“What if you sucked the power to do it right out of my soul?”
Lil cleared her throat warningly. I was too close to what she wanted me keeping from Remiel.
“Again, impossible,” he cried.
“I need to know where we’re going,” Lil broke in. “Maybe you could take a look at my phone and enter the address for me, Zack.”
“Hunh?” I responded. “Oh, sure…” I pulled out the little device and glanced over it while Remy continued to frown at the photos. He was acting like, if he stared at them hard enough, the names on them might change. Lil regarded me out of the corner of her eye, pecking at the steering wheel the whole time. I gritted my teeth and tried to block out the nerve-shredding sound.
She’d tracked down the missing pages from de Garmeaux’s book. They contained sketches of items from an archaeological dig originally funded by an Englishman, then seized by Napoleon on his infamous jaunt through Egypt, back in the late 1700s. My eyes were drawn to one particular name—Dorian Hartleigh. It couldn’t have been coincidence.
Dorimiel.
I angled the phone toward the passenger-side window, scrolling swiftly through the PDF. My thumb froze above a sketch of one of the treasures. My stomach dropped like a runaway elevator.
It was an Eye of Horus—but not just any Eye of Horus. Central to the eye was a thick, dark stone. It looked as if the pendant had been shaped to accommodate the slightly oblong chunk of rock, not the other way around. The sketch was black and white, but in my mind’s eye, that stone burned a dark and bloody red. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what I was looking at.
The Eye of Nefer-Ka.
With nerveless fingers, I shoved the phone back at Lil. She gave me a look. I gave her one right back. I turned to say something to Remiel—which, for the record, didn’t have anything to do with the icon, but Lil misunderstood. She raised her hand, ready to smack me the minute I opened my mouth.
Remy chose that moment to pass the reference photos back to me.
“I understand now why you’re so upset,” he began, holding the images poised between us. He glanced pointedly to Lil, adding, “And why Lilianna is trying so hard to shut you up about it, but I assure you, I knew nothing of these things.”
Beside me, Lil ground her teeth, her features locked in a furious scowl. She didn’t even bother to correct her name.
Remy tapped the topmost image with a gleaming, manicured nail. It was the jar with Anakesiel.
“If he is really in here,” he said in barely a murmur, “there is only one way it could have happened. It’s unthinkable, but no other conclusion makes sense. Someone uncovered the icon of the Anakim primus, and they used it to bind the man himself. I didn’t think such a thing was even possible.”
Shit. Now we were in territory I didn’t want to make common knowledge. One icon on the table was bad enough.
“Uh—why does it have to be the Stylus?” I stammered. “There are other Icons out there. Your tribe has something that can steal powers, right?”
Lil shot me a speculative look—then jabbed her elbow into my ribs. At least it wasn’t the side with the gun. Remiel piqued a brow at this exchange, but opted not to comment.
“I’m not sitting here and swapping theories all night,” she complained. “Lailah’s still out there somewhere—or did you two forget? My sister’s in trouble because of your shit.”
“Dorimiel has her out on a boat,” I answered. I rubbed my side, feeling both annoyed and contrite.
“Dorimiel again?” Remy wondered. “Is that why you were asking about him at dinner?”
“Don’t feign ignorance,” I demanded. “He’s behind this whole damned thing.”
Remy scowled and fussed with the end of his braid. “We don’t keep close tabs on one another. Not outside of our own hierarchies—and besides, Dorimiel was gone for such a long time.”
“That’s what you said at dinner.”
“Shall I spell it out for you? He was bound,” Remy stated flatly. “As a consequence of the last of the Blood Wars. You throw accusations at me right and left, Zaquiel, but the members of your tribe are hardly blameless. That includes you,” he added with quiet heat.
I thought back to the murderous scene in the temple and shut my mouth.
“Tell me you at least have the location of the boat,” Lil said.
“Nope,” I admitted glumly. “Kessiel was more interested in dying than revealing the master plan.”
“Oh,” Remy responded, poking the bag of bones on the seat beside him. “So that’s who this is.”
“He started it,” I shot back.
Lil smacked her hands against the steering wheel, hard. “If you two don’t stop fucking around,” she shouted, “I’m going to drive this car right into the lake. Get me something I can use to help my sister!”
“What about Saliriel?” Remy offered.
Lil emitted a strangled sound of wordless rage.
“Are you nuts?” I demanded.
Undeterred, Remy persisted. “This is her territory. If Dorimiel is responsible for these events, she is the local decimus. She needs to know of these things.”
“That was my fucking point,” I snarled. “She has to know what’s going on. How can she not know?”
“Zaquiel. She is not as bad as you think,” Remy objected, shooting me that wounded expression that was beginning to irritate the hell out of me. I was tempted to smash it right off of his face. I clenched my fist so tightly the cuts on my knuckles reopened. My sibling inhaled sharply.
He could probably smell the blood.
“If Saliriel was a part of this, do you think I wouldn’t know?” he asked. His clipped and proper accent grew thicker the more defensive he got. “What you are claiming is no less than a conspiracy, brother. It could easily reignite the Blood Wars. Saliriel must be informed.”
Lil sneered at him in the rear-view mirror. “Remy—dear heart—if your naïveté didn’t get people killed so often, it would almost be charming.”
“Lilianna—”
“Don’t ‘Lilianna’ me. Do you seriously believe Saliriel is in the dark about any of this? If anything, he’s cheek to jowl with Dorimiel, orchestrating the whole conspiracy.”
“She,” Remy corrected quietly. “Allow her that much, please.”
“Fuck that!” Lil pounded the steering wheel again, growling in frustration. “You’re impossible!”
My thoughts strayed to tattered memories of Dorimiel and the Eye of Nefer-Ka. The marks he’d left above my heart twinged—though maybe that was just a memory, too. Was it possible to feel an absence of being?
“Let’s do it,” I said.
“Do what?” Lil squawked.
“Let’s go see Saliriel,” I said. “Confront her directly, now that we have more information. The worst she can do is throw us out.”
Lil barked a bitter laugh. “You’ve forgotten a hell of a lot if you think that’s the worst Sal can do.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Remy promised.
Lil glowered at the both of us. A muscle ticked in her cheek as she clenched her jaw.
“Fine,” she grumbled. She turned to Remy. “You’ll talk to her. Then what? You’ll cave the minute she tells you to. I’ve played that tune before, Remington,” she spat. “I know how it ends.”
“This is different,” he protested.
“Oh?” she demanded with a little toss of her head. “And how is it different?”
With quiet vehemence, he said, “This involves family.”
Lil ground her teeth, snarling furiously, “At least I know where I rate.” Then she gunned the motor and tore onto the street.
36
Lil took a circuitous route to the Flats, navigating a maze of backstreets that had me feeling irreparably lost after the first five minutes. A strict edict of silence reigned in the car as she raced down one-way streets and whipped around curves. She didn’t even do that restless thing with her nails—just gritted her teeth and choked us in a smotheri
ng pall of unspoken fury.
Maybe it was Lil’s mood, but I thought the city had a post-apocalyptic feel at this hour. Sure, it was close to two in the morning, but in any other city we would have passed at least a little foot traffic—vagrants, restless teens, locals stumbling home from the bars—something. It was a Friday night. Instead, the streets we drove were empty, with the exception of parked cars mutely lining the curbs.
When we got to Club Heaven, the lot was nearly deserted. This only underscored the impression that it was a zombie apocalypse version of Cleveland. I half-expected to see shambling hordes of walking dead lumbering across the empty lot, dragging themselves from the depths of dumpsters, sewers, and derelict factories.
The thought stopped being funny once I remembered the other night.
There were a few beat-up trucks near the door of the club, a couple of them with logos for industrial repair and construction companies. They would have been more at home at a redneck bar.
“Oh, damn,” Remiel muttered as we pulled up to the empty lot. “The repairs were scheduled for tonight. I forgot entirely. Saliriel will be furious.”
“It sucks to be you,” Lil muttered. She swung the car in a sudden arc, wheels spitting loose gravel. Then she skidded to a halt. “Everybody out.”
She unwound several of the pendants from the mess of charms hung from the rear-view mirror, wordlessly shoving them into her pockets. Tucking her little white clutch-purse primly under one arm, she stepped out of the car, tapping the heel of her Versace boot as she waited.
Remy and I exchanged glances, each daring the other to ask her about the charms. Neither of us was willing to risk it. Before I slammed the door behind me, I grabbed the rucksack full of Kessiel and tucked one of the reference photos into my jacket. Remy frowned a bit as I hefted the sack of dead vampire, but he didn’t try to stop me. He headed toward the entrance of the club.
Lil and I followed mutely along.
The double doors of Club Heaven appeared locked up tight. As we approached the awning, I could just spy a makeshift sign tacked to the door with electrical tape.
REPAIRS TONIGHT.
HEAVEN IS CLOSED.
I wondered if anyone else appreciated the irony.
Remy pulled out a ring of keys. Despite the Mission: Impossible complexity of the security on the back exit, the front door was relatively prosaic. He fussed with a deadbolt, then held the door open for us.
“Let me do the talking,” he urged.
Lil muttered snidely, “Whatever you say, dear.”
The minute we were through the doors, I was reminded why places like Club Heaven were almost never seen with all of their lights on. In the harsh overhead halogens, everything looked dirty and worn. The paint job on the partition was half-assed at best, with huge swaths that were so sparse it was possible to see the original industrial green that lay beneath. The curtains draped across the far wall turned out not to be velvet, but faded, cheap velour. They were covered with cigarette burns and other, less-identifiable stains. Most of the acoustic tiles on the ceiling were warped and sagging, and several were missing entirely.
I glanced at the floor, and quickly looked away.
Instead of throbbing electronica, the sound of hammers and power-tools spilled from the interior of the club. For a few moments there was just the productive rhythm of construction, then Saliriel’s voice cut shrilly above the noise, shouting orders and reprimands with equal fervor.
“At least we know somebody’s home,” I muttered.
Remy pulled ahead, stepping around the corner of the front partition. I followed along, noticing that he stopped where the cash register stood, a bittersweet expression playing across his features. Hell, even I was thinking about poor Alice, and I’d only known the girl briefly.
It made me wonder how many others had died the other night, as the cacodaimons searched for me. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to hear the final head count. It was a testament to Saliriel’s pull with the Cleveland police that the club was even free to start making repairs. Most places would still be closed off after an incident like that, tied up in lawsuits and red tape.
I steeled myself before I walked any further, envisioning that fist clenched tightly in my mind. I could already feel impressions plucking at me—a sense of panic, the ghostly echoes of gunfire and screams. Now wasn’t the time to go all Dead Zone on the place. I shoved those senses to a back corner of my mind. The impressions retreated, though I still caught flickers on the periphery.
The curtain I’d pulled down on top of myself was gone, so once we passed the cash register, we had a clear view of the interior of the club. All the blood and debris had been cleared away, and an antiseptic scent hung heavily upon the air.
My sibling, the gender-bending beauty queen, stood near the center of the dance floor, overseeing the replacement of the disco ball. Her outfit was far more conservative than the previous night, and might have even passed for business casual in the outside world—low-cut V-neck, bolero jacket, a little pencil skirt and three-inch pumps—all in shades of light beige and a pink so pale it might as well have been white.
Her tinseled blonde hair was swept back from her face and pulled into a loose ponytail. This starkly accented her aristocratic features, especially the sharp sweep of her high cheekbones. It occurred to me that she looked a little like Glenn Close, though I wasn’t sure the actress would appreciate the comparison.
A couple of workers stood nearby, one on a ladder operating the pulley system that lifted the huge mirrored ball into place. Another was replacing a panel of wood on one of the bars. Two bullet holes scarred the damaged section propped beside him. A trio of other guys was off in the back, repairing a railing. Among the workers, I recognized at least one of the bouncers from the night before. Out of uniform, he wore jeans and an old T-shirt with a faded Nine Inch Nails logo. It actually made him look beefier than the black-on-black monkey suit. I wondered briefly if he was on steroids, or if his excessive musculature had a creepier explanation. Terael’s conversation about Nephilim feeding blood to their “anchors” rattled uneasily around in my head.
As Remiel stepped into the club proper, Saliriel looked up and called out sharply.
“Where the hell have you been?”
He rocked back as if her voice held weight and force. Then again, to him, it probably did.
“Decimus,” he said, once he recovered a bit. “There are some things you need to be made aware of.”
She took a step forward, lips parted to respond—and then she caught sight of me. For an instant, she studied my features with an air that seemed unusually calculating, even for Sal. A heartbeat later, the look was lost to her customary hauteur.
“Ah, Remy, you’ve brought your favorite stray,” she mused. “How many times are you going to make me throw you out this week, Zaquiel?”
I was working on a witty comeback when Lil strode up behind me. The Lady of Beasts made a show of taking in the whole of the Saliriel’s appearance, a nasty smirk on her face.
“What is she doing here?” Saliriel demanded, voice cracking.
“Nice to see you, too, Sal,” Lil purred. “That’s an interesting look for you.”
Saliriel sputtered, too incensed for words. Lil’s smirk curled into a full-on Cheshire grin. No mirth glinted in the steel of her eyes.
The workers in the back paused to look in our direction. Their power drills fell silent and they murmured uneasily amongst themselves. After a moment, they resumed their labor with the mien of people struggling to seem invisible.
The bouncer in the band shirt had a very different reaction. He set his tools down carefully by the bar and stepped closer to Sal. The way he stared at us, a strip search would have been less invasive.
“Please, let me explain, Decimus,” Remy said quickly.
“Oh, you had better,” Sal snapped.
Remy winced but forged ahead. “Zaquiel wasn’t lying. The theft at the museum happened. They released news of it earlier
today, and Zaquiel retrieved some evidence suggestive of a very serious issue.”
“I’m listening,” Saliriel said.
Remy wetted his lips, glancing our way for support. Lil wouldn’t even look at him. She just kept staring at Sal, like she expected the decimus to turn into a bat, or perhaps a great white serpent. Puffing out a breath, Remiel continued.
“What do you recall of the one called Kessiel?” he said. “He was apparently seeking to steal from the museum tonight.”
“Kessiel?” Saliriel said absently, and she tapped a manicured nail against a collagen-plump lip. “Why should I recall someone else’s foot-soldier?”
I snorted. “Here,” I said. “Let me jog your memory.” I slid the rucksack off my shoulder and dragged Kessiel’s skull out by its long blond ponytail. I grimaced at his shriveled features, then chucked the head at Saliriel’s feet. The bouncer tensed as it clattered across the floor. It came to rest against the toe of Saliriel’s shoe.
Remiel’s eyes flew wide when he saw the grisly trophy.
Even Lil did a face palm.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she muttered.
“What is this?” Saliriel demanded. She minced back from the head, recognition slowly gelling on her features. NIN guy kept his gaze fixed on my hands, veins cording in his neck. The bouncer working on the disco ball stopped what he was doing and backed slowly down the ladder. He wore an unbuttoned bowling shirt over his dark tee, and I was fairly certain the shirt concealed a gun.
“Want me to make him gone, Sal?” he asked, a belligerent set to his shoulders. His deep voice held very little inflection—but there was a distinctive twang to his a’s. Lil and I exchanged startled glances. We had both heard that voice before. This was the man who had spoken on my answering machine—about the mysterious rendezvous at Lake View.
I clenched my left hand. It was that or start swinging at people. Lil had been right all along. Sal was neck-deep in this shit.
“Which angel was it, Sal?” I demanded, choking past the rising fury. “You know, in Lake View Cemetery.” I couldn’t keep the threat out of my tone. Both bouncers moved with purposeful steps to shield their mistress, creating a wall of human muscle between us and Saliriel. Bowling shirt guy didn’t have his gun out yet, but his right hand hovered near the small of his back.
Conspiracy of Angels Page 20
