by S. J. Day
“Can anyone ever be ready for it?” he retorted, aggravated by her outburst.
Giselle skirted him and got in his face. Hands on her slim hips, she demanded, “What about that woman you were talking to on the phone last night? I heard the tone of your voice. She’s special to you. Do you care about what the end of the world means to her?”
Alec paused and exhaled harshly. Examining his feelings for Eve was like trying to see through fogged glass. He knew they were there, could see the shadows and shapes, but the details were lost to him. It was similar to being served his favorite dessert and discovering he had no appetite.
“Yes,” he said, honestly. “I care about what happens to her.” There was more than sex and love involved in his feelings for Eve—respect and admiration, affection and nostalgia. The best days of his life had been spent with her. Being an archangel didn’t change everything.
She nodded. “Okay, then. Tell me what’s going on, so I can help.”
He related the bare minimum required to bring her up to speed, while simultaneously reaching out to Eve. She seemed to be . . . napping. She was presently a blank slate, hovering in the space between consciousness and REM sleep. He frowned, wondering if the panic he’d felt from her a moment ago had been part of a dream. Having never shared a connection like this with anyone before, he wasn’t certain how they worked. He reached out to his brother and found him unconcerned about Eve beyond what Alec would expect.
Abel expelled him forcefully. Stay out of my head, Cain, before I find you and kill you.
Alec gave the mental equivalent of flipping him the bird.
“Wow.” Giselle sank onto the bed. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be any help, but I will sure try.”
His brows rose. “What happened to the Mare who thought we were on a suicide mission?”
“She hooked up with an archangel. Kinda changes the odds, you know.”
“Pack your stuff. We leave in five.”
The conference call was anticlimactic. Raguel had, of course, been absent. His replacement was a no-show. Sara had a poor connection. It was decided to postpone the bulk of the conversation until all seven firms could be represented.
Reed left the crowded interior of the duplex in favor of the driveway. He was trying to figure out a way to keep Eve out of Anytown short of tying her up, when a low female voice drew his attention.
“Hey.”
He turned his head and watched the blonde—Izzie, the Goth girl—approach. She had her fingers shoved into the teeny pockets of her black skirt and her eyes were half lidded.
“Hey back,” he replied.
“I hear Cain was around earlier.”
“You didn’t miss anything.”
She shrugged. “I’ve met him before.”
“I’m sorry.”
A smile teased the corners of her pretty mouth. His gaze rested there, his thoughts returning to what that mouth had done to him earlier. The memory had as much impact as remembering to get his hair cut—convenient and good for the vanity, but not necessary. He wished he could say that about Eve.
“It was not so bad,” she said. Her gaze locked with his. “In fact, it was very good.”
Reed froze, absorbing the innuendo with growing unease. Her accent was Germanic. “You’re from . . . ?”
“Germany.”
“Sarakiel,” he growled.
“I was marked by one of her team, yes.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago. I arrived in California the day class started.”
“And which firm will you be attached to when class is over?”
Her smile widened. “This one.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. In the normal order of things, Izzie would have had anywhere from one to seven weeks to settle into her new country and firm. She would have been assigned housing, given a vehicle and a bank account, shown around the city, and had a tour of Gadara Tower before starting training. In some cases, Marks were transplanted to their new firms, then found themselves back in their home countries for training if that’s the way the schedule fell. But following that bit of protocol would not have placed Izzie in the same class with Eve.
Nothing was coincidence. Sara had known of Izzie’s past and put it into play against Eve. Izzie’s selection was the hand of God, but using her as an irritant . . . that was pure Sara.
“You are not happy about this,” Izzie murmured.
“Why would I care?”
“Sara believed you would be pleased. But then, I do not think she knows how you feel about your brother’s girlfriend.”
He kept his face impassive, despite her dig.
“You called Eve’s name,” she continued, “when you came.”
Screw beating around the bush; he didn’t have time for it. “What do you want?”
“The same thing you do. Cain away from Hollis.”
He laughed. “Did no one tell you that Cain has been promoted to archangel? He’s incapable of giving a shit about either of you.”
“I do not need him to care. I just need him to give me an orgasm.” Her lashes batted coyly. “You and I can help each other.”
Seeing the similarities between Izzie and Sara, fury filled him. With his wings spread wide, Reed lunged across the distance between them, his face contorted with the rage of angels. He caught her by the throat and lifted her feet from the ground. Her eyes were like saucers in her pale face, her stained lips parted in a bid for breath.
In a terrible voice he warned, “You forget your place. We are not equals.”
“I d-did not m-mean—”
“Keep your distance from Eve. You will do nothing to her. Nothing.” His free hand lifted and cupped her face, his thumb pressing into her lips and smearing her purple lipstick along her cheekbone. “Or you will answer to me.”
Her hands wrapped around his wrists. “P-perhaps you w-will answer t-to Sara . . .”
His grip around her neck tightened.
“Abel.” Montevista’s sharp tone snared his attention. “What are you doing?”
Reed tossed Izzie to the grass that bordered the driveway. She puddled, but he knew she wouldn’t stay humbled for long. He faced the guard, schooling his features into a less frightening mien. “It seems Ms. . . . ?”
“Seiler,” Montevista provided grimly.
“It seems Ms. Seiler has too much time on her hands. Perhaps you have something you can occupy her with?”
Montevista nodded. “Come with me, Seiler.”
Izzie stood and straightened her skirt. Her slow smile with its ruined lipstick was macabre and served as a warning to Reed. Like Sara, life was all about the game to her—the maneuvering, the planning, the winning. Cain was a prize to be won and Reed had played right into her hands by joining his brother as a notch on her belt.
Retracting his wings, he turned away. Shit. Sara being here would only add to the tension. Cain was out of commission, but the obstacles in Reed’s path hadn’t diminished; they’d just changed. And women were much sneakier than men.
He looked at the house across the street, returning his attention to the most pressing problem. The redhead—Michelle—had come outside with a camcorder. The Great Dane and the Scottish Mark—Callaghan, the Ken doll—stood nearby. She appeared to be filming the neighborhood, whether for the show or for fun, he didn’t know. He was concerned, however, by Callaghan’s presence. The class was supposed to be in the house, helping Hank with the processing of evidence. Observing the many duties of the Exceptional Projects Department was part of training. Why wasn’t Callaghan participating?
Reed shook off the thought. Eve’s paranoia was filling him with suspicions, too. Fact was, Callaghan was a man and Michelle was pretty and possibly available. In the Mark’s shoes, Reed would think that making out with a hot redhead was more fun than hanging out with Hank and his potions, too.
Sensing Reed’s stare, Callaghan looked up and waved. He said something to Michelle, then walked over.
“Mo
ntevista asked me tae keep an eye on them,” Callaghan explained when he reached Reed. “So they dinnae wander off.”
“She’s cute.”
Callaghan grinned. “Aye, that she is. She wanted tae see Anytown now for some daytime filming, but I think I talked her out o’ it.”
“Where are the others?”
“In the house.”
Reed made an aggravated sound. “This whole thing is fucked all around. We don’t have the time or resources to baby-sit them.”
The unmistakable sounds of gagging preceded the abrupt appearance of the French Mark—Claire, the fashionista—lurching from around the corner.
She paused at the sight of them, swallowing hard. “I never thought I would wish for the ability to vomit,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” Reed’s gaze lifted to the side of the house she’d emerged from.
“The E.P.D. investigators are examining R-Richens’s body.” She bent over and clutched her knees, inhaling and exhaling carefully.
The urge to puke was all in her head, but like the Novium, knowing the cause didn’t make the phantom feeling seem any less real. Reed sympathized. He wasn’t fond of cadavers either, especially grisly ones.
“I have to leave,” she said. “I hate this place.”
“We’re trying,” he murmured, also sympathizing with whichever handler ended up with her. She was going to need a lot of help acclimating to the mark.
“I hated him, too,” she said.
“Who?”
“Richens. He was an asshole.”
“Aye,” Callaghan agreed.
“And now I feel terrible to have thought about him in that way,” she muttered.
Reed smiled.
“How much longer do we have to stay?” she asked.
“As soon as they go,” he gestured across the street with a jerk of his chin, “we can go.”
“What do they want?”
“To prove or disprove that there is paranormal activity in Anytown.”
“Where is a tengu when you need one?” she groused.
Reed paused, considering. A sense of déjà vu washed over him, as if he was meant to think of the idea that popped into his head. “Good idea.”
“Excuse me?”
“Why wait for them to figure it out for themselves?” He looked at Callaghan. “Let’s go with them now. We’ll rig something to give them the proof they want, then there won’t be any reason for them to stay.”
“They dinnae want proof of it,” Callaghan said. “They’re here tae disprove.”
“I watched the video they gave Hollis,” Claire said. “Mostly it was nothing for the first half an hour or so. Then they went to the video store and there was a shadow that looked like a DVD case floating in midair.”
“Perfect. So we give them a reasonable explanation for what the other crew saw and they’re done here.”
“Can I accompany you?” Claire asked. “I cannot go back in that house. Not now.”
“Where’s Hollis?”
“Helping Edwards. He is worse than me. He liked Richens.”
“And Hogan and Garza?”
“Hogan is fine with the corpse. Better than the rest of us. Garza accompanied Hank back to Anytown. He had to carry the equipment.”
“Let’s keep Hollis out of this.” Eve was safer surrounded by her class, the guards, and the E.P.D. investigators than she was anywhere else.
“Callaghan.” Reed looked at the Scottsman. “Offer to accompany the ghost hunters to Anytown, then lead them around to the video store. Claire and I will go on ahead, and set things up.”
“Will do.” Callaghan set off across the street.
Reed turned his attention to Claire. “Are you ready to go?”
She nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Let’s get—”
A wolf howled. A long, drawn out cry followed by excited yips.
The rapid whirring of an approaching helicopter’s blades shouldn’t have bothered Reed, not considering the number of military installations in the area. But the wolf—far from indigenous to the area—sounded almost . . . joyful at the sound. Welcoming. Its tone set off alarms. Reed listened to them.
“Callaghan.”
The Mark turned back. “Aye?”
“Get the redhead in the house, and keep the rest of the kids in there.”
The urgency of his tone brought a gleam to Callaghan’s eyes. The Mark nodded grimly and stepped up his pace.
“I will go with him,” Claire offered. “At least there are no dead bodies in their house.”
“Yes, go. No one comes in or goes out until I say otherwise.”
She took a step forward, then looked at him with blue eyes wide behind her trendy black-framed spectacles. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
He reached out to her, touching her shoulder in a silent offer of comfort. “You can do whatever needs to be done. God would not have chosen you otherwise.”
Seemingly reassured, she jogged after Callaghan.
Reed pivoted on his heel and strode toward the house.
CHAPTER 18
Eve woke to a dull throbbing at the back of her head and a phantom shiver coursing down her spine. The howl of a wolf had woken her. Had it been a dream, or reality?
She wiggled, trying to find a more comfortable position. Instead, she realized she was strapped to a wobbly metal chair with her wrists bound behind her. A gag was in her mouth, the knot of which was pressing hard to a sore spot at the back of her skull. She must have been nearly brained during the attack, otherwise the mark would have healed her by now.
Groaning, she willed her foggy mind to catch up with her circumstances. She sat in near darkness, light filtering in through two thin vertical cracks on either side of her. She extended one leg, trying to gauge the amount of space around her. It connected with hollow wood that swayed outward, briefly allowing more light to enter. She tried to rock backward, but discovered a wall behind her.
She was in a closet with sliding track doors. The kind of closet that was in the McCroskey duplexes.
Was she still in the home Raguel had arranged for? Or had she been moved to a vacant one? Where was everyone else?
Eve focused on her superhearing, but registered only her own breathing. Then it came again, unmistakable and chilling—a wolf howling in what sounded like victory.
A whirring in the periphery of her consciousness grew in volume and she recognized it as an approaching helicopter. There was no reason to put the two together, aside from her instinctive belief that they were connected.
Follow your gut, Alec had said.
Using her feet, Eve worked the closet door over in small but regular intervals. Her mind was working as well, reaching out to Reed and Alec, then recoiling as pain lanced through her skull. She moaned into the gag, wishing her hands were free so she could check the back of her head for the stake that had to be driven through it.
How the fuck was she going to get out of here? She tried again to connect to either of the brothers. Same result. Pain intense enough to make her fear unconsciousness.
She needed a knife. And a new brain, because the one she had was killing her.
Feeling completely hypocritical, Eve closed her eyes and asked—as nicely as she could under the circumstances—for a sword. Frankly, she would prefer that such things were provided without her begging or that she could get a gun instead, but she knew the drill. The Almighty preferred the biblical flame-covered sword for a dash of drama. Flashy intimidation was one of his fortes.
She hadn’t told Reed earlier when he asked, but truth was, she was always surprised when her request for the weapon was granted. She believed that one day the Almighty would turn his nose up at her and say her lack of faith had tried his patience one too many times. The possibility didn’t inspire confidence.
Thankfully, this time wasn’t the time when God left her to the wolves. The sword materialized in her hand. Actually, it was more like an envelope opener. She almost dropp
ed it, but retained it with a fumbling grasp and a muffled scream. Even as it burned through the rope around her wrists, it scorched and blistered her flesh. The smell reminded her of dying in a men’s bathroom at Qualcomm Stadium and strengthened her resolve.
Damned if she’d let these fuckers kill her again.
The rope gave way and Eve dropped the knife. She pulled her sizzling hands into her lap and felt the blood rush into the extremities with sharp tingles. The damage repaired before her eyes, the ruined flesh dropping away like torn gloves, leaving unmarred skin behind. The pain faded away at a much slower rate, but Eve pushed it aside. She didn’t have time to focus on herself. She had to know where the rest of the class was, and she had some Infernal killing to do.
Tugging the gag from her mouth, Eve sucked in a deep breath. She stood and bumped her head into the underside of a shelf. Cursing, she froze, wondering if anyone had heard her. Wondering if it mattered.
The dagger continued to burn on the floor. She could stop it by sending the blade away, but she didn’t. There was more than one way to call for help, and she’d use the old-fashioned smoke signal just as well as preternatural means. As the varnish melted and exposed the vulnerable wood beneath, smoke began to tendril upward. Pushing aside one of the closet doors, Eve rushed out and found herself in the bedroom where she’d been knocked out. She also found the mauled and lifeless corpse of another classmate.
A scream was trapped in her tightening throat.
Behind her, the drywall caught fire and burst into flames.
Etheric projection was never easy. The concentration required to be in two places at once was always draining. Fortunately, the rush inherent in the hunt and subsequent kill energized. Without that, there was no way to have maintained the duplicity this long.
In less than an hour, they would all be dead.
What a coup! Just weeks ago, all had seemed lost. All had been lost—killed, destroyed, ruined. Then, exactly like a phoenix emerging from the ashes, the hopes and dreams of every Infernal had arisen from the remnants of the Upland masonry.
Since that night, they had achieved more than any demon ever dreamed was possible. They had lived with an archangel, spoken face-to-face with both Cain and Abel, mingled among the most traitorous of their own kind, and through it all they remained undetected.
