Eve of Destruction

by S. J. Day

  “How did the Infernal know where you were shifting to?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it, mate? My theory is that the Infernal absorbs not only the blood and bone of the Marks it kills, but also some of the connection to the handler. I’m guessing it’s only temporary. Before I finished emptying my clip, it became impervious to the bullets. Could have been some kind of warding or could have been acquired vulnerability from my Mark that faded when the connection did. The Infernal certainly had no idea I was going to shoot it.”

  “Even temporary is too long.” Reed’s foot tapped against the floor. “How much information can it absorb? How long does it retain what it learns? We need to know if your theory is right.”

  Mariel carefully closed the bag. “Can we go to the scene? I’d like to take a look for myself. I’m the only one who’s seen all the locations of attack. I would like to see if a usable pattern emerges.”

  “Of course.” Les drank his tea in one swallow. “The area is remote. Stick close during the shift.”

  He disappeared.

  Glancing at Mariel, Reed stood. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Reaching around Izzie—who refused to move—Eve set a large bowl of salad on the makeshift dining table. They had combined three folding card tables into one larger table in the men’s dining room. Seating was still cramped, but Gadara insisted they eat together. Eve understood that he was trying to foster a familial connection between the Marks, but after three weeks of sharing lunches at Gadara Tower, she couldn’t see why it would work now when it hadn’t before.

  “I hate tomatoes,” Laurel griped, looking into the bowl. “Couldn’t you have kept them separate?”

  “Feel free to help,” Eve retorted.

  Gadara entered the dining room from the adjacent kitchen. He carried a fresh-from-the-oven pan of lasagna—without the safety of gloves.

  Glaring at Eve, Laurel tossed her strawberry-blond hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick of her wrist. She was in her early twenties, her skin freckled in a becoming way, her eyes a pretty cornflower blue. She was a couple of inches taller than Eve, slightly more slender and less athletic, and gifted with the ability to complain about nearly everything. Eve had no idea how that proclivity had gone over in her homeland of New Zealand. Here in America, Laurel’s charming accent softened the annoyance factor some. She was one of the classmates Eve wondered about. What could Laurel have done to end up marked? Her self-preoccupation was annoying, but otherwise she struck Eve as innocuous enough. And she seemed like the type who needed a lot of friends, not a loner.

  Gadara looked at Eve with a questioning glance and she shook her head, silently telling him not to worry about it. She was having a hard time adjusting to the new image of the archangel she was forming. Before she’d been marked, she had held Gadara in high esteem for his secular talents. Donald Trump aspired to be Raguel Gadara when he grew up. As an interior designer, Eve had applied to Gadara Enterprises for a job, hoping to be a part of the redesign of his Mondego Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Now, she was working with him—just not in a way she could ever have imagined.

  Of course, their association wasn’t happenstance. Alec swore nothing was a coincidence and everything followed a divine plan. If that was true, the loss of her virginity to Cain and her subsequent marking had both simply been a matter of time. Therefore, working for Gadara had also been inevitable.

  To her, the whole thing was wack.

  Richens appeared from the kitchen. He skirted Gadara and set a plate of store-bought garlic bread on the table. “I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

  “Who will say grace?” Gadara looked at Eve.

  Her brow arched.

  “I will.” Claire stood, towering over the table.

  The Frenchwoman’s brown hair was super short and looked as if she had cut it herself. Her skin was porcelain perfect, her lashes thick and dark behind cute black-framed glasses that were worn for aesthetic reasons only—the mark cured myopia and every other imperfection. She was so beautiful it was hard not to stare, yet she didn’t pay much mind to her looks. She wore no makeup or hair products. However, she did have a weakness for clothes. For this short trip, she had brought a duffel almost as big as she was.

  The moment the short prayer was finished, the group settled elbow-to-elbow at the makeshift table and began passing the food around. It wasn’t gourmet cuisine, but it was still pretty good. For a while, everyone was too busy shoveling food to talk—sating the need to refuel often and in large quantities—then excited discussion about the week’s upcoming events kicked into high gear.

  Eve ate mechanically, feeling disconnected from the boisterous atmosphere by a fuzzy sensation she called a “brain cloud.” She felt as if she was coming down with a nasty cold. She was exhausted and suspected she was running a mild fever. Since the mark prevented illness, she was more than a little concerned. As soon as she had a moment alone, she planned to call Alec about it. She didn’t feel like discussing any weakness in front of the others.

  “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Ken asked, always ready to leap in headfirst.

  “My training plans are a closely guarded secret, Mr. Callaghan,” Gadara said, smiling. “Besides, in actual field conditions you will have to think on your feet.”

  “What should we do to prepare?” Eve asked.

  “Dress in layers. It is chilly in the morning here and depending on how well you progress tomorrow, we may be out until evening.”

  “That is when the ghosts come out and play,” Izzie said in a deliberately affected low and dramatic tone, followed by a bwa-ha-ha bark of laughter that sounded even funnier with a German accent. “Maybe they will visit us tonight.”

  “Don’t make jokes,” Claire muttered. “Real Infernals are bad enough.”

  “Who says I’m joking? I watched a television show on this place just last week. One of those ghost hunter series.”

  Richens nodded. “We have similar programs in the U.K.”

  “What are you talking about?” Claire asked.

  “There are people,” Edwards explained, “who go to allegedly haunted locations and try to find proof of supernatural activity. They record their activities for television.”

  “Vraiment?” Claire’s brows rose. “With what type of equipment do they search?”

  Ken laughed. “A camcorder and a torch. Mostly all you see is screaming in the dark.”

  “Yes,” Izzie agreed. “That is what I saw. It was strange that they waited until the middle of the night to ‘investigate.’ They deliberately turned the lights off, too. What is the reasoning behind doing that? If there are Infernals in the place, they don’t give a shit if the lights are on or not.”

  “Torches?” Eve asked.

  “Flashlights,” Gadara explained.

  Claire frowned. “What is the purpose?”

  “Entertainment,” Richens muttered.

  “For whom? The persons screaming in the dark? Or the television viewers?”

  “I don’t get it either,” Eve said, figuring she could contribute at least that much to the discussion.

  Everyone looked at her, then resumed speaking.

  “So are there truly Infernals in this place?” Claire asked. “Or just overactive imaginations?”

  “There are Infernals everywhere,” Gadara reminded. “But what fuels these shows are rumor and conjecture. However, if there are Infernals nearby when the shows are filming, they sometimes play along for their own amusement.”

  Eve pushed back from the table and stood, taking her plate with her. “I need to make a call before it gets too late.”

  “To Cain?” Laurel’s smile was brittle.

  “Who I call is none of your business.”

  “You are fortunate to have someone to answer you,” Romeo murmured, rubbing his fingertips up and down Laurel’s spine.

  Eve knew her situation was rare. She couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or not. Did her lingering connec
tion to her family mean she didn’t have many indulgences to earn to gain her freedom? Or was her connection to Cain so valuable that her family ties were worth overlooking?

  Setting her plate on the counter by the sink, Eve exited out the kitchen door and sat on the cement stoop. Above her, the sky was a gorgeous midnight blue. An inordinate number of stars twinkled between rapidly moving clouds. In her hometown, pollution created a charcoal gray night that hid much of the universe’s celestial beauty, but Eve would gladly trade being there for here.

  She punched in Alec’s number. As the phone rang, Eve brushed her hair back from her damp forehead. She became dizzy if she moved too quickly, and her breathing was coming fast and shallow. The mark only allowed such reactions when arousal or a hunt was involved. Stress and illness weren’t factors.

  So what the fuck is wrong with me?

  Her physical acclimation to the mark had been screwy from the get-go, fading in and out like someone twisting the volume knob on a radio.

  “You’ve reached Alec Cain. Leave a message or call Meggido Industries at 800-555-7777.”

  The sound of Alec’s voice made Eve’s throat tight. “Come back in one piece,” she told his voicemail. “And call me when you can.”

  Feeling in need of some fussing, she speed-dialed her parents and waited impatiently for one of them to pick up. They would check the caller ID first, since they never answered calls from numbers they didn’t recognize—

  “Hey, darlin’.”

  Eve smiled at the sound of her father’s familiar drawl. “Hey, Dad. What are you doing?”

  “Watching television and telling myself to go to bed. How about you?”

  “I’m up in Monterey.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” The smile was evident in his voice. “Your mother told me you had some work up there.”

  “Yes. Work.”

  “Well, take some time to see the aquarium.”

  “I’ll try.”

  There was silence for the space of a few heartbeats, but Eve was used to it. Her father was the master of silence—companionable, awkward, and disapproving. She could handle screaming shrews and bellowing assholes, but Darrel Hollis’s wordless disapproval could make her feel smaller than an ant.

  Usually she’d try to fill the void with inanities, but tonight she was just glad to have an open line to someone who loved her.

  Her father cleared his throat. “Your mom isn’t here right now. She went to her tanka group.”

  “That’s okay. I’m fine with just talking to you.”

  “Is something on your mind? Are you having trouble with Alec?”

  “No. We’re good.”

  “You both should come over for dinner when you get back into town.”

  “Sure. We’d like that.”

  Another stretch of silence, then, “Are you having work trouble?”

  Not that she could share. “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. I just called to say hi. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. Looking forward to having dinner with you.” He yawned. “I’m going to call it a night, honey. Don’t work too hard.”

  Eve sighed, wishing they were capable of doing more than making small talk. “Say hi to Mom for me.”

  “Of course. And find a way to the see the aquarium. You can’t go to Monterey without seeing the aquarium.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Night, Evie.”

  She snapped the phone shut just as the kitchen door opened behind her. As she pushed to her feet, a hand settled on her shoulder and urged her to stay down.

  Eve looked up. “What’s up, Richens?”

  “Stick around,” he said, joining her on the small step. “I could use the company; this place gives me the screamin’ abdabs.”

  “Is that like the creeps?”

  “Yeah.”

  It was the first real overture any of the Marks had made to her, so she stayed.

  She slid over a little to give him more room. “Me, too.”

  “Is that why you called home?”

  “Kinda.” She was keeping her health to herself.

  “Your old man isn’t very chatty, eh.”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you that eavesdropping is rude?”

  “No. So what’s your sin?”

  Glancing at him with arched brow, Eve was struck again by his youth. He’d been a pudgy teenager when she met him just three weeks ago. He would retain that youthful appearance until he lost the mark, but the baby fat was gone. The mark made the body too efficient to carry around extra weight. His acne had cleared up, too, and the scars from them. What remained from the transformation was a young man of average height and build with somber features and wily gray eyes.

  “Is that like ‘what’s your sign?’ ” she queried.

  Richens shook his head. “I wouldn’t piss off Cain by hitting on his girl. Besides, you’re a bit long in the tooth for me.”

  “Ouch.”

  He shrugged. “So, what did you do to end up here?”

  “Cain.”

  “That’s it?” He scowled. “You’re here for shagging?”

  “So I’m told.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” he said magnanimously. “It can still work out.”

  “What can still work out?”

  “My plan. I killed people. Two of them. That’s why I’m here.”

  Eve blinked. “You?”

  She’d pegged him as the type of kid who drank too much soda, ate too much junk food, and played too many intricate, complicated video games. Murder, however, did not become him.

  “Don’t act so bloody startled.” He shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pouch. “The owner of the store where I worked was an arseface. I was doing his job, too, but not getting paid for it.”

  “You should have quit, not killed him.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It was supposed to be a simple robbery. I knew how much money came in and when it went out to the bank. I’d helped to select the security system for the place, so I knew all the codes. The scheme was aces. I was to work the counter and play the victim, and my girl’s cousin was to pull off the heist.”

  After her initial surprise, Eve didn’t find the tale too unbelievable. Richens was so detached, so cerebral. He would have viewed the whole thing as a game. “Something went wrong, I take it.”

  “I was swizzed,” he bit out. “That’s what went wrong. The bloke wasn’t her cousin at all, she was banging the git. They thought they’d hie off with my share of the spoils? Not bloody likely.”

  Eve didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing at all.

  “Then the blighter shot a kid dead,” Richens continued, his voice rising along with his temper. “Wasn’t no more than ten years old, I’d guess. Buying some chocolate. That’s when I pulled the gun out from under the counter and shot them both dead.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I think teaming up is the way to get ahead.” He looked at her. “Like that television show Survivor, I think working together in small groups is the way to win.”

  “But we’re not trying to eliminate each other in order to win a prize.”

  Richens’s gaze narrowed. “So? We can still help each other. You’re the brawn, I’m the brains. Better to be at an advantage than at a disadvantage, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Why me? What about Edwards?”

  “Edwards is in with us. He has his reservations, of course, because he doesn’t want to irk Cain, but he’ll come around. It’s easier to work with girls. Less chest thumping. He’ll see that.”

  Eve laughed. “You could have approached Izzie. She’s brawnier than me.”

  “She’s also ’round the twist,” he scoffed.

  “Aren’t we all?”

  He stood. “If you’re not interested, just say so.”

  She noted h
is short fuse for future reference.

  “I’m all for working together,” Eve murmured. “I could use some friends around here.”

  His smile was nothing less than charming. It transformed his features and brightened his eyes. He held out a hand to her and helped her to her feet. “We’ve got a deal, then.”

  “Sure.” The coming week was going to be interesting.

  Richens opened the kitchen door, which swung inward, and stepped inside, completely foregoing the “ladies first” rule. Eve shook her head and was about to enter behind him when the low growl of a canine rumbled through the evening air. Chills raced down her spine.

  Pivoting on the narrow stoop, she blinked and engaged the nictitating lenses that allowed her to see in the dark. She searched the nearby area, the heat of her already fevered skin rising.

  But she saw nothing. No gleam of moonlight in malevolent eyes, no betraying movement. She sniffed the air and smelled the sea.

  Still, she knew something was out there.

  The bushes dividing their yard from the neighbor’s rustled. Eve leaped to the yellowed grass and landed in a crouch. A tiny puff rushed out at her and she caught it, lifting it by the scruff and drawing her fist back to strike.

  Hold it, sweetie! the toy poodle cried, flailing its tiny legs.

  Eve paused midswing, her marked senses retreating as quickly as they’d come, taking the overwhelming urge to kill with it. The mark created power and aggression in highly intense quantities. The sensations were base and animalistic, not at all the elegant sort of violence she might have expected the Almighty to use in the destruction of his enemies. The surge was brutal . . . and addicting.

  Don’t punch the messenger.

  “Jesus—ouch!” Eve winced as her mark flared in protest. Since she wasn’t a pet owner, days could go by without any animals speaking to her. She often forgot that the mark had given her new senses, such as the ability to converse with all of God’s creatures. “What are you doing running at me like that?”

  I’m in a hurry. Put me down. This isn’t dignified.

  Eve set the little creature down and watched as the obvious stray shook herself off. Despite the filth that darkened the poodle’s cream-colored fur to a café au lait color, the dog was adorable. “Why are you growling at me?”