by S. J. Harper
“Agreed.” I glance over at Zack. “Except for the three of us.”
I hold my breath, wait for Zack to say something. Finally, he does.
“Agreed.”
Kallistos nods and moves off, hand at his ear, speaking into his earpiece. It’s a conversation we aren’t privy to. I catch the name Tony before joining Zack. We don’t have much time. Once Kallistos sets the wheels in motion, his “cleanup” crew will be here in minutes. I flash back to last year and another crime scene that he offered to clean up. That one involved blowing up a building.
I heave a sigh. “Should we get the girls out of here? It would make it easier to clean up.”
“No fucking way am I leaving Kallistos and his clowns here to do this by themselves. We need two large plastic barrels, rubber gloves, Dustbuster, rags.” He calls out the latter loud enough so Kallistos can hear.
His request is acknowledged with a curt nod.
Only Zack isn’t quite finished. “And have Evan bring the SUV here. I need the black duffel in the back of the van. . . .”
I look around. Most of the “unusual evidence” left to clean up can be dispatched quickly by Kallistos’ men. But Zack isn’t going to relinquish control again and I can’t blame him.
I glance at Kallistos. He’s with the girls now, in a corner. I listen as he speaks to them in a hushed tone, spinning the tale they’ll remember as truth. In actuality, it’s not far from it. Cheng evidently was behind the kidnappings. And he was wanted for human trafficking. They’ll remember being abducted and brought here, kept in the cages until Ford arrived, then being brought out to be sold. Only the part about being bled and, of course, that any vampires were here, that vampires exist at all, will be scrubbed—just as simply and easily as he scrubs away the evidence of puncture wounds on their skin with his tongue.
“When you’re ready,” Kallistos is saying, “you and Zack can take the girls down the tunnel to the opening under the mission. Have them sit inside. The thrall will lift within a few minutes. They will remember as commanded.” Kallistos’ phone rings. He answers. “All is well. I will be home soon.” He tucks his phone back into his jacket. “Owen,” he says, by way of explanation. Kallistos cocks his head to the left. “Tony’s here.”
The sound of approaching footsteps snaps our attention. Tony, the same vampire who helped Kallistos “clean up” Barbara Pierce’s lab, smiles when he sees us. He has two others with him.
“We need to hurry,” Zack says, checking his watch. “This needs to be called in soon.”
Tony turns to Kallistos to get his instructions.
Kallistos directs him back to Zack.
“Simon said to give you these.” Tony hands him a clear ziplock bag filled with cell phones.
“Gloves on. Collect all of the glasses, the carafes, the tablecloths. Vacuum up the shards. Dump them in one of the barrels along with Lamont’s phone, any radios, the earpieces on the floor, and the vampire clothing. I need to collect some clothes from upstairs and plant the cells you brought. As soon as that’s done, we wipe down the stage area and all of the walls. Got it?”
The vampires nod in unison, then go to work.
Kallistos looks me up and down. “You’re a mess.”
I’m soaked in Ford’s and Cheng’s blood, my clothes painted in macabre splotches. “It’s been a long night.”
He reaches for my hand and tilts his head toward the girls, who are still in thrall, still waiting patiently for their next command. “You did what you set out to do. You saved them.”
I step back. My hand slips from his. I fold my arms protectively across my chest. I can’t quite look him in the eye. “And did you do what you set out to do?” My gaze falls, instead, on the bodies of Ford and Cheng, crumpled, bloodied, dead. “You killed them.”
He smiles wryly. “Not all of them. I let a few go.”
“So they would tell the story. You shouldn’t have killed the humans. It wasn’t right.” My voice seems distant to my own ears.
He reaches out to cup my cheek, tipping my face up and searching my eyes. For what? Understanding? Forgiveness? He finds neither.
“What is right?” Kallistos asks. “You think your form of justice is better? Would you rather see them imprisoned, stuffed in cages like animals? Like those girls? Would you rather risk having it all unravel?” He leans down, his voice tight, strained. “Cheng was a monster. Your own FBI has made him one of its most wanted. And Ford? Do you really think he was any better? That he was innocent in all of this? I made the tough decision. It’s what sovereigns do.”
I push his hand away, match my tone to his. “Trouble is, I don’t believe the decision was all that tough for you.”
“Emma, time to take the girls out of here. I’m calling this in!” Zack shouts out.
He may be acting like he didn’t hear every word Kallistos and I have just spoken, but I’m confident he did. They all did.
An awkward silence descends on the room. But it lasts only a moment. Soon the buzz of work resumes. Tony and his cronies move with lightning speed, disposing of the table, chairs, and blood evidence by transporting it down the same tunnel we entered through. All that remain are the bodies of Cheng and Ford, the staging area where the auction was to take place, and the area where the girls had been kept. In less than ten minutes they’ve “scrubbed” the entire crime scene.
Kallistos wipes his prints from my gun and hands it back to me.
Mechanically, I take it.
“Your gun. Your call,” he says. “What happens next is up to you.”
With that, he walks away.
I lead the girls through the passageway to the entry point under the chapel. A short flight of steps leads to a bolted door. I push through to find it’s a false wall within the priest’s compartment of what I recognize as a confessional. We step out into the chapel. The girls file past the statue of the Virgin Mary surrounded by the flickering of hundreds of votives and into the rear pews. I know they will come out of thrall shortly. They will remember what Kallistos told them to remember. I, however, will remember the way it really happened.
I stroll down the aisle and stand in front of the ornate altar. Iron stands line both sides, filled with candles. The smell of polished wood and incense permeates the air.
“Agent Monroe?”
I turn around. It’s Julie Simmons. Barefoot and bruised. Her hair matted. Her eyes are hollow from lack of sustenance and loss of blood, but real awareness shines through. She’s back. She wraps her arms around me. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Tears cloud my vision. I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, I see that the other girls have gathered near. They should be peppering us with questions. Instead, they are eerily quiet. Kallistos has programmed them with all the answers they need, all the answers they’ll repeat to the police, their parents, one another.
Zack catches my eye. He is standing behind them. He’s changed clothes, back to his suit. Only the cuffs are soaked in blood. His hands are, too.
I make my way over to him.
“Suit’s a little worse for wear,” I say.
He smiles. “Right back at you. When we’re ready to leave, Evan parked the SUV in the west corner of the lot. He left with Malcolm and our equipment.”
I hear the sound of sirens approaching.
“How are they?” he asks, motioning to the girls.
“Better than one would expect after what they’ve been through,” I say.
“How are you?”
I have to sift through a dozen cascading emotions. Zack waits for me to answer. But I can’t. Not now. “I need to get some air,” I tell him.
“The forensic team will be here shortly,” he says. “Johnson’s on his way, too.”
“I’ll just be outside. I need a moment to collect my thoughts.”
Zack nods. He holds open the door to the courtyard for me. Then closes it again, giving me privacy.
I sit on the steps leading to the small garden between the chapel
and the school and look up. Light from the sliver of moon glints off of the bells in the tower. The sirens are getting closer. I pull my knees up and rest my head on my arms and take a deep breath. The perfumed night air fills my lungs, jasmine and honeysuckle, rose and lavender. It does nothing to soothe my wounded heart.
What happens next is up to you.
Kallistos’ final words ring in my ear.
In the distance, the drone of a helicopter draws close.
The troops are about to arrive.
I stand up. Time to put on my game face and finish the job.
My job. It’s fortunate I’m good at it. Because, really, it’s all I have.
CHAPTER 26
My legs feel like lead as I emerge from the chapel. It’s well after midnight, but you wouldn’t know it from the looks of things. The entire area is lit up. Three helicopters are buzzing overhead. The parking lot behind the mission is filled with news vans. Our SUV is, as Evan promised, parked in the west corner. I’m sure when he left it there, it seemed like a good idea. That was before the sea of reporters with cameras and microphones descended. A particularly perky blonde swoops down on us.
“Agent Monroe, may we have a word? We’re hearing it was your weapon that killed two men, one of which was on the FBI’s most wanted list.”
I hold up my hand and do my best to keep moving. “Deputy Director Johnson will be making an official statement.” The vultures move with me. There are more of them now.
“Agent Armstrong,” one begins.
I don’t hear the rest of his question. The cacophony around us has turned into a dull roar, an indiscriminate hum punctuated by flashes of light. I spare a glance in Zack’s direction. He’s talking with Johnson, who has my gun in an evidence bag. Routine procedure, I know, for an agent-involved shooting. But nothing about this is routine.
Bits and pieces of the reporters’ conversations float to the top. The word hero is bantered about over and over. Some are asking about Cheng. Others want to know the names of the girls. I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally. I just want to get to the SUV. To shower. To scream. To cry. When I glance again at Zack, he catches my eye and motions toward the SUV. Johnson is giving me the go-ahead to leave. Tomorrow, though, begins the long slog through endless paperwork. I “killed” two people tonight.
Zack meets me at the car and opens the passenger door. I climb inside.
He has to push through the gaggle of reporters who followed him. Finally he makes it inside and slams the door.
The flashes continue. I raise my arm up to shield my eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”
Zack doesn’t have to be told again. He’s as anxious to leave as I am. With a brisk nod he fires up the engine. The media throng parts like the Red Sea. In seconds we’re through the gate and navigating around the side of the mission, then down the long drive. I lean my head against the cool window. We’ve saved ten girls. Ten. I should be elated. But the deaths of Ford and Cheng are weighing on me. Zack’s silence is weighing on me.
We’re on Highway 8, heading west. It’s coming up on two and the traffic is light.
“You okay?” he finally asks.
I shake my head. I’m so far from okay I don’t even know where to begin. “I have blood on my hands.”
“And vampire King in you hair,” he adds. “I hear that’s tough to get out.”
I can’t help myself. Despite my dark mood, I feel the corners of my mouth curve up. “You sent one of the most powerful vampires in the world to his final death with a single shot.” Then the reality of the situation, the implications, come back. “The political ramifications—”
He meets my eyes for the briefest of moments. “Lamont wasn’t quite as affected by the paralytic as Kallistos thought. In part, he was biding time, waiting for Kallistos’ grip to loosen. He could have killed you. When you’re in a situation like that . . .” Finally he settles on, “I made the right call. I’d do it again.”
He sounds like Kallistos, though mentioning that would only break the mood. “But you knew I would eventually heal. That I wouldn’t die.”
Zack’s hand slides over to mine. He covers it, gives it a squeeze. “That’s what you tell me.”
The warmth from his skin penetrates mine. It radiates up my arm, into my chest, and wraps around my heart.
“Before you go down what’s come to be a predicable path,” he continues, “don’t believe for a second that Kallistos’ claim of killing Lamont is for my benefit. Or the benefit of the Weres. He’s doing it to send a message. He went in fully intending to take Lamont out. My stepping in when I did interfered with his plan. In his mind, I’m sure he’s merely taking back control of the scenario, setting things right in order to pave the way.”
“Pave the way for what?” I ask.
“His taking over the South. Merging the two Kingdoms under his rule. Ending the unrest.”
“You think he plans on taking over the Southern Kingdom?” My head is spinning.
“Absolutely. And he’ll be met with significant opposition. The unrest is likely to get worse before it gets better.”
We drive past the turnoff to the 163, the road that would lead us to my place. For the first time I realize Zack isn’t taking me home. I look back, over my shoulder.
“Don’t be afraid,” Zack says, softly. The statement is punctuated with another squeeze of my hand. “I don’t expect anything from you.”
The words I uttered when we were together in his closet come back to haunt me.
What we have. It isn’t meaningless and it does scare me.
We pass Interstate 5. I feel my anxiety mounting. I try to tamp it down, but I can’t. I roll down the passenger’s window. The wind rushes in; it’s bracing. I turn my face into it and close my eyes. I don’t expect anything from you. “Trouble is, you deserve everything,” I mutter, brushing the wetness from my cheeks.
I know he hears me. But he doesn’t respond.
We take the West Mission Bay Drive exit. I can smell the salt in the air. Taste it in my tears. My face is numb.
Zack pulls into his driveway. Kills the engine. Rolls up the windows.
I step out of the Suburban. My body aches from head to toe. I look up at the night sky and remember the words Demeter spoke to me in this very driveway, not six months ago.
I will be watching you, watching you with this man. He’s different. You and I both know it.
I feel Zack’s hand at the small of my back. “It’s late.”
I turn to face him. “Why am I here?”
He guides me to the door and unlocks it. “Because you don’t want to be alone. Because you don’t want to be with him. Because you’re tired and confused.”
All true.
He goes to the fridge, grabs two beers, and twists off the tops. “Come on. I’ll get you some fresh towels. Sheets on the guest bed are clean.”
I follow Zack up the stairs, past his room and into another. The walls are a soft yellow, the bedding a light sage. He goes into the attached bathroom, comes out with a stack of cream-colored towels.
“Need anything else?”
I shake my head, tilt the bottle to my lips, and take several long pulls. The beer is ice-cold and it soothes my throat. Unlike just about everything that’s happened in the last few hours, it goes down easy.
Zack turns to go.
“Wait.”
He’s halfway out the door and pauses midstep.
“Maybe a shirt or something to sleep in?”
“I’ll leave it on the bed,” he says without looking back.
Then I’m alone. I walk stiffly into the bathroom, shed my clothes, then step into the shower. It’s stocked with body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. I lean into the hot spray and let it wash over me. The shampoo smells like citrus, clean and fresh. I mechanically work it into my hair. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When I reach for the conditioner, my hand begins to shake. Gooseflesh covers my backside. I hear crackling and popping. My toes curl as the water on the floor
beneath my feet turns to ice. Snow falls from the showerhead, assaulting my bare skin. It’s like being hit with thousands of needles. Within seconds my body is covered in a dusting of fine white powder that burns. Icicles form in my hair. I know what this means.
She’s here.
Demeter.
I fumble with the taps, trying to turn off the water. It does me no good. The faucets are frozen in place.
“Oh, this is just fucking perfect.”
I struggle with the glass door of the shower. It, too, is frozen in place. With a loud shattering sound that makes me fear I’ve broken the glass, it finally lets go. I toss one frost-covered towel on the floor, wrap the other around me, and, fueled by the anger and resentment of scores of lifetimes, I round on perhaps the most powerful goddess in the pantheon.
“What?” It comes out as a hiss.
A slow, satisfied smile forms on her mouth. It does nothing to soften the chill in her cobalt blue eyes. Everything about her is cold. The sheer fabric of her long gown is woven from frozen crystals. Her translucent alabaster skin is covered in a web of ice, sparkling like hardened diamonds. Her stark white hair flows past her waist and hangs over her breasts.
“You did well tonight, Ligea.”
Her declaration almost knocks me off my feet. Is she here to take me back? To release me? It’s the moment I’ve been working toward, dreaming about—for thousands of years. But am I ready?
“I’ve come to grant you a reprieve. You need it. More importantly, you’ve earned it.” Demeter holds her hands out, palms up, and gestures toward the doorway. “Go to him.”
I can’t believe my ears. I wrap the towel tighter around my body. “Right. And risk—”
“Nothing. No repercussions. Not from me. Not tonight.”
