
Lorin sensed dark anticipation from it and caught a brief flash of an image in its mind: a human female, sprawled on a bed, glassy-eyed and covered in blood. It liked to kill. Her little game had just become far more entertaining. “Yes, I'm alone.” She smiled, fluttered her eyes. “You're the first ... person I've met here."
"Well, then. I'm honored to be the one to introduce you to our little town.” The Nephil pushed its hood down. Lorin gave the expected gasp at the sight of its flawless countenance, though revulsion drove her reaction. It held out a hand. “They call me Prince."
"I'm Jenny.” She took the hand. It held her a touch too long and released her with a seductive stroke.
The bar girl approached their table balancing two frosty bottles and two chilled mugs on a tray. She avoided direct eye contact with the Nephil while she placed the drinks. Finished, she scurried back to the bar as though she expected it to demand something further and did not wish to indulge it.
Lorin allowed it to provide her with two further beers, and endured nearly thirty minutes of its pathetic bantering before her impatience crested. She finished the final mug, set it down, and brushed her fingers along its leg. “I have a room at the motel down the street.” She'd seen one on her way here, the most convenient kind, with individual outside entrances for each room. “Would you like to take me there?"
The Nephil smiled its agreement. Lorin rose, swaying a bit in imitation drunkenness. She waited for it to join her and let it lead her outside. As they walked, Lorin sent an image of the motel to Silver. Come here. Wait for my instruction. Do not be seen.
Silver returned wordless acquiescence. Lorin tuned him out and concentrated on the Nephil's thoughts, a jumble of raw sexual energy and bloodlust. It practiced its intentions in graphic mental detail, imagined itself slashing her to ribbons with the knife it carried in its boot.
Lorin would let it. The look on its face when she failed to die would compensate nicely for the pain.
They reached the motel. Lorin selected an empty room and positioned herself so the Nephil could not see her opening the door without a key. She entered and it followed her. Unwilling to waste more time in idle chatter, Lorin compelled it to look at her and began to undress.
It perched on the bed to watch. If it had been human and without lethal intentions, it would have asked whether she worked for money by now. She gave it a show. The tremors of vicious pleasure shuddering through it thrilled her. Such futile longing. It would die empty.
Naked, she drifted to the bed and reached for its sunglasses. It caught her wrists and held. “Save that for last.” The Nephil guided her hands to its jeans and shrugged free of its jacket while she unfastened and slid them down over the stiff bulge of its erection. She caressed it, eased a moan from her throat. It smiled and gently pushed her back.
"Allow me.” It finished undressing to reveal a hard, muscled body as perfect as its face. Only the sunglasses remained. It had casually tipped one boot on its side with the opening turned beneath the bed. It intended to retrieve the knife at the penultimate moment through telekinesis.
Lorin placed a hand on its chest. It circled her with an arm and trailed fingers down the curve of her spine. “Can't I see your eyes?” she whispered, all innocence and longing.
"Don't be afraid,” it said huskily. A rudimentary Presence emanated from it and bathed her in pseudo-calm. It eased the glasses off with its free hand.
Lorin's shocked intake of breath was only part simulation. Its eyes were black and glowed with an electric violet cast. She had seen similar eyes once before—on a Nephil that had evaded the Host for four centuries. A deeper probe of its mind revealed this one had indeed been a prince in a small Asian country somewhere around the seventeenth century. A bastard prince, shunned by its people and ostracized from its home. When its power had manifested, it had returned and slaughtered dozens of them. How had she underestimated its strength?
It sensed her hesitation and crushed her in an impassioned embrace. Its mouth sought hers, claimed her with powerful sensuality. Lorin surrendered to it. No matter how strong this creature was, it could not best Silver. She would still take her pleasures.
The Nephil proved skillful in bed. Lorin's manufactured responses became true reflections of the delicious heat it evoked in her body. It drove her to the brink time and again, and eased back just before the apex. Hours passed in a haze of simmering bliss. At last it brought the knife to its hand, caught her eyes, and drove the blade into her side.
The pain brought Lorin to explosive orgasm. She released a thin scream, let her eyes roll back in her head. The Nephil shuddered inside her. It drew the knife free. When she offered a look of mortal terror, it licked her blood from the blade and laughed.
Lorin stiffened. The Nephil poised for another slash. She grabbed its wrist and directed it toward her stomach. Its amusement morphed into fear when she plunged the knife in herself and twisted hard.
She threw its laughter back at its startled face. “Don't you wish to see me bleed, Nephil?"
"What...” it stammered. Its fingers whitened beneath crimson streaks of her blood as it gripped the handle hard. “You can't be..."
Come to me, Silver. Lorin shoved the unresisting Nephil to the floor and sat up. It scuttled back, grabbing for its jacket. It had another weapon. “Useless,” Lorin whispered. “Your time is up. This is your end."
The Nephil glowered at her. It pulled a gun from an inside pocket. Before
it could train the piece on her, the door behind it opened and Silver stepped inside.
Lorin didn't look at him. “Kill it."
The Nephil rolled and scrambled to its knees. It raised the gun. Silver approached, calm and emotionless. It pressed the muzzle into his stomach and fired. The impact bucked his body, but Silver remained standing and silent.
Undaunted, it fired again. Silver's glittering blood sprayed behind him, coating the walls and the floor. The Nephil finally noticed the aberrant splash and the color drained from its features. “What are you?” it whispered.
"I am hers."
Silver sunk fingers into the Nephil's throat and tore it open. It gurgled and twitched, sank to its knees, and collapsed in a pool of deep red liquid.
Lorin's features contorted with fury. “Idiot! Why did you wait so long?"
"I did not wait. I obeyed you."
A burbling sound rose from the floor. The Nephil shuddered and wrenched itself to its feet. Blood coated its chest and its stomach, but the gash in its throat had knitted itself nearly closed. With an unearthly hiss, it pivoted and launched at Lorin. The bed lifted behind her. It was trying to pin her down with the heavy furniture.
Silver! Finish it!
Silver caught it by the scruff, dragged it back and sent a surge of power through it. A thud shook the floor as the bed fell back. The Nephil screamed. Smoke poured from its ears and mouth. It jittered to the floor, its body deflated like a spent balloon.
Lorin glared at Silver. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me bleed? Come here and heal me."
Silver hesitated for an instant and stepped over the remains of the Nephil. Lorin's wounds closed with a few gestures from him. When he finished, she bent to retrieve the Nephil's discarded knife and slashed Silver open from shoulder to hip.
"Take this.” She pressed the knife into his palm and dressed quickly. “I don't know what's come over you lately, but your behavior is completely unacceptable. I should flay the skin from your bones for this. In fact, I think I will. Disgusting, thick-headed creature!” She dug her fingers into his arm and snarled, “Bring us back to the woods. Immediately."
Lorin pushed back the fear beneath her anger. If she lost any more control over him, she would have to find a way to destroy him—or be destroyed herself.
* * * *
Grace woke to soft sounds of distress. Beside her, Megan hugged her knees. Her forehead rested on her thighs, and her eyes were squeezed shut. She rocked in counterpoint to the motion of the train and hummed in tuneless bursts, distracting herself from something.
"Megan,” Grace whispered. “What's wrong?"
She didn't open her eyes or move. “They won't shut up."
"Oh, no.” Most of the train had woken up, and Megan's head had filled with their active thoughts. Probably sounded like a phone booth full of yodelers in there. “Listen. Try to pick out one voice and concentrate on it. Just one. Any of them. Okay?"
Megan nodded against her legs. After a minute, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. “All right. I did it, I think. It's just one guy.” She eased her feet down from the seat, bent forward and scrubbed a hand over weary features. “Now what?"
"Well. I guess you just ... ignore him."
"Huh?"
"Damn. I don't know. I've never really thought about how I tune everything out.” Grace closed her eyes and tried to remember before, when she'd been certain she would lose her mind to the ceaseless tide of other people's thoughts. Isolating a single voice had been a final bid for sanity and her first small success. What had she done then? At once she recalled it had something to do with her mother. Unpleasant, but effective. “You need a strong emotion of your own. You have to feel something so powerful that it knocks everyone else out of your head. Think of a person or place or anything that makes you react with feeling. Good or bad. Preferably good.” Grace had been compelled to rely on hating her mother to reclaim her mind. She hoped Megan could find a happy thought.
"Okay. I'll try.” Megan frowned and stared at the back of the seat in front of her. A moment later, she smiled. “Got one.” She leaned back with a shaking sigh. “Guess what it is?"
"That wouldn't be fair. Tell me."
"The Talkin’ Song Repair Blues."
Grace laughed. “I knew it would come in handy. Don't worry, you won't have to use that trick forever. It'll get easier to keep your head clear."
"I don't know. I kind of like the idea of having a permanent earworm, especially a funny one.” Megan hummed a bit, and sang the first few lines of the chorus in a soft, clear voice that mimicked Jackson's country twang almost perfectly.
"Wow."
"What?"
"You're good."
Megan shrugged. “I can carry a tune, I guess."
"No, really. You're good.” Grace pushed up a few inches and scanned the rest of the car. Around a dozen others shared it with them. She wanted to talk with Megan, help her control her new abilities, but if anyone overheard their conversation and actually paid attention, they could find the cops waiting for them at the next station. Maybe they could get the hang of mind-to-mind conversation. Can you hear me? If you can, don't answer out loud.
Don't be downhearted, I can fix it for you, sonny...
Grace blurted laughter. Megan gave her a puzzled look. “What?"
"I was just ... wait. I have an idea.” She grabbed her laptop, lowered the tray table, and turned the power on. When it finished cycling, she opened Notepad and typed: Thought we could have a private conversation. Don't want anyone fitting us for white coats.
"Oh. Right.” Megan giggled. “Sorry. I got carried away there."
"That's all right.” Can you hear me? Don't speak. Just think.
Yes.
Good. Are the voices gone?
Yep. Just you and me in here.
Grace smiled. “I think we can make this work.” We should find out what else you can do.
There's more?
I think so. There was that flying guy. And I can work machines.
"Really? Wicked!"
You said that out loud.
Whoops.
This time, they both laughed. “We'll keep trying,” Grace said. She opened the control panel on the laptop. “You know how to tell what this stuff means, right?"
"Sure. I'm online a lot—well, I was. Had to learn my way around a computer so I could fix it when it went wonky."
"Okay. In that case, you'll get this.” She navigated to the network connections and leaned back to let Megan see the screen.
Holy shit! You're not connected anywhere.
Grace nodded, smiled. I have a WiFi card but no service. I just plug myself into the ‘net.
Awesome. Do you think I can do that?
Try it.
Megan stared at the laptop. Grace opened a browser window and got an error message. Anything? she asked Megan.
I don't know. How do you do this?
It's like reading minds, only with machines. I can just find them and connect.
Megan looked at her. Machines have minds?
Not exactly. It's hard to explain. Do you want to try again?
Okay ... Megan returned her attention to the computer. A full minute passed. Finally, she closed her eyes and dropped back in the seat. “Feel like I just ran fifty laps,” she muttered.
Yeah, learning this stuff can wear you out. Grace recalled the exhaustion she'd experienced after her unexpected disappearing act. No need for either of them to push right now. “Let's take a break.” She shut the computer down, returned it to her bag. “How about some breakfast?"
Megan glanced at Grace's bag. “You got something to eat in there?"
"No. I thought we'd go to the snack car."
"Oh, right. Good idea.” Laughing, Megan maneuvered herself into the aisle and stepped back to let Grace out. “They probably don't have scrambled eggs and pancakes, huh?"
"Doubt it. Cold cereal, maybe some muffins or something."
"Works for
me."
Grace stood, slid past the seats, and hauled her bag out. No sense tempting fate by leaving a laptop and forty-five grand worth of incriminating cashier's checks lying around. She headed for the snack car, and a glimmer of an idea formed.
They needed more information on SARET. And she knew just the guy to get it for them.
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Chapter 11
From the moment Zane arrived on scene at the motel, destroying Lorin became a top priority.
As an FBI agent, he wanted her for murder—even though her victims weren't worth the flesh they were printed on. As a Hunter, he loathed her for disobeying the one rule given to the Host—do not interfere with the humans’ world. It was almost a shame. Lorin had sided with the Bright Host in the beginning, but six centuries ago she'd turned to the Dark Host and promptly disappeared.
Her activities were inexcusable.
What she'd done here was so inhuman, no mortal could view the aftermath as murder. For humans, this death was physically impossible. The Nephil's naked carcass rested facedown beside a pool of dark, half-congealed blood on the thin carpet. He—at least, Zane believed it was male—appeared to have liquefied from the inside and leaked out onto the floor.
Though he hadn't been dead for long, Zane couldn't detect even a trace of Lorin's power. Disturbing, since it must have required massive amounts to do this. He had to conclude that Lorin never lifted a finger against this Nephil. Meaning the other one was responsible.
The very existence of the one who did Lorin's dirty work infuriated Zane. He was no Host, and he certainly wasn't human. He could be among the older Nephilim, the ones who had developed means to evade the Host, though it made no sense for Lorin to employ a mule. Zane had never seen the other save through the jumbled memories of the rare human witnesses who managed to maintain their sanity during his killing sprees. And for some reason, the other had no scent. No power trace.
Compounding the savage death was an anomaly Zane failed to comprehend. Measurable quantities of mercurial liquid decorated the wall and the floor. He'd seen enough homicide scenes to recognize the mess as splash patterns from multiple gunshot wounds. The substance acted like blood too. It possessed the same viscosity, the same drying properties. But no being—Host, human, or Nephil—had silver blood.
