by S. J. Day
“You know,” she began, “I’ve gone through this training with a ‘one-day-at-a-time’ attitude.”
“That’s not a bad attitude to have, angel. Sometimes, it’s the only way to get by.”
“Yes, but in this case, I think I need to see the bigger picture.”
Alec pivoted in his seat. His movement was fluid despite his size. At six feet four inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of lean, mean muscle, Alec had a body that was coveted by both men and women. Even with the mark—which made him preternaturally powerful—he worked out regularly to maintain his prime physical condition. He took his work very seriously and she admired him for that, even as she chastised herself for being far less committed.
“And what would you do with the bigger picture?” he asked.
“Hell if I know.” Her shoulders lifted lamely. “I just can’t help feeling as if throwing myself headfirst into the whole marked business makes it easier for God to keep me here for a while.”
His fingertips stroked down her forearm. “Jehovah doesn’t recognize easy or hard. He does what he thinks is best.”
“Well, I recognize easy and hard,” she retorted. “And what used to be hard is becoming easier and sometimes it’s not so bad. But then sometimes—like dying in a dirty men’s restroom—it’s really fucking awful.”
“So try it out this week,” he suggested. “Give it your all for seven days and see what happens.”
Eve’s fingers wrapped tighter around the steering wheel. “I don’t want to like this, Alec. I don’t want to become comfortable.”
The van turned a corner, taking them into a less-populated area. The homes on this street were dark, the yards yellowed. The sun was setting, adding shadows to the mix. Suburbia faded into desolation and Eve shivered.
“What do you want, angel?”
“I want normal. I want marriage and kids. I want to grow old.” Eve glanced aside at him. “And I want you. Most of the time.”
When the van pulled into one of two parking spots in front of a darkened duplex, she stopped in the street and stared at the home. The Suburban passed her and took the remaining space.
Alec’s head turned away from her. “I don’t come with normal,” he murmured.
“I know.”
The van rear door slid open and Ken leaped out, stretching. Then he set his hands on either side of the frame and leaned in, appearing to listen to instructions passed along from someone inside. He glanced at Eve idling in the street and gestured for her to park at the curb.
She sighed. “Here goes.”
After parking the car, Eve climbed out of the driver’s seat and joined the others. The rest of the group poured out of the van. Gadara stood between the two vehicles and waved his arm in a sweeping motion. The exterior lights blazed to life.
“Brilliant,” Laurel said, popping her chewing gum.
Shedding some light on the situation didn’t ease Eve’s discomfort. Instead, it brought the disrepair of their living quarters into stark relief. Paint peeled from the siding and trim, cracks marred the cement walkway, and the asphalt in the drive was crumbling. A cockroach ran between the two cars and Laurel screamed.
Izzie rolled her eyes and stomped on the bug with her Dr. Martens. “It is dead,” she said in a tone made gruffer by her German accent. “You can quit screaming now, please.”
“I am not staying in a place infested with bugs!” Laurel cried.
“I told you this place was cocked up,” Edwards said. “I brought some insecticide.”
“We do not kill God’s creatures,” Gadara admonished.
Claire snorted. “Are you certain they aren’t Infernal creatures? I believe cockroaches and mosquitoes are demon spawn.”
“They are moving out, Ms. Dubois. Give them a few minutes and they will find another home in the area to occupy.”
Richens shoved his hands into the front pouch of his hooded sweatshirt. “We’re truly holing up here?”
“Yes, we truly are. Gentlemen in the duplex on the left, ladies to the right.”
“I hope none of you snore,” Izzie muttered.
“Why can’t we stay in the nicer neighborhood?” Laurel asked.
“For the ladies’ benefit?” Romeo added.
“And scare the noobs with our mad ways?” Ken scoffed.
“Mr. Callaghan is correct.” Gadara walked to the rear of the van and opened the back doors. “Our hours will be erratic, we will often be armed, and we are an eclectic group. We want to attract Infernals, not mortal curiosity.”
“I wish I could stay,” Alec said. “Sounds like fun.”
Eve looked at him. He offered a reassuring smile and she made an effort to return it. Although she had never in a million years imagined the scenario she presently faced, there was no point bitching about it. It was what it was. She would just have to make the best of it.
“Yeah, right,” Richens grumbled, picking up his backpack and hefting it over his shoulder. He hit the back of a guard who was unloading equipment from the Suburban. “Sorry, bloke. Unintentional.”
Ken collected his duffel. “Yer a lot of feartie-cats. I’m chuffed o’er this holiday.”
“Of course you are,” Claire said. “You are insane. Hand me the burgundy bag, s’il vous plaît.”
Returning to her car, Eve hit the trunk release on her remote and rounded the back to get her duffel bag. Alec beat her to it, whipping around her and catching the handle before she could.
His gaze met hers. “You know I always have my cell on me. Call me anytime, no matter what the hour.”
The last thing Alec needed while moving in for a kill was to be distracted by a phone call. She shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. You just take care of business and come back in one piece.”
“You gonna miss me, angel?” he purred.
She smiled in answer. She felt the same way about Alec as she did about her training—she was afraid to commit herself too fully to either. Lose one, lose them both. He was a fixture in her life only as long as the mark was, and keeping the mark wasn’t an option. Marks lived outside the normal order of man. They couldn’t die of natural means and they couldn’t create life. Eve wasn’t prepared to accept that.
But those were concerns for another day. Right now, a man she cared deeply for was heading into danger.
“Of course I’ll miss you,” she said. “Be careful.”
“Listen.” He set his free hand atop her shoulder. His eyes were hot, his mouth firmly set. “You’re a natural. I know Raguel hasn’t bothered to tell you that, but you are. You have an innate talent.”
“I got killed!”
“But not before you sent the dragon back to Hell,” he reminded. “You know how few Marks can make that claim? I’m probably not supposed to tell you this. In mentor training, they’ll most likely tell me to tell you to follow the rules. But I’m telling you to follow your gut, you hear me?”
Eve stared up at him, arrested by his intensity. “Follow my gut?”
“Yeah.” Alec tapped a blunt fingertip against her temple. “And your head. You’re a smart cookie, angel. Fuck the rules and go with your instincts.”
She nodded. He kissed the tip of her nose. “And miss me. A lot.”
A moment later, he was pulling away from the curb and she was left alone with her classmates. Eve trudged up the drive, steeling herself for a week of being emotionally isolated.
Ken was shutting the rear doors of the van when she joined the rest of the group at the end of the driveway.
“Divide by gender,” Gadara said, “and begin preparing the homes for habitation.”
“Where are you going?” Laurel asked, frowning.
Gadara’s brows rose at her tone, but he replied calmly, “To the commissary.”
“You need to be military to shop in the commissary,” Edwards advised.
“I have clearance, Mr. Edwards.”
“He’s an archangel,” Izzie muttered, “not an idiot.”
“S
od off.”
Eve smiled at the exchange, but her merriment faded when she caught Gadara’s gaze.
“Ms. Hollis. Please ensure that things flow smoothly in the women’s quarters. There are air mattresses over there.” Gadara pointed at the pile of equipment in front of the garage.
Laurel scowled. “Why is she in charge?”
“She is the only one of you to have actual field experience.”
“Yeah, and she got the shit kicked out of her.”
The class didn’t know that she had died, Eve realized with some surprise, which made her wonder if her resurrection was a big secret.
Gadara’s dark eyes took on a warning gleam. “Humor me, please, Ms. Hogan.”
Laurel shot an arch glance at Eve. Romeo set his arm around her waist and murmured in her ear.
Eve’s chin lifted. Of course Gadara would stoke the animosity. From the beginning, he’d made her marking as difficult as possible. It was his way of keeping Alec under his thumb.
“Mr. Edwards.” The archangel turned away. “Please oversee the arranging of the men’s quarters, especially the kitchen. We will begin dinner preparations when I return.”
“Are we hunting tonight?” Ken asked.
Gadara shook his head. “No. Tonight is about settling in and preparing for tomorrow.”
“Then we better get started,” Eve said before heading toward the ladies’ side. The other women fell into step behind her.
The sun was dipping low on the horizon, streaking the sky with jeweled hues. The view was breathtaking, and Eve paused on the small cement porch step to take it in.
“Maybe it won’t be so dodgy here after all,” Laurel said.
“Maybe,” Eve agreed, hoping that was true.
The comfortable stillness was shattered by the howl of a wolf in the distance. A chill coursed down Eve’s spine.
“There are wolves at the beach?” Claire asked in a whisper.
“Werewolves,” Izzie corrected grimly.
As the color of the sky took on the hue of blood, Eve’s enjoyment in its beauty fled. The evening air took on an ominous, oppressive weight.
They were out there. Infernals. Waiting, as the Marks were, for orders to kill. They passed their time toying with mortals, leading them to the edge of Hell, then shoving them over.
Eve pushed open the unlocked door and gestured for the others to enter to safety before her. “Let’s get inside.”
“G’day, mates.”
Reed smiled at the Aussie greeting. “It’s past midnight.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Les Goodman said, gesturing them into his small but well-kept house in Victoria Park. As the Australian handler who’d witnessed the most recent attack by their mystery Infernal, he was the reason Reed and Mariel were Down Under. He’d been tied up with the formalities that followed a Mark killing and had finally called Reed to come over about thirty minutes ago.
“I wanted to record my report while everything was still fresh in my mind,” Les explained as they moved into a comfortable living room furnished with brown leather furniture and sturdy wooden pieces. “Not that I will ever forget, mind. I’ll have nightmares about what happened to my Mark forever.”
“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Goodman,” Mariel said. “We wish we were here under happier circumstances. We’re very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Call me Les, please.”
Mariel wore a loose floral dress and coordinating blue sweater, which gave her a casual and approachable air. Her wild flame-red hair, however, was pure seduction, but Les didn’t appear to be affected as most single men were.
“You know Abel, of course,” she said.
Les extended his hand to Reed. “Yes, of course. Welcome, Abel. It’s an honor to have you here.”
Reed accepted Les’s handshake, noting the strength and confidence conveyed by the mal’akh’s grip. Les was blond, his skin darkened and weathered by the sun, his appearance arrested to look as if he was somewhere in his midforties. Grief weighed heavily upon his broad shoulders and bracketed his mouth and eyes with deep grooves of strain. Such physical manifestations of emotion were rare in mal’akhs and were only caused by the loss of a beloved. Les’s Mark had meant a great deal to him.
Affairs sometimes formed between Marks and their handlers, since they shared a connection that transcended the physical. A Mark could share fear and triumph and a handler could reassure and offer comfort across many miles. Also conducive to work-related romance were the isolated lives led by Marks and the lure of their Novium, which was brought on by the thrill of their first hunts. Even mal’akhs weren’t immune to a Mark awakening to full power.
“We appreciate you taking the time to answer our questions,” Reed murmured, thinking of Eve and his own growing connection to her. God help him when her Novium hit, which would happen soon after she finished training and began hunting in earnest.
He glanced at his Rolex. It was early evening in California. She would be in Monterey now. By the end of the week, she would be three weeks away from graduation.
Les’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do anything necessary to catch that demon. I’ve never seen anything like what happened to Kimberly. I pray I never see anything like it again.”
“Did you see the Infernal?” Mariel asked in a soothing voice.
“Yes.” A haunted look came to the handler’s blue eyes. “It was built like a brick shithouse. Nearly six meters in height and two meters wide at the shoulders.”
Reed looked at Mariel with both brows raised. She had described the demon far differently.
The high-pitched whistle of a teakettle came from the back of the house. Les motioned them to follow him.
“Come along.” His booted steps thudded heavily across the hardwood floor. “We’ll talk in the kitchen.”
They settled around a scuffed linoleum-topped table. Les turned off the gas stove and poured boiling water into a waiting teapot. His domesticity contrasted starkly with his rugged appearance—worn flannel shirt, faded jeans, and large belt buckle.
“The Infernal I saw,” Mariel began, “was a little over seven feet tall, nowhere near as large as the one you describe.”
Les set the pot on the table, then returned to the counter to retrieve a paper bag. He shook the contents—scones—onto a plate.
“Well, here’s the thing.” He glanced over his shoulder at them. “It wasn’t that big before it killed my Mark.”
Reed’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He withdrew it quickly. He normally kept the damn thing off, but with Eve in training he wanted to be accessible. Glancing at the caller ID, he cursed silently. Sara. He hit the button that sent the call to voicemail.
Sarakiel was both an archangel and his ex-lover. She helmed the European firm, her flawless angelic features fueling the sales of the multimillion-dollar Sara Kiel Cosmetics empire. She was also on his shit list, so he had been avoiding her calls for the last few weeks. That wasn’t going to change right now.
“You’re saying the Infernal grew in size?” Reed asked, returning his full attention to the conversation.
“Yes.” Les set out three teacups, then pulled out a spindle-backed chair for himself.
“Did you witness the attack?” Mariel asked.
“Just barely. If I’d blinked, I would have missed it. The blooming thing was fast. Impossibly fast. It rushed at Kim in a blur. Ran on all fours—fists and feet to the ground. Almost like an ape, but graceful like a canine. Kim screamed and the Infernal leaped into her open mouth, just disappeared inside her. I couldn’t believe it. By the time I figured out what happened, it was over.”
“What did happen?” Reed asked the question, but he already knew the answer.
“She . . .” Les swallowed hard. “She exploded. But it was wrong. All wrong. What was left behind . . . there wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough of her. No bone, no blood . . .”
“Just muscle and skin,” Reed finished, declining Les’s silent offer of t
ea.
“Yeah, that’d be right. So where does everything else go?” Les poured two servings of tea, his hands visibly shaking. After he set the pot down, he looked between Mariel and Reed. “I think the Infernal absorbed the rest. That’s how it grew.”
Mariel accepted the cup Les handed to her. “Were you responding to a herald?”
A herald was an instinctive cry for help from Mark to handler that was so powerful it was sometimes felt by mortals. A sixth sense, some called it. The sensation that something was “off,” something they couldn’t put their finger on.
Les shook his head. “I didn’t wait for it. I’d sent her after some Patupairehe faeries that were causing trouble for tourists. They were her specialty, so when I felt her fear, I knew something was wrong.”
Reed leaned back in his chair. “Raguel didn’t say anything about the Infernal growing larger.”
“He doesn’t know.” Les broke off a piece of a scone. “Uriel wanted to keep the news to himself until he could figure out what to do with it.”
“This is not the time for the archangels to be territorial,” Mariel protested.
“My thoughts exactly, which is why I’m telling you. There is something else.” Pushing away from the table, Les twisted around in his seat and collected an item from the counter behind him. He set it down in front of Mariel.
She picked up the zippered sandwich bag and examined its contents. “It looks like there’s blood on this rock.”
“There is. Open her up.”
Mariel did as directed. Instantly the honey-sweet smell of Mark blood filled the air. It was unusually robust and Reed found himself breathing through his mouth to diminish the potency of the scent.
“Your Mark’s blood,” she noted. “Why are you keeping it?”
Les’s lips thinned. “That’s the Infernal’s blood. I put a hole in the thing when it came at me.”
“If your scene is anything like the one I saw,” Reed muttered, “that could be Mark tissue. There was nothing within three yards that wasn’t completely covered with gore.”
“I shifted some distance away before I discharged my pistol,” Les said. “That blood didn’t come from my Mark, because we were at least a kilometer’s distance from where she was killed.”
